A figure erupted before him, a towering fighter still wearing the dry, fragmenting scale armor of a drake warrior. The drake, a ragged gap where his throat had been giving testament to the power of Seeker talons, slashed at Shade with a sword nearly as long as the sorcerer’s arm. Shade had to throw himself back to avoid being impaled.
Bits of scale dropped off the skeleton as it moved to attack again. What appeared armor, including the head, was actually the scale of the dragon when it took this mortal form. Many drakes preferred to walk almost as men despite their contempt for them, a curious subject that only Shade truly understood.
As the blade came at him again, Shade seized one edge of his cloak and wrapped it around the rusting weapon. The cloak tightened around the blade, forcing it to turn.
Both the sword and the hand wielding it broke from the drake.
The drake warrior shook wildly. The sorcerer snapped his fingers.
The skeleton shattered, the bones and scale scattering for some distance.
The earth behind Shade had swollen to the size of a hill. Crevices ran across it. It continued to shake. The ground would not much longer hold what was buried there.
He made it to the other formation . . . and found nothing. Despite having been certain that the necromancers were not responsible, Shade cursed himself for playing the fool. There was nowhere to run now.
The rock on which he leaned suddenly glowed.
A magical portal, a passageway called a blink hole by spellcasters, opened up.
The landscape finally exploded. Something huge began to rise up from the ruined ground.
Shade leapt into the blink hole.
The portal sealed the moment that he passed through it. A cool wave of air washed over him as he landed on one knee.
A glittering light surrounded him. Shade looked up . . . and saw himself over and over and over.
He was in a vast natural chamber—a cavern—studded with crystalline growths that covered the walls, the ceiling, even the floor. The source of the illumination was not evident, but it was more than ample to enable him to see the incredible length and breadth of the chamber.
And everywhere his blurred face stared back.
Then, to his surprise, one of the foremost reflections shifted position and spoke. The words were not audible, but like Kadaria’s voice, Shade heard it quite clearly in his head.
Call me Madrac . . . this time . . .
Shade stiffened.
Call me Simon . . . this time . . .
He glanced at another reflection in a smaller facet, certain that it had spoken.
Call me Karas . . . this time . . .
All at once, every reflection spoke, each using the same phrase but with a different name. Shade knew them all, knew full well what each represented. They were all him, all incarnations created by the death of the previous one. That had been one of the greatest jests of what had once been a spell sought to preserve his life, his soul. Instead, each incarnation sought to be its own self and thus had chosen its own—albeit ever temporary, as it turned out—name.
And afterward, each had followed its path of either good or very ill, depending upon what was opposite that of their predecessor.
Even as the voices assailed him from within, the sorcerer straightened. He peered around, then called out, “I know myself well! Now I would see my host!”
A deep, throaty chuckle resounded through the chamber, a chuckle that Shade knew did not originate from anything human.
His image vanished from the countless facets. For a moment, it was as if Shade had no reflection whatsoever, as if he was a ghost even to this multitude of mirrors.
Then the crystalline facets again displayed an image, but it was not one that originated with the spellcaster nor anything visible in the chamber. Yet, each and every facet revealed it and even Shade briefly felt daunted by the sight.
The eye was long and narrow and reptilian in nature. When it blinked, it revealed glittering scale akin to the very walls of the cavern. Even the eye itself gleamed.
“Welcome, fabled sssorcerer . . . ,” rumbled a voice from everywhere. “Welcome to my domain . . .”
The eye receded and as it did the facets no longer reflected the same image, but rather parts of a vast creature, a looming form that spread across the walls and ceiling. It glittered as much, if not more, than the facets that displayed it.
The vision of the gargantuan beast peered down at Shade from the walls. His gaze swept over the tiny figure of the sorcerer, seeming to assess Shade on a multitude of levels.
Shade stared back, pondering whether he might have been better off facing the Lords of the Dead. He had been “rescued” by nothing less than a Dragon King.
And worse, nothing less than the most enigmatic of all the drake lords . . . the Crystal Dragon.
IV
THE MANOR
VALEA BEDLAM HAD KNOWN the Manor all her life. She had been born and raised there and so all its magic was something very familiar to the enchantress. Yet even she continually marveled at its very existence and all that it contained.
The Manor, both its true name and its creation lost to time, was an intricate melding of stone and tree. It rose some height and from the outside clearly indicated a structure with much space, but those who entered were ever surprised at how vast the interior actually was. The Manor within was much greater than the exterior permitted. There were countless rooms, each with its own uniqueness and elegance, and sometimes they would even change locations.
But this was only a minor aspect of the Bedlams’ sanctum, which surrounded a small community of humans and drakes who willingly served the family of wizards in return for the freedoms they gained living surrounded by so much magic. Some of the humans were novice spellcasters themselves, while among the drakes there were those with similar abilities. All were refugees from one conflict or another and all were willing to die to defend their home here.
Of course, with or without its current occupiers, the Manor could defend itself fairly well. It could also repair damage done to it, at least to a point.
However, chief among the many astounding aspects of her home was the one that had eventually set Valea on a course that might—no, certainly, so she thought as she materialized—put her at odds with her parents. Indeed, an example of that aspect manifested itself at the wide, curling steps of the large hall, steps of both shining marble and living wood, leading to the floors above.
It was an elf, a male with sleek, silver hair and clad in a regal set of green robes. The most common form of elf stood about a foot taller than most humans, though the size did vary some. There was elven blood coursing through the veins of Valea thanks to her father, whose line claimed such far, far back. That was not the source of the Bedlams’ magical might, but it certainly added to it.
The intricacies of her lineage of no importance to her at the moment, Cabe’s daughter paused to watch the elf. He paid her no mind, instead seeming to be having an argument with someone unseen who also stood by the steps. What that argument concerned was lost due to the fact that only silence escaped the elf’s mouth.
Neither his actions nor his lack of voice in any way disturbed Valea. She had witnessed this particular scene often, although its meaning forever eluded her. Neither was the enchantress disturbed by the fact that she could see through the elf.
After all, he was just one of the many ghosts of the Manor.
“Ghost” was perhaps not quite the correct word, although the humans and drakes who worked within the Manor found it more than satisfactory. Until recently, these phantasms had only been visible to those with an aptitude for magic, but now they were revealing themselves to all, something disconcerting to her parents. They had been forced to quiet the concerns of more than one startled victim. The Bedlams, long familiar with the sights, knew that none of the figures or scenes represented an immediate threat. In truth, visions such as the elf were more like memories that played out over and over due to some significance
of the events they concerned. The Manor had its own reason for retaining these memories, but only recently had Valea uncovered some evidence of why, and that was the reason she now had risked much by secretly entering the Libraries of Penacles.
Valea kept a deep secret from her parents. Not long ago, when they had been elsewhere, she had without warning witnessed—no, experienced—a unique memory involving no one less than the infamous Shade. Valea had grown up alongside her older brother, Aurim, hearing tales of the good and evil wrought by the accursed warlock. He had tried to sacrifice her father’s life in an attempt to free himself and yet he had also earlier given his own existence to help protect the City of Knowledge.
It was true that Valea had, as often a young woman was prone to, seen Shade as a tragic, romantic figure despite the darkness of some of his deeds. He could not help what the curse made of him. Still, even with those notions, she had not been entirely displeased that, for much of her life, the land had believed that it had finally seen the end of one of its greatest villains . . . and heroes.
The elf ceased speaking. He started up the stairs, then suddenly bent forward as if punched in the stomach. Each move was noted by Valea despite her having written down the scene in tremendous detail over the years. She was certain that he had either suffered an attack of illness or, as her imagination better preferred, had been struck down by poison or magic. Whichever the reason, the image faded just as he began to pitch forward onto the steps.
The elf was a memory with no apparent link to the present, unlike the one that she had lived through concerning Shade. That memory had concerned another elf, a maiden, who for a time had lived here with her brother, a mage in his own right. She had become enamored with the faceless, hooded sorcerer assisting her brother in a secret project. Unfortunately, much had gone awry and death had come to the Manor, for Shade had evidently “died” at some point between visits and returned not to aid but to trick.
By itself, the long, stunning vision might have just been a singular, special memory, but the end had laid forth enough evidence to point to the fact that Shade still existed in Valea’s time, and events afterward had proven that all too true. However, she had noticed something different, something that to her family, to the Gryphon, and even likely to the Dragon Kings had been shrugged off as merely a variation on the same theme.
The curse was changing. It was not merely in a different stage, as her father surmised. It was changing. Valea felt certain that Shade’s ultimate fate had altered from what it was supposed to have been. She knew this better than anyone, having discovered more of his past than even any of the others had.
A voice arose from one of the larger chambers in the back of the main level, the one that her father currently used for a personal library. Valea forgot about ghosts and memories as she wondered who would be in there. The voice was not her father’s and no one other than the family was allowed in there without permission.
She started toward the library only to sense that something else had just entered the Manor behind her.
“Well, Valea Bedlam! You are not the one I hoped to find here, but it is good to see you nevertheless!”
The voice boomed through the building, echoing in its many halls. The enchantress ceased the spell she was about to cast, aware that the sudden arrival was not only a friend of the Bedlams but likely would have laughed off her attempts to defend herself.
She turned around, then looked up.
The shadowy stallion stood several hands taller than any mortal steed and was almost half again as broad at the shoulder. That was the least of the hints that this creature was far more than the equine he appeared. His piercing blue orbs radiated just a hint of the powerful magic forces that were not simply a part of him but were him.
Finally finding her voice, Valea greeted the creature. “Darkhorse! Were my parents expecting you?”
“No one truly ever expects me . . . until it is too late!” Despite the seeming threat in his words, the ebony stallion laughed heartily.
Valea smiled, aware that she and those around her were in no danger but that those who were enemies of anyone this being considered a friend truly risked oblivion at his touch. Darkhorse—the oft literal-minded creature, had apparently chosen his name himself when first he had taken this form—was something akin to living magic. He had come to the Dragonrealm millennia ago from an endless, nearly empty dimension called the Void, a frightening place from what little the enchantress knew about it.
“In truth, I returned but this moment from my own quest seeking Shade to see if your parents have noted any sign of him.”
Valea saw no trouble in answering. “He was nearly caught in Irillian. At the last moment, he escaped.”
“Indeed?” Darkhorse snorted in frustration. “Alas! Would that he had been captured safely, though I still distrust our having made a pact with the master of that realm!”
“Yes.” She agreed a bit too quickly. Fortunately, the stallion did not notice. “My parents are in Penacles, if you’d seek them.”
“I shall do so. They may be able to make some sense of something I thought I noted in the Hell Plains.”
Trying not to display too much interest, she asked, “What was it?”
He tilted his head in thought. “I am not certain. I thought as I raced near that foul place I sensed Shade! I rushed to where he should have been but found nothing.”
“And yet, your tone says otherwise.”
“Aye! I thought I sensed . . . some darker magic at work, but it was faint and may even perhaps have simply been residue from your grandfather’s sanctum!”
Mention of Azran made Valea momentarily shiver. She had been born years after his death but had learned enough about him to be glad that such had been the case. He had supposedly murdered his own brother, betrayed his sire, and would have used her father, just an infant, for his own sinister plans if not for her great-grandfather and others. She had never been to the ruins but was not surprised that there might be some latent magic still radiating from them.
“Surely nothing, then,” she replied.
“Nothing . . . and still . . .” Darkhorse pawed at the floor. Fortunately, even though his hoof cut through the marble and wood, the magic of the Manor sealed up the wound instantly. “Ah, Shade!” the black steed rumbled as he looked up at the ceiling. “If only there were some other way.”
The enchantress kept silent. The ice-blue orbs blinked, then Darkhorse returned to the moment at hand. “If what you say about Irillian is accurate, he will be more wary than ever! I fear that he will be harder to find, perhaps impossible!”
“You’re probably right.” She frowned, then added, “My father would still no doubt like to hear what you told me. He or Lord Gryphon might have some insight we don’t.”
Darkhorse nodded, his dark mane flying wildly. “You talk sense. I will go there—” He suddenly paused to stare at her again. “Is all well?”
“I—I’m only concerned about my brother,” she managed to answer.
“Ah, yes. He and Yssa present a predicament, considering her sire’s duplicity.” When Valea looked away, the stallion snorted. “Forgive me! I should not have pressed!”
“It’s all right.”
“Century after century among your kind and I still persist in stepping where I should not!” Darkhorse snorted again, then added, “I will go to Penacles at once. Farewell, Valea!”
She gave him a slight smile. The shadowy steed reared up, then vanished.
Only then did the enchantress exhale deeply. “You should forgive me, Darkhorse,” she whispered. Then, with a frown, Valea added, “And you, too, Aurim.”
Valea did not like having used her brother’s precarious position as a distraction, but at that particular moment she had not been able to think of any other excuse. Certainly she had not wanted to tell Darkhorse the truth. While he might have been sympathetic to her cause, he also likely would have insisted that her parents be informed of her activities.
&nb
sp; She could not permit that.
Aurim, even with his own troubles, would have laughed at her efforts. Too many bard’s tales for you, Val! What, you think you’ll break the curse and Shade’ll turn into a handsome prince?
There was no doubt in her mind that her romantic tendencies saw the dread fate of the sorcerer somewhat the way her brother would have described it. However, Valea’s quest had more depth to it by far. Yes, she had started in part researching all that was known—or, more often the case, conjectured—about Shade because of the intrigue, but in the process Valea had uncovered enough to make her believe that there was much to his curse that even he did not understand.
And if half of what she had divined was true, it served everyone best if Shade were saved, not imprisoned or, worse, finally somehow slain.
If only I could explain to someone what I think . . . But no one would believe her. No one, not even her parents, would take seriously her notions concerning Shade . . . and the land itself. There was no one.
No. Valea corrected herself with a rueful expression. There was one person who would listen and perhaps even have access to information the enchantress needed.
The only problem was, if she went to him and her parents discovered that visit, their fury would know no bounds.
Still . . .
The voice that she had heard just prior to Darkhorse’s arrival rose again. Grateful for the moment to think of other, more mundane matters, Valea headed for the library. Whoever was in there was breaking serious rules set for their own safety, not her father’s simple desires. Many of the tomes and scrolls collected in there could prove dangerous to one untrained in manipulating the energies of the world.
Steeling herself, Valea became her parents’ daughter. She had to ensure that this incident would not be repeated.
Expression set, she entered the chamber and immediately proclaimed, “This is the sanctum of the wizard who has given you a home and should not be—”
Her voice faltered as she stared into the chamber. The empty chamber.
She focused, drawing upon the lines of energy crisscrossing everything and turning it into a spell. Some saw the magic of the land in such a manner, while others perceived a spectrum running from light to dark. In scarcely a breath, Valea created an invisible web that draped over all parts of the room. If there was someone hidden from her sight, she would know it instantly.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade Page 5