Guards scattered as Erini appeared among them, leaving her a view of a stricken Melicard. An arrow thrust deep into his back, one designed to penetrate the hardest armor. His breathing haggard, he lay in the arms of two officers while a third sought to cautiously work at the wound in the hopes of at least removing the arrow. Only then could anything be done to aid the king.
Erini cursed her inability to use her power to heal him. Frustrated, she looked about and noticed a set of grim soldiers marching toward them. At the center of the group were two figures in chains.
“These’re the assassins, my lady,” the captain of the guard said. He looked troubled. “I’ve known one of them for years. They won’t speak and there’s something unsettling about them.”
“Bring them . . . closer,” commanded Melicard.
Erini stepped between her husband and the soldiers. “No. Let me see them.”
She made sure to keep Melicard safely behind her as the guards thrust the pair forward. On the surface, the prisoners seemed inconsequential. They were very pale, not a surprise considering the circumstances.
“Look at me,” she ordered.
“Erini . . . let me . . .”
The enchantress did not turn away from the assassins. “No, Melicard.” Erini pointed at the prisoner on the left. “You.”
The eyes met hers. They, too, were pale, the color all but washed away.
“His name’s Jask,” the captain said when the assassin would not speak. “Served Your Majesties well these past six years. Very loyally.”
“So what’s changed, Jask?” Erini asked.
The assassin still refused to talk. As the questioning had progressed, Erini had been quietly testing the man for any spell. It was possible he was entirely innocent, a helpless victim of a geas.
But while she sensed . . . something, it was not magic as she knew it. It also saturated Jask in an odd way, as if it were a part of his very being.
Curious, Erini signaled the guards holding the prisoner to step aside. Shackled securely, the assassin would be unable to attack or flee with any success.
“Now then, Jask. We’re going to find out a little more about you and why you’d dare try to kill my—”
For the first time, the prisoner opened his mouth. Erini waited to hear whatever it was he intended to say, whether a confession, a plea for mercy, or simply a curse word.
A thousand tiny white insects flowed out.
“Protect the king!” Erini shouted. “Step away from the prisoners!”
As the soldiers obeyed, the second assassin also opened his mouth. From his gullet emerged a stream of black, crawling creatures. They poured out with such speed that they reached the ground in barely the blink of an eye, at which point they spread toward the defenders.
Only then did Erini understand that the reason both these men were silent and pale was not because of their fear and guilt . . . but because they were both dead.
“You will not have him!” she roared. The enchantress spread her arms wide. A wall of flame met the white insects head-on, scorching most to ash in a single moment.
They resembled flies. White flies. Erini was reminded of carrion eaters. She watched gratefully as the magical wall burned away the swarm.
However, more and more continued to pour out of Jask’s mouth. The crawling vermin also flowed without pause. Erini realized that she could stand here all day and the swarms would continue unabated.
Taking a deep breath, Erini drew upon the lines of force, brought that energy together, and thrust with all her mental might.
The wall of fire expanded, then shot forward.
Neither of the undead assassins moved, not that they would have had the chance to escape, so swift did the fire engulf them. Armor, cloth, flesh, bone—all were the same to the flames. The fire devoured each with ease. Vermin by the hundreds perished with their hosts, the insects sizzling briefly.
Erini exhaled in relief as the flames died down. Melicard was safe. She had protected him.
There was a sharp pain just above her ankle. The queen swung her foot and tossed away two of the black bugs. She glared at them and they burst into flames.
“Erini!” Melicard called. “Beware! The Lords of the Dead—”
“They’ve failed, my love,” she said, turning to him. “They tried for the children and they tried for you and failed both times . . .”
A horrific chill ran through her. She tried to chalk it up to the lessening heat after the wall of flame’s dismissal, but the chill grew numbing.
The vermin . . . their bite . . . The queen teetered.
“Erini!”
She managed to focus on her husband and saw that another bug was just about to crawl unnoticed onto his leg.
“N-no . . .” The enchantress managed to thrust a finger at the creature.
The last of the vermin melted.
Despite his wound, the king tried to reach for her. “Erini! No!”
“Mel-Melicard—I feel so—it’s cold—”
She felt her life slip away. At the last, Erini Suun-Ai, once princess of Gordag-Ai and now queen of Talak, wife, and mother, dropped to her knees and reached for her husband’s hand. It mattered not that it was the one carved from elfwood. She could feel his love.
Erini died.
IN A PLACE beyond the mortal plane, in a land of grey where things moved at the corner of the eye, there stood the shadow of a citadel. The true citadel lay in ruins, but that meant little to those who inhabited it. For them, the citadel was as whole, as dominating, as they were.
The Lords of the Dead stood in the great chamber from which they had always ruled their domain and sought out the souls of the dying. At least, that was how they chose to see it; what they took was perhaps a slice of those souls, a reflection. Still, it was enough and, in greater numbers, offered them tremendous power.
But the Lords ever coveted more.
In their imagining of their domain, the walls were decorated with great tapestries marking each of their glorious selves. The great beauty or handsomeness of each Lord as they had known themselves while still part of the Clan Tezerenee radiated from the intricate, magically created cloths. Shields bearing the skull of a dragon in the center hung interspersed between those tapestries, the skull a symbol of the Lords of the Dead in their current roles.
As with so much else, though, these, too, were illusion. The tapestries hung tattered, shredded. The shields, those that still remained on the walls, had all but rusted away.
And in that regard, they still very much reflected the Lords of the Dead.
“The deed is done,” Kadaria declared from her position in the center. It had taken them great effort to rearrange the matrix of which they were part after the destruction of their leader Ephraim. Kadaria had been key to finding the points needed to make ten work as eleven once had. No one had argued with her leadership after that.
And no one could deny her results thus far.
“The queen is dead. Her king is nothing without her. Talak falters. Chaos ensues further.” She smiled. The others smiled with her.
“What of the Bedlams?” one of the others asked. Here, in their own realm, they did not have to worry about using energy and thus could speak as if still mortal, still living. “The father most of all, but the mother as well.”
“You’ve heard the reports from Hirac and his brother. There need be nothing more said about that.” She gazed at them. “What matters is our cousin. The moment approaches. The land has moved against him. He is near our goal.”
“And if the land succeeds and crushes him?” asked the one called Zorane.
Kadaria chuckled. “I have faith in our cousin, don’t you?”
Zorane responded to her confidence with a scowl. “He could fail this time. He’s not perfect, Kadaria!”
“No, but he is adaptable. And he can enter where we cannot. That is a most significant factor, isn’t it, my dear cousin?”
The male Lord did not look convinced.
/> His reaction grated on her. Kadaria looked at the others. “We should certainly hope that he doesn’t fail, hmm? Shall I remind you of why we’ve set this intricate plan in motion?”
“There is no need!” another female Lord with enough resemblance to Kadaria to be her sister immediately interjected. Some of the other necromancers quickly voiced their agreement, but it was too late.
With a wave of her hand, Kadaria caused the air to her far right to ripple. The rippling took on a liquid appearance, then solidified.
A gargantuan mirror framed in gold scrollwork formed.
In it, the Lords of the Dead beheld their true selves and the shadowy abomination that was their kingdom.
The dried bits of flesh hung on skeletal forms no longer complete. Armor often rusted through in places slid loosely on shattered rib cages. From ruined helmets, the black sockets of skulls peered out.
Some of the necromancers cringed, even despite having witnessed this view before. They floated in some monstrous state between life and death, animated by the power they had gathered over millennia.
Kadaria was no less ghastly in the mirror. A few strands of limp hair were all that marked her once-great beauty. Yet, she eyed her reflection with confidence, with intent.
“Enough!” Zorane said insistently.
In response, Kadaria swung a hand toward her creation.
The mirror shattered, the pieces flying through the chamber. Each of her companions gained one last, distorted image of themselves as the fragments briefly hovered close. The pieces then dissolved, leaving no trace.
“Are we agreed, then, on continuing our efforts?” asked Kadaria. She took the silent nods as sufficient approval. “Then let us begin our next step.”
The Lords of the Dead confirmed their relative positions in the matrix. At Kadaria’s signal, they raised their hands to chest level.
Whispers arose around the necromancers, but they did not originate from the Lords of the Dead. Rather, they came from half-visible forms gathering around the group, reluctant forms, many reminiscent of something human but others that hinted of Quel, Seekers, elves, and more.
The snared bits of souls sought to flee, but their will was only a shadow of that of the Lords. The necromancers drew from their essence, causing the phantasms to fade more.
Each of the necromancers then forged a component of the spell, sculpting it as needed. Where some elements of the full spell would have been impossible for one Lord alone, the matrix they formed enabled their combined power to multiply greatly.
When each spellcaster was ready, Kadaria opened her arms wide. The other Lords sent their fiery creations toward her.
The gathered energies enveloped Kadaria. She grinned wide as they became a part of her, feeding her with more power than it should have been possible for her to stand.
“Come to me!” she commanded. “Come!”
The depleted souls sought to flee anew but could not escape that which bound them to the Lords. They were forced to shiver where they stood, shiver in anticipation of something they dreaded.
The presence could not be seen, but its entrance into the chamber could certainly be felt. Even the necromancers could sense its tremendous will, a will that fueled its potential for great strength. All it needed was a way back to the physical world.
“You’ve been so patient,” Kadaria cooed. “Waited . . .”
There was a new rippling in the air. Patience was not a virtue of this presence. Domination was.
“Go forth, cousin,” she commanded of it. “When you need it, the tool of your vengeance will be waiting . . .”
The lead necromancer unleashed her gathered power. It spread through the chamber, seeming to gather most in one place just before the Lords of the Dead.
And as the energies settled, they briefly created the outline of what might have been a dragon.
The presence vanished. The tension radiating from the still-tethered souls diminished noticeably.
Lowering her arms, Kadaria dispersed the souls. “It is done.”
“I still think it was a risk to send him,” Zorane, ever the pessimist, said insistently despite their triumphant efforts. “We’ve held sway over him for millennia, managed to hold on to his ka even after Shade nearly brought this entire realm down upon us! Now released, he might find a way to circumvent our will, if only for a crucial moment.”
“He will not, Zorane. We offer him the one thing he so desires. All he has to do is strike when the tower is found. In exchange, we give him what was taken away so long ago.”
“Taken away?” said another Lord mockingly. “He gained power even he couldn’t imagine!”
This brought low laughter from more than one necromancer.
“Power, indeed,” Kadaria remarked almost cheerfully. “I suppose he just couldn’t accept the shape it came in . . . or, rather, the shape he found himself in.”
“It will be quite a reunion,” the other female Lord jested. “Brother and brother, separated for thousands of years.”
Stepping from the matrix, Kadaria nodded. All was going perfectly. Inside, she exulted. “Yes . . . won’t Shade be so very happy to see his big brother? Reegan certainly looks forward to reuniting with him . . . when he isn’t trying to kill him, that is.”
XVII
MEMORIES STIRRING
THEY MATERIALIZED IN a hidden corner of Talak’s great market. The Crystal Dragon shut his fingers over the stone the moment it was safe.
“Why here?” Shade asked, looking around. “Did you choose this spot?”
“Yes.” Although the Dragon King’s voice sounded more human now, there was something in it that caused Shade to shudder. It was as if the drake lord had adjusted his voice in some manner so as to touch a part of Shade’s deepest-buried memories, memories that the sorcerer struggled to keep forgotten.
“So where do we go n—?” Valea started to ask, only to be cut off as the Dragon King strode out into the crowded venue.
The massive ziggurats dotted the kingdom. Smaller, more commercial versions surrounded the market, the shopkeepers seeking to make use of the most famous part of Talak’s architecture in garnering customers visiting the mountain kingdom. People in bright, loose-fitting clothing dominated the area, indicating some of the influence the foreign-born queen Erini had had on the culture here.
But among the populace, there remained a steady flow of armored soldiers keeping security. Three patrols passed within sight in the first few moments after the trio’s arrival. Even with a queen who wielded magic, Melicard was not one to remove the core of the kingdom’s military defense. Talak had a significant enough army that he could afford such a decision.
Despite how well armed the city was, Shade was not concerned. The true danger was if the queen sensed them. He recalled fragments of a previous existence when Erini had only just arrived in Talak to marry the mysterious and reclusive Melicard. The Shade that had existed then had tried to use her in his eternal quest to escape his curse and had even made a temporary pact with another Dragon King, Silver. That the sorcerer had in the end attempted to make amends for his plot by aiding both Erini and Darkhorse in saving Talak still did not make the current Shade at all eager to confront the enchantress. It was doubtful that Erini would simply leave him be.
“This way,” the Crystal Dragon informed them. He veered in a direction that would take them not to the palace, but rather to one of the other significant features of the mountain kingdom.
Although ancient, the vast necropolis of Talak was both well cared for and highly protected. Here were buried the kings, queens, and royal family members as far back as the first. Champions of the realm, honored soldiers, ministers, and more had their own sections here. The necropolis was considered a sacred place by the people of Talak, and the sharp weapons of the otherwise ceremonial guards at the tall iron gates leading into the vast burial ground emphasized that. It was criminal to damage anything within the walls and a capital crime to invade the final resting places o
f the royal family.
To even Shade’s surprise, the Crystal Dragon walked directly toward the guards. They snapped to attention.
“All is well?” the drake lord casually asked.
“Yes, Master Roe,” responded one. The guards then opened the gates to admit the trio.
Shade and Valea held silent as they entered with the Dragon King. The drake continued walking casually along the stone lane, cutting between the various mausoleums until they were out of both sight and earshot of the guards. At that point, the Crystal Dragon opened his palm, unveiling the stone.
“They called you ‘Master Roe’ back there,” Valea murmured.
“The chief groundsman. A simple blurring of their senses, nothing that would have lasted long.”
Shade cared nothing about the name of the personnel maintaining the royal graves. “The stone leads us here?”
The bearded face broke into a grin that again almost stirred some memory. Yet Shade felt that if he remembered just what it was, it would drive him mad. Again, the sorcerer chose to let those memories sink into the morass that was his mind.
“No. My own past hunts have led us here, but I hope that our combined power and the stone will get us beyond the dead end I have previously encountered.”
The sorcerer did not fail to notice that the Dragon King was speaking more and more comfortably. His confidence in success is magnifying. The question is, what will that confidence lead him to do if we find the tower?
It was a situation that Shade had been mulling since the beginning. There would come a confrontation between the pair. When and where were but two of the questions.
As the drake lord returned his focus to the stone, Shade touched where the medallion rested. What was a boon for him could prove a danger, once the critical moment arrived. At some point prior to that, the sorcerer would have to again rely on his will to survive the curse.
He belatedly noticed Valea watching him. Shade let his hand drop, but he was not concerned that she might alert the Dragon King to the sorcerer’s concern over the talisman. For her own sake—and possibly, at least in her eyes, his—Cabe Bedlam’s daughter would remain allied with Shade.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade Page 19