The Dragon Throne_Knights of the Frost Pt. I

by Richard A. Knaak

  The elder soldier once more eyed the still limb. He only did so for a breath, but it was enough to catch D’Marr’s attention.

  “You’ve admired my arm more than once. Allow me to give you a better look at it.”

  The arm bent, its movements oddly stiff. With his other hand, D’Marr removed the glove from the maimed appendage.

  A sharp intake of breath escaped the general. Only the dragon had stunned him as much as what the snow-tressed figure revealed beneath the glove.

  A muffled hiss escaped the bound figure. He met the general’s gaze, the eyes trying to say something to the Aramite.

  Behind the emperor, Orril D’Marr chuckled. “He’s already seen it...and more.”

  General D’Rak said nothing as D’Marr put the glove back on. The arm dropped to the former officer’s side. D’Marr smiled at the bearded commander. I think we understand one another better, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” The pale figure made a gesture with the good hand. Immediately, three of the icy servants stirred from from their deathly sleep and converged on the trio. As they did, the two Quel bodyguards retreated with what the general recognized as more than a little concern. Even the snouted beasts were wise enough to see the wrongness of this particular spell.

  “Take him.”

  Two of the fiends seized the Dragon Emperor by his arms and hefted him into the air. The young drake squirmed anxiously, but could not escape their cold grip. The undead servants stomped off with their charge.

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “Where he will be secured...and of better use.” Orril D’Marr looked beyond the general. “Ah...and here they are.”

  “What’s that? What do you ---”

  A horn sounded. It was followed by another much farther away.

  “What by the Ravager?” Turning, Augus D’Rak glanced beyond the camp, beyond the frozen shore.

  At least six more black ships approached. Six more ships he knew had at least at one time served the empire.

  “The others have arrived at last. Our army is growing and just in time.”

  “You knew others had answered you?”

  “Of course. Have no fear. They have agreed to serve under you.”

  The dreams of an empire reborn suddenly seemed even more possible to the general now. Fresh troops. Real soldiers. This was something that Augus D’Rak could understand and appreciate. “We’ll still need more, though.’

  “Don’t worry, general. We’ve more troops arriving. Not exactly in sharp uniforms, but still very armored. Isn’t that so, my friends?”

  One of the Quel hooted, answering the question as to what other reinforcements D’Marr meant.

  “And before you ask about reaching beyond the Wastes, yes, I’ve seen to some worthy mounts as well.”

  General D’Rak had sudden visions of his men being transferred on the back of the giant dragon or other beasts akin to it.

  He must have been obvious in his concern, for his ally laughed. “No, not him. That would be beneath him. Here, it’s time for them to join. Let me summon them. They’ve been waiting on the edge of the camp long enough, anyway.”

  Orril D’Marr let loose with a long whistle. Before the commander could say anything, a familiar howl rose in the air.

  It was followed by not one, not two, not a dozen, but so many howls that the general could not help but quickly draw his sword even though he knew the odds were very, very much against he and his men.

  Shouts arose from the rest of the camp as the soldiers reacted to the howls. Even Ren and her brother turned warily toward the edge of camp where General D’Rak and Orril D’Marr stood.

  Then, the howls ceased...but only because the sources of those howls had reached their summoner. Augus D’Rak scowled at the former officer, but D’Marr looked quite pleased with himself.

  “There you go, general. The mounts we need to begin our conquest in earnest.”

  The commander said nothing, instead just staring at the landscape behind his ally...a landscape filled, as far as the eye could see, by the legions of snarling ice wolves.

  VI

  Lair of the Emperor

  “I am beyond this,” the swarthy young mage muttered as he cast. “I’ve been practicing longer than some of you have been walking.”

  “But where can you learn more than from the Bedlams and the Lord Gryphon, Corvo?” asked the even younger male watching from the other’s left. “I feel honored just to be a part of this.”

  “Yes, you have told me that more than once. I am honored, too, but here I am casting an apprentice’s spell when I’ve already mastered runes and short distance teleportation!” Under a black brow, dark brown eyes narrowed. “I have fought on the battlefield and even sailed with the Irillian fleet!”

  As he spoke, Corvo finished his spell. Before the gazes of both, a fiery sprite formed. The sprite danced and spun about in a series of complex movements entirely controlled by Corvo’s thoughts.

  “That’s the first stage done,” his slimmer companion commented.

  “Yes, thank you for the obvious, Logan.” Despite his bravado, Corvo was finding the magical exercise harder than he had imagined. It was one thing to sit and formulate runes; it was another to constantly shift minute magical energies as he attempted to do now.

  Gritting his teeth, the finely-dressed Corvo split the the sprite in two. The twin figures began the next routine, each moving exactly as the other.

  Unfortunately for Corvo, he had to move beyond that step. Despite well aware that Logan was not the only fellow student watching, Corvo started to reach to his chest.

  “They said no runes.”

  “I know, I know.” Sweating more, Corvo began making the pair perform separate dances. At first the differences were minor, but then, as directed, he sought to add more and more complexity.

  The two sprites suddenly shivered, then faded away.

  As Corvo let out an exasperated gasp, a sympathetic Logan patted him on the shoulder. “That was still very impressive.”

  “Impressive, but in need of much more work,” commented their instructor, an ivory-skinned woman with long, straight brown hair. Like all the instructors, she wore simple dark blue robes and hood.

  “Am I next, Mistress Hala?” Logan asked eagerly.

  She smiled. “No. We’ve reached the end of the session. You’ll have your chance tomorrow.”

  Logan tried to hide his disappointment. Corvo waited until Mistress Hala had walked off before chuckling. “Still hoping to impress her?”

  The fiery-haired spellcaster was a contrast to Corvo in all but their heights, which were above average compared to the rest of the students. Where Corvo had been born to the upper castes of Irillian society, Logan Rhine had been raised on a secluded farm. While not as pale as Mistress Hala, Logan was nowhere near as dark as Corvo. Indeed, the only student paler than Logan or Mistress Hala was the very quiet female figure standing by herself to the two males’ right.

  She startled both by responding. “If Logan wishes to try to impress Mistress Hala, he has that right.”

  “He has that right,” Corvo agreed. “but he’s hardly going to win her heart, Danna.”

  As Logan flushed, Danna nodded. “True, but if he does manage to impress her, it’ll mean he’s made very great strides in his learning.”

  “Can you two stop talking about me like that?” Logan pleaded.

  Corvo nodded. Danna said nothing, her attention focused once more on the rose. Both males noticed her speaking to it.

  “Wouldn’t a cat or dog make a better pet?” Logan asked.

  She looked up, her expression confused. “This is no pet. This is Sha’li. She helps me speak to my ru’hija.”

  “Your ru’hija?” Corvo’s brow furrowed. “That’s an elven word. I know that. Something about a ‘ghost’ ---”

  “No. My spirit guide. My first tutor was a half-elf.”

  Logan shook his head. “No, Corvo’s ri
ght. Grandma used that word. She said it was meant ‘ghost’.”

  Danna shook her head in utter frustration, then left the two without another word.

  Corvo snorted. “Trouble enough having to deal with these lessons without adding thoughts of ghosts! I have heard they actually exist, but are extremely rare. Why would one attach itself to her?”

  “She can be kind of ghostly. Maybe that’s something.”

  The two young mages laughed. Corvo shook his head. “She can have her spirit guide, her ghost, whatever it wants to call itself. I have no time for such foolishness. I will master this exercise. I will prove that I am beyond the level of most of you.”

  “I’ll try not to be insulted,” Logan remarked with a grin. “But if you aim to practice more, I’d like to come along. I need to learn this, too and maybe I can pick up something from your mistakes.”

  The swarthy spellcaster started a retort, then shrugged. “You may just do that.”

  “Either way,” Logan continued. “better than worrying about things we can’t see...”

  “Definitely ---”

  No...worry much...

  Corvo blinked. “I find the last not at all amusing. Make up your mind.”

  “About what? I only said we shouldn’t worry about things we can’t see ---”

  “And then you added ---” Corvo halted. The voice had not sounded like his companion’s. Rather, it had reminded the dark-haired mage of someone from nearer to his own homeland of Irillian. While Logan Rhine was better skilled than Corvo perhaps wished to admit, the voice could not be his work.

  “Are you ill, Corvo?”

  “No, but I am tired and hungry. Let us eat, then we can practice back in our quarters.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Yet, Logan hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, Corvo. Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Stifling another frown, the well-clad spellcaster gestured with his hand, then moved on. Logan fell in step next to him. Both walked in silence.

  And both, Corvo realized as he glanced at his companion, walked as if other things unseen walked with them.

  * * *

  The two gold-tinted dragons guarding the vast cavern mouth leading into Kivan Grath watched with more wariness than ever. There was no visible foe, but a strange cold mist had spread across the region, a mist that they could sense had a touch of some unsettling magic behind it. Had it been to the choice of either, they would have gone out to seek the source and obliterate it, but that decision lay in the claws of another.

  A tiny figure exited the cavern mouth. The two dragons immediately bowed their heads in obeisance to the beautiful, seemingly elven maiden who stood between them unafraid.

  “Faras,” she solemnly greeted the one on her right. “Ssgayn,” she then said with equal care to the one on her left.

  “Lady Ursssa,” rumbled the dragon called Faras. “You should not be out!”

  “He ssspeaks rightly,” Ssgayn added. “This isss foul work out here!”

  “Precisely why I needed to step out and study it again. I have made certain that the Lady Thalyssia and the other imperial consorts are well-protected. So long as your emperor and cousin --- and my brother --- is missing, I will not rest in my efforts to see everyone safe.”

  “And the emperor returned to us,” added Faras.

  Ursa swallowed hard, the only sign of her tremendous fear and concern for her brother. “And the emperor returned to us, yes.”

  “All sentinels have reported to usss,” Ssgayn informed her. “Thisss mist surrounds every mountain in or under which the imperial cavernsss spread. It seems to ssspread from no point of origin. It merely isss.”

  The female nodded. “And our missives to the realms south?”

  “No messenger hasss returned. No word hasss arrived, my lady.”

  Ursa grimaced. “And none of my attempts to reach out to Penacles or the Manor have met with success. Kivan Grath --- the very Tybers --- are cut off from the rest of the Dragonrealm.”

  Faras hissed. Ssgayn eyed the mists warily, then replied, “Give me freedom to fly and I will bring contact from the outssside, my lady.”

  “Nay!” growled his brother. “I am ssswifter! Let me be the one!”

  Ursa silenced both behemoths with a simple wave of one hand. She smiled gratefully to the twin titans. “No one appreciates your loyalty more than I and my brother. Your place must be here, though. I can trust no one more to guard the imperial caverns ---”

  A long, ghostly howl echoed through the nearby mountains.

  Faras hissed again. “There are no wolvesss this near! I know! The hunting hasss been sparse thisss season!”

  “It didn’t sound like a wolf...and yet it did,” Ursa murmured. “Either way, a sound I have never heard in all my years here.”

  Ssgayn growled his agreement, then added, “The mist is growing thicker. One would think the kingdom of Lochivar sits on our doorstep.”

  “Would that it were so,” she blurted, only afterward realizing the irony of wishing the realm of one of her brother’s least trusted vassals so near. That proved to her just how dangerous she felt this mist --- or rather the force behind it --- was.

  Another howl erupted, this one coming from a different direction.

  Both guardians immediately lowered their heads and peered into the murk. Ssgayn brought one wing down, creating a shield for Ursa.

  “Go inssside,” he ordered. “We are guardiansss of the entrance. You mussst prepare thossse inside just in case ---”

  A chorus of howls resounded through the Tybers, a chorus so great that none of the three dared guess the numbers.

  The chorus was immediately followed by a thundering that any drake who had ever witnessed battle recognized. Ursa, herself a veteran of previous struggles, backed away, but not out of concern for herself. Ssgayn had been correct. Even though she had already made certain that all of Kivan Grath’s defenses were ready --- and those defenses were no small thing --- Kyl’s sister suddenly suspected that they might not be enough.

  Even as the female drake stepped into the cavern entrance, she caught glimpse of a dark wave surging through the bone-pale mist. She saw that they were for the most part things smaller than dragons, but even that did not assuage her unease.

  A snarling form the size of a massive horse leapt at Faras from the side. Another followed even as the dragon turned to deal with the first. As Ursa rushed inside, she caught one last glimpse of the oncoming beasts...and saw that astride them were humans in ebony armor.

  It cannot be them! They are crushed! They are but a memory! Yet, from the battle cries she heard, these warriors were not only more than memories, they as great in numbers as the howling beasts.

  Within moments of her entrance, four drake guards rushed up. She immediately pointed at the cavern mouth. “Stand ready! Two of you transssform!”

  Outside, Ssgayn roared. His cry was answered by several howls much to near the entrance for Ursa’s taste.

  As the four guards rushed to obey, a sudden chill coursed through Ursa. Something was amiss. The magical defenses enshrouding the imperial complex --- and especially Kivan Grath --- should have already reacted. Yet, from what she could hear, the only thing thus far preventing the enemy from entering was the two guardians and the four sentries. That should not have been possible, especially for the supposed stragglers of a crushed empire bereft of any of the great sorcery once granted it by its god.

  Caught up in the realization that somehow the sanctum’s most trusted defenses had been breached, the emperor’s sister hesitated --- and in that moment, witnessed yet another horrific sight as one of the two guardians tumbled back into the entrance, his body covered in snarling monsters of the like Ursa had never seen.

  It took her a moment to recognize the dragon as Faras, so obscured was his head by not only his fiendish foes but blood from several wounds. More beasts hung on his wings, not only weighing him down but putting him off balance. He crashed to the flo
or on his back.

  Despite his position, Faras continued to fight back. One paw swept off an armored rider, then slammed down on the tusked monstrosity the human had been riding. Bones cracked and the dark life fluids of the beast splattered in every direction.

  Unfortunately, even as Ursa began to take heart at this minor victory, the lupine creature’s shattered corpse knit back together. The beast rose to its feet only moments after its apparent demise.

  More guards rushed up to meet the growing number of armored fighters. As Ursa had commanded, two of the first sentries transformed. Now, instead of one dragon, there were three.

  But among the invaders there appeared a pale woman. In one hand she held something while with the other she cast.

  A ring of steel formed over one of the new dragons’ jaws.

  Swearing, Ursa cast. Female drakes were not as powerful as their male counterparts, but Ursa was not without some skill.

  The ring melted away. As that happened, the emperor’s sister concentrated on the female spellcaster.

  “Now, now, I can’t allow you to do any harm to Ren! Father wouldn’t like that!”

  She had not sensed the male figure materialize next to her. He was dressed akin to the female and, also like her, held something in one gloved hand. The other hand he pressed against Ursa’s shoulder.

  “Ungh!” A fire coursed through her blood, a fire so sweltering it was more than even a drake could stand.

  “You’ll appreciate this bit of warmth in the end, I promise you,” the male spellcaster remarked with some humor.

  In desperation, she shoved him back, then stumbled away from the battle. Drake warriors now dueled with wolfhelmed invaders in a scene that Ursa had never thought that she would witness.

  “Now, now!” muttered the spellcaster in a far less jovial tone than before. “We’ve been told to take some care with you, but if I have to teach you your place ---”

  Something made of shadow fluttered into his face. With a snarl, he reached up to fend it off. At the same time, hundreds of other bits of shadow dropped down from among the stalactites and fell upon both the invaders and their mounts.