Ravos brought the sword across the torso of the first, spilling out the man’s innards with ease. As the first man fell, the second simply stared. His eyes said that he knew death was coming, but since it was at the hand of the heir to the Black Dragon, there had to be good reason for it.
The duke took his head. The body tumbled back while the head rolled to Ravos’s feet. He grinned at the expertise of his strike.
A few drops of blood had splattered the duke’s face. The drake licked off those within reach of his long, forked tongue, then wiped off the rest with his hand.
Ravos returned to his mount and rode off. The taste of blood only stirred his anticipation. Soon, there would be carnage, but, even better, soon, he would be king.
GENERAL MARNER JUMPED as the wizard appeared in his tent. Even a lifetime in service to the Gryphon had not inured him to a spellcaster’s frustrating habit of arriving in such an abrupt manner. It made even a seasoned veteran soldier feel as if his training was being mocked.
“Forgive the unannounced entrance, General,” Cabe Bedlam immediately said. “It was necessary for me to come here personally and when you could be found alone. I’ve also made certain that no one outside this tent, not even your sentries, will hear our conversation.”
Marner knew that the wizard was older than he looked but still could not help feeling as if some fresh youth had command over him. He liked the wizard—and thought his taste in wives an excellent one, though he never expressed that opinion out loud—but there were moments when Marner had to remind himself that they were contemporaries.
Those fleeting notions aside, the general knew that the wizard would not have come here unless something disturbing had happened.
“All’s well in Penacles?” he immediately asked.
“No.” Cabe told him what had happened to the Gryphon. Marner’s expression went from disbelief to horror.
“By the Dragon of the Depths!” The commander quickly glanced toward the tent flap. He knew that the guards could not hear anything but considered what would happen when the news did reach the troops.
“We can’t let them know,” Marner finally replied. “They can’t go into battle knowing this. Morale will plummet.”
“We thought the same. None of us like keeping the truth from brave soldiers facing death, General, and if I thought that the Gryphon’s state was permanent, I’d insist you tell them. They’d deserve that.”
“Aye, they would . . . and do.”
The wizard nodded. “But there’s every hope that at some point either my wife’s efforts or the Gryphon’s own tenacity will overcome what’s happened to him. Until we know with all certainty what his fate’s to be, we’ll only add an unnecessary burden atop their shoulders.”
“It’s for the best.” Marner swore. “Forgive me, wizard.”
“Forgive me. It’s not fair that you have to have this additional problem while trying to coordinate things. I even wondered whether you should be told, but Troia insisted.”
“Please tell the queen I’m very grateful for her confidence.” Neither the Gryphon nor his mate had any official title, but most of their subjects happily considered them king and queen. Other than human they might have been—Marner would have never used the word “in human” to describe the pair—but they were far more fair in their rule than nearly any other monarch of which the general had heard, even the lords of Talak.
“One more thing,” the spellcaster said, his tone more dour. “Lochivar will be attacking within the next few hours.”
This was a piece of information that did not surprise the commander. “I calculated that the duke would move about then.”
Cabe actually smiled briefly. “Not surprised that the Gryphon and Toos favored you for promotion.” Sobering again, the spellcaster added, “I’ll be ready to help in all ways possible and I have four students who should be able to assist with some results. I’ll also be summoning my daughter after this. She’s very capable.”
“Everything you’ve got I’m not too proud to accept. I was only a green officer when Lochivar last tried to take our kingdom, but I recall the dragons, the magic, and the bloodshed.”
“I remember it all too well, too,” Cabe replied, eyes briefly lowering. “I remember it, too.” He looked up at Marner again, his expression growing resolute. “Lochivar will regret trying again, General. We’ll see to that.”
The wizard vanished.
Marner seized his helmet and exited the tent. The four sentries stood at attention.
“Anything to report?” he asked the most senior.
“All quiet, sir.”
Cabe Bedlam’s spell had held true. Marner felt both grateful and guilt-ridden. Helmet on, the general summoned an aide.
“It’s beginning,” he told the younger officer. “Get everyone together.”
Even before they actually blared, the horns of war long echoed in Marner’s thoughts.
The horns . . . and the cries of the dying that would follow.
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Cabe sought out his daughter. He had hoped to leave her safe in the Manor but could not expect to protect Valea while others died. She had already protested his decision and would surely be glad to hear that he needed her help.
I only pray that she remains unharmed in the process.
Beyond the Manor walls, the sounds of activity spoke of life, of hope. Within, however, the starkness of the ancient edifice became all the more apparent without the rest of his family present. Gwen he had just left a few minutes prior, but Aurim’s absence resonated. He felt guilty that he had ordered Valea to stay here alone. She had been in the middle of the argument between father and son, trying to make each see the merits of the other’s side.
She’s not a monster, Father! Cabe could hear his son saying again. She’s no more that than we are!
I tried to tolerate things, hoping that you’d realize your error, the elder wizard had replied with equal passion. She’s recklessly led you into danger, made you ignore the security of your family and friends!
Yssa means well, Father, Valea had interjected. But to her brother she had added, But you know that she should have never encouraged meeting behind Mother and Father’s back, Aurim . . .
It had been an argument that no one could win. A furious Aurim had fled to his love, the daughter of a former ally who had proven himself a betrayer in Cabe Bedlam’s eyes. Even the injuries and loss of limb Yssa’s father had suffered had in no manner assuaged the wizard.
Aurim had assumed that the disagreement between his father and hers had been only one factor in his disapproval of Yssa. Indeed, the younger Bedlam had made it abundantly clear that he believed his sire considered her a monster.
After all, she was the daughter of a Dragon King.
The Green Dragon was Yssa’s father, her mother a human he had loved. Drakes and humans could breed together; that was something of which Cabe and Gwen had secretly been aware for many years. Indeed, they knew why the two races could breed and for that reason Cabe would never have condemned Yssa as some sort of creature. After all, drakes and humans were the same people.
“Valea?” Even his children did not know the truth. Most of the drakes were as ignorant of it as humans were. Cabe and Gwen had not discovered the facts until only a few years ago themselves, when he had journeyed to the west, to the glittering Legar Peninsula.
When he had found himself face-to-face with the hermitlike drake lord who ruled that land, the Crystal Dragon had known the truth and shown it to the wizard; the drake knew the very origins of the first Dragon Kings and who they had been, they and all those who had been transformed into intelligent dragons.
The Vraad.
“Valea?” he called again, his voice amplified by a simple spell. His call would also enter every room, every hidden corner of the Manor. She could not fail to hear him.
His thoughts drifted back to the encounter with that Dragon King as he remembered the final, shocking secret that the Crystal Dragon had revealed,
a secret about himself. Even Cabe could never have believed—
A voice caught his attention. A male voice that was not his son’s, although that was his first thought. It came from none other than where he kept his own library.
Cabe materialized in the other chamber, spells ready. Two male figures stood on the other side of the room. The pair was engrossed in conversation. That they ignored his dramatic entrance made absolute sense to Cabe when he realized that he could see through them.
They were ghosts. Memories of the Manor.
One of them was Cabe’s own grandfather.
There was some slight resemblance—just enough to mark Cabe and his grandfather as of the same blood—but the elder wizard had a regal bearing that the grandson doubted he could match. Cabe had never met Nathan, leader of the Dragon Masters—a band of wizards who sought to free the Dragonrealm—but he knew of him. Nathan looked young and healthy at this point, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes, concern focused on the slightly younger figure before him. A younger figure whom Cabe did recognize, much to his regret.
His father. Azran. The madman who would kill his own brother, betray the Dragon Masters, and seek to use his infant son’s life to further his own dark goals.
Where Nathan’s hair color was similar to Cabe’s and both were clean-shaven, Azran’s hair was the darkest black and he had just begun to grow his beard. The only common factor among the three generations of Bedlams was the telltale silver streak in the hair of each.
Although both specters looked little different in age, Cabe knew that Azran had been the younger of Nathan’s sons. Magic had a way of blurring the lines, with experience the only real difference between the pair before him. Azran had been far too impatient with his father’s methods and far more reckless.
The ghosts were having an argument over just that subject. While fascinated to find a memory retained by the Manor that he had not seen before, Cabe saw no point to it for now. There were far too many things going on that demanded his immediate concentration.
But just as he was about to depart, Azran said, “And what about the texts you and Yalak discovered last year? Actual texts by the founders! They sit gathering more dust than they gathered for thousands and thousands of years!”
“Most of those texts remain untranslated, Azran.”
Cabe stilled. He knew nothing about any such texts. There was little hint of the founding race left, and much of what he knew was from things the Gryphon had discovered overseas. Their civilization had once spanned the world for millennia and then, for reasons still unapparent, had died out.
“Then give them to me to translate! You’ve seen the value of what’s already been done! The tower promises all the power we need!”
Cabe stepped nearer. There was reason to hear this particular scene after all. He knew that Shade had been searching for clues from the founders’ past and the Gryphon had discovered mention of a tower in one fragment they knew the warlock had been perusing.
“This is the sanctum of the wizard who has given you a home and should not be—” shouted a familiar and welcome voice from behind him.
He spun around. “Valea!”
The wizard gaped at his daughter . . . or what was no longer his daughter. Yes, outwardly it appeared to be an equally startled Valea, but almost immediately Cabe noticed that he saw through her.
Never in his life had he come across so recent a memory retained by the Manor. Cabe reached a hand to Valea and watched it enter her stomach unhindered. He watched as she peered around the room, her ghost equally oblivious to those of her grandfather and great-grandfather.
Suddenly aware of silence from the duo, Cabe looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, they had vanished.
Familiar with the fact that the “ghosts” had little to do with the concept of time, Cabe had no doubt that Nathan and Azran had been what had brought Valea into the room. He returned his attention to his daughter’s image, hoping that she might still offer some clue to the older memory.
Valea continued to look confused. At last, she started to turn away.
Something just beyond the doorway moved out of sight.
Cabe flung himself through the vision of Valea just as she too vanished. He turned in the direction that he had seen the other figure go.
The area was empty.
A chill coursed down his spine. He sent a mental summons seeking Valea and felt no response. Frustrated at his earlier distraction, he transported himself to her chambers. In general, Cabe was respectful of his daughter’s privacy, but this was not the time for such mundane matters.
But like the rest of the Manor, Valea’s chambers were devoid of any living soul.
His heart pounding, Cabe returned to the central hall. There, he took a last look around, then cried out to the air, “Where is she? What are you trying to tell me? Damn you! Be plain for once!”
But the Manor remained silent and no new ghosts appeared to give some hint as to what the ancient edifice sought to say. Cabe had long ago recognized that the Manor had some sentience of its own, but what its purpose was remained another mystery. Until now, Cabe had never seen his magical residence as anything but mildly benevolent, harmless.
Yet, if it would not now give him the answers he needed, the wizard knew that he could never entirely trust it, perhaps not even enough to live within its walls.
Cabe stood frozen, trying to decide what next to do. This was an unexpected turn at the worst moment. His daughter was missing and what clues he had indicated something dire had happened.
And worse, he could not forget the figure he had glimpsed just behind her image, a figure he feared had everything to do with her disappearance. At first, he had thought that even despite the absence of a hood covering the head it might have been Shade . . . and in truth even that might have been better. At least he understood Shade well enough.
However, what he had taken for the blurred features of the warlock had proven, after a moment’s consideration, anything but . . . or rather, had been nothing whatsoever.
The intruder had had no face.
XIII
CHAOS BELOW
EDRIN’S BROW WRINKLED as he studied Shade. “Thing doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“I have little desire to befriend it. Would you care to?”
The sorcerer’s response earned a chuckle from Edrin. “No,” the dwarf responded. “I suppose not.”
“This’s what we were huntin’ when we found you,” Magron explained. “Second one we’ve spotted.” To Valea, he said, “You mentioned a name. A Nekeri or something.”
“Necri,” his brother corrected. “She said it was a Necri. Never heard of such a fiend. What is it?”
“A demon of sorts, I suppose,” she answered. “It’s a false life. It exists as a servant of the Lords of the Dead.”
“Them?” blurted Magron. “They’re just legend!”
“This monster looks true enough,” Edrin countered. “I’ll take the lady’s word. That leads to another interestin’ question—why’re they here? What’ve we got that those necromancers would want to send their foul beasties after?”
The Necri chose that moment to renew its thrashing. The wall mount from one of the chains groaned ominously, as if it was slowly working its way out.
“Keep that thing under control!” ordered Edrin. He concentrated on Shade once more. “He’s still fixed on you really hard! Why’s that?”
“I have nothing to do with the Lords of the Dead,” Shade countered.
“That’s not a real good answer—”
Now all the wall mounts groaned. Two guards moved in. They pressed the Necri back with their weapons.
“Better now,” the dwarven leader rumbled. Once again, he interrogated Shade. “I think you might know a bit more than you say.”
There was a snapping sound, followed by the grating of more metal.
The Necri swung the chain still dangling from what passed for a wrist and struck the closest guard. The mo
vement also enabled the fiend to swat the other guard with the side of the wing that made up the rest of the arm and paw.
“Watch those other chains!” Magron shouted.
The Necri tore its other wing-arm free. Bits of rock pelted the group. The creature moved with more confidence, more surety and Shade suspected that it had only one purpose in mind.
As he expected, the chiropteran demon lunged for him. The chains holdings legs easily tore from the walls.
Valea lunged in front of him. Her hands glowed.
A golden sphere surrounded the Necri. Its pale, leathery skin wrinkled, as if the glow itself was anathema to its monstrous unlife.
Magron tried to strike the Necri from behind. His axe cut into the sphere just as Valea shouted a warning.
The sphere exploded. Magron fell back blinded.
The Necri ignored all else. All that existed for it was Shade.
Drawing an arc before him, the sorcerer created a rip in the air. A strong suction caught the Necri. The demon flapped its wings in an attempt to pull back.
Shade drew another arc to the left of the first. The rip opened immediately. As with the first, it pulled the Necri sharply to it. The demon was caught between the two. The dueling suctions forced the wings wide open.
Shade touched the air behind each of the rips. The suction from each magnified.
The Necri strained. Its limbs stretched taut.
A sickening tearing sound echoed through the chamber as the Necri began to split in two. Shade exhaled as his spells took command.
The two parts of the Necri abruptly separated as if no more than parchment. Simultaneously, the ruined parts flared with black fire.
There suddenly stood two Necri.
Shade’s spell dissipated. He cursed as one Necri sought him out while the second turned upon Valea. Kadaria and her comrades had planned just for him. They knew his style, for even after so long, after so much denial, Shade still remained in part a Vraad.
But a Vraad would have cared little what happened to others. The Lords of the Dead might consider that a weakness—they being Vraad, too—but Shade at least at present believed it the one difference between him and them. It also represented what he hoped was his path to redemption, if that was still possible.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade Page 15