Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Yes. He said that you’d readjusted the matrix on that medallion you wear. He altered it again.”

  Shade replaced the talisman beneath his shirt, then, with some effort, managed to get to his feet. He did not ask for Valea’s aid and she did not offer it. This reunion had been one for which she had been waiting, but now all the notions of what she had planned to do when it happened seemed pointless. Nothing had prepared her for this.

  “‘He altered it again.’” This time, Shade did not hide his bitterness. “Even this much I could never do.” He laughed harshly. “And yet, the world fears me so.”

  “You—you couldn’t help what you did.” Even despite his attitude toward her, Valea could not keep her sympathy for the warlock from returning.

  “Are you certain? Do you know which of me is true?”

  “I met the true you . . . and he proved what I said.”

  He surprised her by looking embarrassed. It was such an ordinary, human reaction that she could do nothing but stare back at him.

  “That was me. That is not me now.” Shade clutched at his wrist. “You would do best to leave.”

  “I can’t.”

  Shade glared at the walls. “She has nothing to do with our bargain!”

  Every facet in the walls filled with the eye of the Dragon King. “Did you learn anything in Penaclesss?”

  “I was interrupted by the Gryphon . . . and then her.”

  The sorcerer left out much and whatever her feelings toward Shade, Valea saw no value in clarifying the terrible situation for the drake. Still, she hoped that the Gryphon had recovered and wished that somehow she could have left some warning to Troia or at least one of the guards.

  “A pity,” remarked the Dragon King. “Ssstill, there are other clues . . . I have just uncovered one.”

  Shade did not react with jubilance. “We will follow it, but first, she must be returned to her family! Now!”

  “She cannot be trusssted not to warn her father. The wizard Bedlam might be willing to abandon even Penacles to Brother Black for her sssake.”

  “You’ll do nothing to her.”

  “She will be detained for a time . . . that isss all.”

  The warlock approached the eyes. “You’ll let her go!”

  The eyes vanished. Valea felt a chill. What the Dragon King had said was true; given her freedom, she would go straight to her father and tell him of this stunning alliance.

  The lord of Legar could not permit that.

  Shade stood with his back to her, as if still awaiting the return of the eyes. Then, without warning, he reached up by his throat. A breath later, he tore the medallion free.

  “I want nothing of your bribes, then.”

  He tossed the talisman at the walls with all his might. Valea pulled back in expectation of the horrific collision.

  The medallion melted into the crystals.

  Its face reflected everywhere. The gems glowed with barely contained power that even Valea could only imagine.

  Only then did she recall just what would happen to Shade without it. She rushed past him.

  “Give it back! Please! He needs it!”

  The medallion disappeared. As it did, the Dragon King’s mocking chuckle echoed through the cavern.

  “He is the only one keeping it from him.” The drake lord’s voice came from behind them. His tone now hinted at triumph.

  As the pair turned, the medallion flew from the Crystal Dragon’s palm back to Shade. The sorcerer caught it with a hand pale and slightly translucent. Glaring at the drake, Shade—his face already losing definition—reluctantly put it back on.

  “There is no need to keep her,” the sorcerer said insistently once he was fully solid again.

  “There is every need. Her father will strive to stop us.”

  This caused Shade to hesitate. His Vraad eyes locked with Valea’s human ones.

  And to her own amazement, Valea responded, “I won’t tell my father—”

  However, even as Shade looked to believe her, the Dragon King interjected, “No. You will not.”

  “Don’t—” But Shade’s protest came too late. The chamber flared so bright that Valea had to shield her eyes. She heard Shade shout something, but although there was no other sound, the enchantress could not make out just what it was.

  The burning brightness ceased. As Valea’s vision cleared, she saw Shade still stood next to her.

  Unfortunately, he was the only thing around her that had not changed.

  “Where are we?” she finally managed to ask.

  Shade looked around. “A place where there may be a clue.”

  Hills surrounded them wherever they looked. While not as fantastic a sight as the Tyber Mountains, they were impressive in themselves for their numbers.

  Valea’s brow furrowed. “I should know this place.”

  “We are northwest of the land of Esedi, northwest of the kingdom of Gordag-Ai.” Shade did not look at all comfortable. “Valea Bedlam, you must depart quickly.”

  “What do you—”

  “Do it!” he roared.

  In the face of his anger, Valea immediately obeyed. However, when she tried to cast a spell, it failed.

  “My power! He’s taken it!”

  The hooded spellcaster shook his head. “Hardly. Try to raise that rock over to your right.”

  She gestured. To her relief, it rose waist-high into the air. Valea let it drop, then eyed Shade quizzically.

  “He has bound you to me.”

  Shade might have found that answer to his satisfaction, but Valea did not. Angrily striding up to her companion, she seized him by the shoulder. Once, committing such an act toward the legendary Shade would have been beyond her, but Valea had grown tired of being tossed about as if of no consequence. “Bound to you? What are you talking about?”

  He started to speak, then suddenly lunged forward and shoved her aside.

  As Valea landed, she heard a heavy thump. Shade fell on his back beside her, his arms bound by a thin, silver strand, each end of which was an octagonal weight the size of a hand and made of bronze. By itself, the device should not have been able to hold Shade, but Valea could sense the powerful spellwork on it, spellwork of a style with which she was not familiar.

  Shade opened his mouth but other than that remained motionless. Valea, still acting stunned, readied an attack as the sound of heavy steps neared.

  “Do—nothing,” Shade hissed with much effort.

  Despite her misgivings, she did as he bade. Seconds later, something prodded her in the side.

  “Yer not knocked senseless, lass. Don’t let it still happen.”

  Cautiously rising, Valea found herself surrounded by four squat but muscular figures who came no higher than her shoulder. What they lacked in height, though, they made up for in width; they were nearly twice as wide as the enchantress. They were clad in leather armor with fur at the shoulders—at least she thought it was fur; it could have been a continuation of their thick grey beards or braided hair.

  Valea had never seen a dwarf before, nor did she recall her parents ever speaking of having done so, either. Legend had always said that the dwarves dwelled in these hills, but they had done so under the literally iron rule of the drake lord here. The Iron Dragon had made the mistake of allying with Bronze during the early days in the hunt for her father and seeking to overrun their weakened emperor. They had perished for their folly, but freedom from their overlord had not enticed the dwarves to enter the world. No one to her knowledge had sought them out, either. There were enough legends as to what happened to those who intruded in the hills . . .

  “What be yer names?” the lead dwarf asked.

  “Valea. Valea Bedlam.” She ignored Shade’s cautioning glance. Her family had no quarrels with the dwarves, and in fact, her father’s presence had inadvertently led to the Iron Dragon’s misguided and fatal insurrection.

  “Bedlam . . .” The dwarf licked his lips in thought. His companions looked to one anoth
er. It was obvious that their people kept wise enough about the world beyond to know the name. “You’d be his child, then?”

  “If you mean am I the daughter of Cabe Bedlam, then yes.”

  Murmuring arose among the rest of the dwarves. The leader silenced them with a wave of his weapon, which was an oddly curved axe topped by a foot-long point that gleamed like a diamond. “Interestin’.” He looked to Shade, who was being pulled to his feet by two of the other dwarves. “And this one? Who be you?”

  The hooded spellcaster said nothing and kept his eyes lowered. The dwarf could not have helped but notice Shade’s unique eyes, but Valea believed that if they knew anything of his legend, then they would not identify this youthful figure with the ever-faceless spellcaster.

  “We’ve nothing to hide, Gerrod,” she abruptly said. “You should’ve answered him.”

  Shade managed to keep his surprise in check at her choice of names. To the lead dwarf, he responded, “My apologies.”

  “Hmmph! Best listen to your woman next time.”

  “We have done nothing,” Shade remarked, his arms still bound. “And only just arrived. The dwarven people are very alert.”

  The leader ignored his comment, instead saying to his comrades, “We’ll head back. Edrin will decide.”

  “What about—?” one of the others began, only to be cut off by a sharp glance from the first dwarf.

  No one else spoke as the party led the two spellcasters off. Valea considered using her power against the dwarves, but her parents had taught her to not wield it recklessly against possible innocents. To her, they appeared more wary than dangerous. Besides, Shade remained bound and she was not certain that she could keep him from harm if she did attack.

  The dwarves led them into a shallow, wooded valley. Throughout the journey, Shade did not look at her, but instead seemed intent on the leader’s back. Valea could find no reason for his odd behavior save that with his long history, the warlock had perhaps had dealings with this race. If so, she could not help but feel that those dealings had ended particularly badly.

  “Heard much about your father,” the leader suddenly remarked as they entered a thicker patch of forest. “They say he’s slain dragons single-handed.”

  “That’s true.”

  The dwarf hesitated in his tracks and, with wider eyes, studied Valea. “I do believe ye mean it!”

  “He faced Toma, son of the Dragon Emperor.”

  “That’s a name known to us,” growled the leader. The other dwarves muttered agreement. “Few fouler beasts than he. Heard he was slain, but that were too much to hope to be true.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Same as all our great masters did: slaved us to death for what we could dig out for ’em. Took our freedom from us just when we got it back for the first time since afore the damned drakes showed up here.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” The enchantress ended with a questioning tone indicating her wish to call him by name.

  He shrugged. “Magron Sym, my lady.”

  “‘Sym’?”

  Magron chuckled. “You probably expected it to be ‘Stonecutter’ or ‘Ironhammer,’ eh? Fool names! Don’t know where you other races got such notions from. Sym’s me father’s name and so it’s me second name, of course! His was Sym Arnoth ’cause his father was Arnoth. What’s more logical than that, eh?”

  “What is?” she said in agreement, musing on just what else about the dwarves outsiders might have gotten wrong.

  Magron suddenly raised his axe. Valea had no idea what was happening, but Shade simply looked expectant.

  The two trees nearest them shimmered . . . and a hole in reality opened up. Valea was well familiar with blink holes, as these larger portals were known, but the fact that she had not sensed any magical activity when the blink hole had opened again emphasized the mysteries of this ancient race.

  “’Tis likely Edrin’ll speak with you and then send you on your way, so don’t you worry. Just with things the way they are, couldn’t take no chances but to bring you to him, especially being magic folk and all.”

  “What is going on?” Shade asked.

  Magron’s brow rose at the sorcerer’s unexpected entrance into the conversation. “That’s for Edrin to say.” He squinted. “Mighty fancy eyes you made yourself. Makes me wonder what they do.”

  “Will we see Edrin right away?” Valea interrupted, fearing that the dwarf might make some link between “Gerrod” and Shade.

  “Depends, but pretty likely. Now, follow us and don’t be stepping away at any moment. Lots of safeguards below.”

  Traps, he means, the enchantress thought. And with the dwarves, those traps were probably mainly of the fatal variety.

  Two at a time they stepped into the hole. There was no sensation of transporting from one place to another. It was as if they had merely walked through a door.

  However, that “door” led into a chamber worthy of the Dragon Emperor, so immense and lengthy it was. Valea wondered if the drake lords of this region had made use of this place when they had ruled here.

  That made her think of a question that had always troubled her about this land. No one ever called it by a name. It had always been “the realm of the Iron Dragon” or “the land of the hill dwarves.” It was almost as if no one wanted to name it.

  “What is this place called? This land, I mean?”

  Magron did not seem to mind her question. “In the old tongue, afore the drake lords imposed the Common speech upon us, it was called Gwanar’estu’Hariak. We call it Hariak, these days.”

  “Does it mean anything?”

  “Somethin’ about a bird, me father’s father once told me. No one speaks the old tongue anymore. Besides, who cares about birds down here, ’less they’re for eatin’.”

  As they spoke, it seemed to her that the cavern grew more illuminated than any adjustment by her eyes warranted. Slowly she realized that before them strands of light had begun to seep from the walls and ceilings.

  No, not lights . . . worms! Each was no longer than half a foot, but there were hundreds, then thousands. They crawled out of small holes pock-marking the walls and aligned themselves nearly perfectly on the rock for some distance down the path.

  And in doing so, revealed an even more astounding sight.

  Gargantuan effigies. Effigies of beings from many races, some of them familiar, such as the Seekers and the Quel. Others she had heard of from her father’s research and still more she recognized from another place.

  They were akin to the statues in the sanctum of the Dragon Emperor and clearly carved by the same hands.

  “Quite a view, ain’t they?” Magron asked with pride. “My people, we were even better skilled far back, afore the damned drakes. ’Tis a lost art, sadly.”

  The scope of things before her left Valea dumbfounded. The dwarves had carved the effigies deep in Kivan Grath, effigies predating the drakes, predating the Seekers, the Quels, and other races.

  Effigies her father believed had existed since the founder race had ruled the world with power even the Vraad and the Dragon Kings could not imagine.

  “‘Gwanar’estu’Hariak’ refers to more than merely a bird,” Shade murmured in her ear. “Literally . . . it means ‘Nest of the Phoenix.’”

  X

  THE WALLS OF PENACLES

  FAR BEYOND the rear ranks of Penacles’s defenders, near the city walls—but not too near—a shadow detached itself from one darkened area. Kadaria came into partial focus, her covetous eyes shifting from the city to the direction of Lochivar and back again.

  She was joined a moment later by a second shadow. This one resembled the other male with whom she had spoken last time but was yet another of the necromancers.

  The two armies are within half a day of confrontation, he informed her. Now and then, there was hint of a broad, bearded face within a dragon-crest helm. Outsiders unfortunate enough to confront one of the necromancers would have noticed that this one bore a scar acr
oss his nose. In truth, it was the memory of a scar, since, as with Kadaria, there was nothing mortal remaining of him.

  “And the Child of the Void has been directed to his doom,” she quietly replied, much satisfaction in her tone.

  He shifted in surprise. You waste precious energy projecting when there are no fools around who cannot cope with our words in their heads. You know since our last encounter with our dear cousin that all energy must be preserved until we are returned to our glory . . .

  “And that will be soon enough.” Her lips twisted upward. “I see no reason not to get a little practice. It has been quite a while since we walked this plain in the flesh.”

  You cannot entice him, Kadaria, the male remarked with what might have been a hint of jealousy in his otherwise cold tone. Flesh or spirit, he desires another . . .

  She was put off by neither his comment nor this trace of his ancient lust for her. Kadaria had long ago chosen for herself one she felt was more worthy of her, even if she had to use blood and death to bend him to her will. “He shall have her. I shall have him. Then . . . we shall have him. That was what we agreed.”

  He was the least of us once . . .

  “Once. Is there anything more you wish to report, Hirac?”

  He has sent him to the dwarves.

  Kadaria’s smile grew. It was both beautiful and dreadful and even the other necromancer shivered at its sight. “How perfect! Perhaps this time our dear cousin will unlock the secret.”

  She is with him.

  The smile reversed, then all expression faded from her pale countenance. In its way, it was a sight even more unsettling, for it best hinted at her deathless nature. “She will goad him on. She will make him see what he could not before. It only enhances his chance of success, which was already greatly in our favor.”

  As you say. What would you have of me now?

  “Take your brother and keep witness as to Ravos’s trustworthiness. Until he reaches the point we need of him, he must not deviate from the path we’ve set him on.”

  He will not. Hirac bowed his head, then faded into the shadows again.

  Kadaria drifted a bit farther back from the shadow of the wall. As she did, a sentry came into view. The sentry marched up to the necromancer without seeing her, then walked through her.