Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade

by Richard A. Knaak

  Despite there being some distance between Shade and Valea and the two battling titans, the hooded sorcerer could not help putting Valea behind him. Only as he finished did Shade realize that once more his concern for the enchantress had given him back some balance. Darkening thoughts that had just started to arise on the tower grounds had faded almost immediately at the thought of danger to her. Even concern for his own existence had not been enough to accomplish that miracle.

  Still, Shade now had no idea what to do. If he abandoned this place for the Dragonrealm, then his last hope to save himself was lost; if he tried to reenter and seize control of the tower, then it was possible an even greater disaster might await him.

  Behind him, Valea made a shocked sound.

  The warlock turned, but only in time to see two of the faceless beings take hold of the enchantress’s arms. Shade made a grab for Valea.

  She and her captors vanished.

  “No!” His hand touched empty air. Worse, it seemed the moment that Valea disappeared, his instability returned. Shade felt his insides ripping apart, and briefly there came thoughts that she was to blame and that it served her right to be dragged off to the tower.

  Shade struggled to pull himself together. He had only one hope of rescuing her, no matter what it cost him. If he leapt into the tower, using her as his focus, he might be able to cast her completely out of the pocket world. He would probably not be able to escape, but she certainly did not deserve to share his fate.

  How brave you’ve become, he thought, mocking himself. If you had shown such spine back then, maybe Sharissa would have chosen you instead of her elf!

  Yet, to his surprise, that did not bother him as it once might have. What did was the reason why he was no longer concerned with the lost Sharissa’s good opinion.

  Fighting away the troublesome direction of his thoughts, Shade fixed on Valea.

  He arrived facing her. The enchantress stood as still as Darkhorse, causing Shade to fear that she had suffered the same fate as the eternal. Then the sorcerer saw that she breathed.

  The two faceless creatures made no move to stop him as he reached for her. Too late, Shade understood why.

  His hand went through Valea. As he jerked the hand away, it also went through one of her captors.

  The illusion faded, revealing a vaster scene beyond. There stood Valea and her two undesired companions. To their right, the other macabre beings stood waiting, ever patient.

  But worse, far worse, was the five-sided, onyx platform rising high behind Valea, a huge arcane device radiating power. On its sides were carved in burning crimson and brilliant gold script words in the founders’ language, words Shade knew to be part of the spellwork for utilizing the tower.

  Words that he had once known and only now recalled knowing.

  A stunning flash of red, orange, and gold light arose behind him. He looked back to see the phoenix standing tall, the great guardian’s wings spread wide and the inhuman eyes watching the foolhardy sorcerer with interest.

  Welcome back, the phoenix declared, as if nothing had ever happened outside. It is time to begin what was left undone so long ago . . .

  XXII

  THE BLACK DRAGON

  THE LAIR OF the Black Dragon was a deep, barely illuminated cavern in which slight tendrils of the Grey Mists still drifted. A creature with eyes that could penetrate both the mists and the gloom would have noticed that the ceiling was sealed tight even where it was evident there had once been gaps and passages.

  The cavern had not been sealed so without reason. Years earlier, the Gryphon had made use of one of those passages to spy upon the Dragon King. That had subsequently led to the Black Dragon’s current affliction.

  The raven-black behemoth paused in his efforts. The mists he had just exhaled dissipated. The burning red orbs of the dragon peered into the shadows.

  “I sssmell carrion,” he growled. “Show yourssself, necromancer.”

  Kadaria separated from the other shadows. She bowed her head to the Dragon King. Greetings, lord of Lochivar . . .

  “Ssspare me greetings and empty wordsss! Isss it the very moment?”

  Your heir is beyond the portal. You would do well to strengthen the link.

  “At lassst!” The Black Dragon reared up, his head nearly touching the ceiling.

  I must be away, Kadaria said. In addition to maintaining the shell guiding your son, I must prepare for the spell.

  “Yesss! Yesss! Go!”

  Kadaria returned to the shadows without another word. The Dragon King shut his eyes.

  Ravosss, my ssson . . . he called.

  IT TOOK MUCH to impress Ravos, but this other world did. He had already noted that the sun did not move and he sensed the incredible age of the land around him. More important, he understood that all of this existed just beyond the senses of the creatures of the Dragonrealm.

  I will use this knowledge somehow to crush the old ones and the weakling on the throne! I will be emperor . . .

  Barely had he completed the thought when he felt his sire’s presence. Ravos again buried his thoughts of conquest and betrayal.

  Ravosss, my ssson . . .

  Yes, Father?

  It isss time we ssstayed linked . . .

  As the Black Dragon said that, the shambling corpse turned around and gave one of Kadaria’s smiles. It both encouraged and disconcerted the duke, but he hid that as he hid so much else from his father’s presence.

  As you command, Father.

  Do you sssee it yet? The avarice in the Black Dragon’s voice impressed even his heir. Do you sssee it?

  Not yet.

  His sire’s disappointment was immense. Ravos could appreciate that. He, too, wanted this to finish, if not the way the elder drake desired.

  The corpse put a finger to its lips and pretended to make a hushing sound.

  An uneasiness filled Ravos. His left hand slid toward a small pouch he kept with him, one intended for the proper time.

  But his hand never made it there. Suddenly, he could do nothing but watch and listen.

  And in his head, he heard Kadaria’s voice directed to his sire.

  This is the point, great one. It is time to ready your new vessel.

  The duke struggled to reach the pouch, where he had a tiny fragment from an ancient talisman that he knew could have bested all the necromancers and his father. Now, though, it availed him nothing.

  As if reading his desperate mind—and she probably was—Kadaria guided the undead to the pouch. To Ravos’s horror, the pale hand pulled free the pouch, then simply tossed it aside.

  “Convenient to find such a useful trinket, don’t you think?” asked the body in the necromancer’s voice.

  Only then did Ravos understand that what he had believed his perfect weapon had only been a bauble purposely left for him to “discover.” It had no power against the Lords of the Dead.

  And neither did he.

  The corpse stepped back in front of the duke’s surprisingly docile beast. Kadaria already had the riding drake under her command.

  Then, as Ravos stared, a greater horror shimmered into view before him: shadows without anything to cast them. Almost a dozen. The shadows rose from the ground like blades of grass standing after a dying wind. They took on somewhat more form, although never enough to be entirely distinct.

  The rest of the Lords of the Dead gathered in front of the hapless drake. One of them stepped forth, joining the undead guide.

  All is in preparation, said a male voice that Ravos had heard once before. The name “Zorane” came to mind.

  The soldier’s corpse shook violently. The head snapped back.

  A shadow walked free of the body. As the soldier’s remains crumpled in a monstrous heap, Kadaria coalesced.

  “Let’s not be impolite to our guest,” she commented with a sly glance at Ravos. “The least we could do for him is speak out loud for the remaining few minutes.”

  “As you wish,” Zorane muttered. “And the to
wer?”

  “Will be open to us soon.”

  At lassst! hissed the duke’s insane sire.

  Kadaria chuckled. Although she looked at Ravos, it was the Black Dragon to whom she spoke. “Be patient, my lord. We must all be patient.”

  As one, the Lords of the Dead turned to face the direction in which Ravos and his now-defunct guide had been journeying. The docile mount moved forward. The necromancers did not move nor even look back when the beast reached them. The riding drake stepped through the murky forms as if they did not exist.

  Or, Ravos corrected himself, as if they were but ghosts. Dead things.

  As he, evidently, would also soon be.

  AND IN PENACLES, the battle raged on. General Marner prayed that none of his men would find out the truth about the Gryphon and so was the happiest of men when none other than his liege materialized nearby just as the general sent off one of his aides with revised battle positions.

  “Be not entirely pleased,” the Gryphon murmured. “I am here by the Lady of the Amber’s ability, not my own.”

  “But you are alive and conscious, Your Majesty. That in itself sets many things right!”

  The Gryphon suddenly stretched a feathered and furred hand to the general. Marner felt the full weight of the lionbird against his shoulder. He was all but keeping the lord of Penacles from falling.

  “Your Majesty,” the commander whispered, adjusting his stance so that it looked as if the Gryphon was merely leaning close to speak confidentially. “You should return to the palace immediately!”

  “I will, but first I had to come to tell you a few things. Duke Ravos might be general of their army, but the Black Dragon will insist on controlling their plans! I know his mind well, almost as well as Toos did.” The avian/human eyes briefly clouded in memory of a lost comrade. Then he said, “He is already having them follow certain aspects I’ve seen in the past, but there are some twists I suspect he believes will fool us into thinking otherwise.”

  General Marner nodded. “There was something different on the right flank!”

  Horns blared. With the general’s assistance, the Gryphon looked toward the direction of the sounds.

  Dragons flew through the air. Enemy catapults fired one after another. The fanatic ranks surged forth, even though their wild charge left them more open to the fine archers of Penacles.

  Yet, the sheer force of the sudden assault pushed the defenders back.

  “Get me out there, Marner!” ordered the lionbird.

  “Your Majesty!”

  “Do it!”

  Marner called for a pair of horses. He helped his lord mount, then did so himself.

  The Gryphon led them into the area hardest hit. Men took heart the moment their legendary leader appeared among them. Cheers rose up and the lines steadied. The soldiers of Penacles began to take a terrible toll on their foes, even despite the presence of dragons.

  A magical whirlwind caught one black behemoth and threw it into another. The Gryphon silently thanked the Lady of the Amber. Even the greatest asset of Lochivar was falling into disarray.

  And yet, the Lochivarites kept coming. They pressed ahead of the mists, which seemed curiously faded. Although fueled by a lifetime of utter obedience, their strength flagged without the mystical fog. Still they pushed into the defenders, pushed into them and died.

  “This is madness even for them!” Marner shouted as he gutted a savage warrior.

  The Gryphon’s breathing came in rapid gulps, but he continued to battle in the thick of things. The Lochivarites converged on his location, but if they thought him an easy target, they were soon shown the error of their beliefs . . . for the few seconds they lived. Using both sword and claw, the lionbird created a growing area of carnage around him.

  “Madness, yes!” The Gryphon peered ahead. His sharp vision beheld none other than Duke Ravos. Yet, the Black Dragon’s heir looked oddly hesitant in his actions and even held back from joining the bloodiest part of the battle. “There is something amiss concerning this entire assault!”

  Marner followed his gaze. “’Tis the duke himself!”

  The Gryphon said nothing more. Pulling back from the front line, he quickly sheathed his sword. The general signaled other soldiers to take their place and joined his liege. “Your Majesty! You’re about to collapse! Please.”

  “I need both your eye and your arm to protect me for a moment,” the Gryphon managed to say. “There is a spell I must try.”

  “But, Your Majesty!”

  “That . . . is . . . a royal command!” The Gryphon was not one to speak so. He was a soldier at heart and ruled only because he seemed to be the one able to keep Penacles secure. Once, he had left the kingdom to his trusted second, Toos, but, like the rest of the lionbird’s subjects, Toos had seen only the Gryphon as king. Even during the years that he sat on the throne, Toos had always called himself regent.

  “Yes, Your Majesty!” Marner kept a wary gaze on the Black Dragon’s servants, both those on the ground and the creatures in the sky. At the same time, he tried to keep watch on the Gryphon.

  Inhaling deeply, the Gryphon suddenly surged with crimson energy. The lionbird shook as if almost fainting but waved back the general.

  “Keep to your orders!” The Gryphon straightened.

  A fiery ball shot forth, darting past startled warriors, through shields both physical and magical, and then struck its target.

  Duke Ravos.

  Marner cheered, expecting the drake to die a horrific death, but Ravos only shivered. The sphere faded, leaving the duke apparently untouched.

  Yet, Ravos looked entirely disconcerted. He reined his mount back and retreated farther to the rear.

  “What by the Dragon of the Depths happened there? He deflects your spell right enough and then runs with his tail between his legs?”

  “He did not—he did not deflect it!” The Gryphon weaved back and forth, the effort of his spell clearly taxing him too much.

  The Gryphon tumbled from his mount. Marner leapt down beside him.

  “We must get you back to Penacles, Your Majesty!” the general growled. “I knew I should’ve insisted!”

  “I am—I am in contact with the Lady Bedlam. She—she will summon me in a moment.” The Gryphon inhaled, then grabbed the commander by the arm. “I know the truth! I understand why they are fighting so wildly! Even they don’t know it!”

  General Marner shook his head. “Save your breath!” A dragon roared, the sound all too near. Marner knew that he had to get back to the battle, but he would not leave until his liege was safe. When will the enchantress summon him back?

  The Gryphon took another deep breath. “Listen! That is not Duke Ravos out there! The spell I cast was designed to detect illusion! That is not the heir!”

  “Not the heir?”

  “Do not look at me like that! That is not Ravos. That is why the enemy fights more haphazardly! Ravos is gone—and I think the Black Dragon, too!”

  “Then we’re bound to win! If they’re both gone from the battle, there’s no one competent leading them.”

  The lionbird nodded but did not look at all relieved. That bothered Marner.

  “We may win—win the battle, General, but ask yourself—”

  The lord of Penacles vanished, at last brought back to where he could be looked after safely. Yet, as Marner rose, what his monarch had been about to say came to the general. The veteran soldier turned to stare at where his forces were not only holding steady but making incremental advances here and there. Yes, if things went as they looked, Penacles would win the battle.

  But what are the Black Dragon and his heir up to? Marner wondered. Will we win today . . . only to lose everything tomorrow?

  XXIII

  REVELATIONS OF THE PAST

  THIS IS WHERE it all happened! Shade recalled with outright horror. This place and not some forsaken cave!

  During the course of the sorcerer’s many, many lives, there had been few consistent things other
than his curse. There had always been some fragmented memories of his existence as a Vraad, especially his fear that the land was seeking to turn the intruders into something it better desired. That fear had led him on a long quest, during which he had tried to maintain his existence for centuries until that no longer proved viable. With no other recourse, Gerrod Tezerenee had finally put together a master spell that he believed would guarantee his immortality . . . and immunity from the land’s intentions. However, the spell had gone awry and he had been reborn elsewhere with an entirely different personality, an entirely different life.

  Or so Shade had been meant to remember.

  Yet, now, as he stared at the scene around him, including icons carved into the walls that matched the ancient giants found in both the sanctum of the Dragon Emperor and the realm of the hill dwarves, Shade understood that those last memories had been implanted in his mind. Instead, the warlock had found the tower. He had sought to make use of its power to save him from the land.

  And in doing so, Shade had actually delivered himself into the control of the very force he so feared.

  “The spell never went wrong,” he murmured, staring from the faceless figures to a confused and concerned Valea. “I was transformed. Through this infernal creation, I became what I am.”

  Shade . . . the curse and the legend . . . had been the intentional creation of the founders.

  He shook a fist at the phoenix, which watched his reactions with utter detachment. “Why? For what purpose? What insanity?”

  As a servant of change.

  The reply struck Shade hard. “I do not understand!”

  For the first time, the phoenix appeared slightly uneasy, almost as if it, too, did not quite understand. You serve their purpose. The same as I. The same as them.

  As the words faded from the hooded sorcerer’s mind, Shade sensed others in the chamber.

  “Took ya long enough to get back here,” Magron Sym wryly remarked from far to the side of Valea and the faceless ones.

  “We had to be patient,” Edrin Sym added.