Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade

by Richard A. Knaak

  The two dwarves did not look triumphant or condescending. Their expressions and tones were those of someone simply performing a duty, one that perhaps they did not even care much for.

  “You two were here then, also.” Shade glared, a fact he knew even then was lost upon the dwarves.

  “Aye,” answered Edrin, looking not at all pleased. “’Tis our duty to stand ready to serve. As it is yours.”

  A dark fury arose in Shade. He summoned together power and flung it at the sinister device.

  Before the amassed energies could touch, the phoenix formed between them and the founders’ device. Shade’s attack engulfed the guardian, who shrieked. The phoenix burned to mist.

  And almost immediately after re-formed where it had stood originally.

  We all serve, the avian said again, and this time Shade could hear that it, too, had no choice.

  “They knew long before it happened that they were dying out,” Edrin said, explaining almost by rote. “We were made from a bit of ’em, the least bit, and fashioned to do with our hands what even they couldn’t with their magic.” The last was said with the first hint of emotion—pride—that Shade had heard from the dwarven leader thus far.

  “Whatever they needed built, we built it. Whatever they needed carved, we carved. We worked and fashioned everything for ’em, including this,” Magron added, also showing pride.

  Shade could not resist. “And for that, you were rewarded with nothing.”

  Edrin glared. “We were created to serve. So were you, Vraad. They gave up on your kind long afore you lot found your way out of your little cage! They had themselves a notion and let you high and mighty sorcerers play it out . . . but they needed themselves a wild card to keep their new creations in check until they could decide if they were good enough.”

  “I was led to my torture, my endless ordeal—all the blood on my hands—just so that the Dragon Kings could be kept from too much power?”

  “A bit more complicated than that, but basically, yes. You gave the land a means to make big corrections and changes as it saw fit.”

  A puppet. His entire existence had been that of a puppet. All that terrifying power, those dreaded deeds, merely to keep the course of the mortal creatures of the Dragonrealm as the founders decided it must be.

  “And you still follow their madness?” he asked incredulously. “I have seen the hill dwarves. They are not all immortal. They live and die like every other race.”

  Edrin’s gruff face saddened. “Aye. My brother and I, we’ve watched loved ones perish again and again. The last king, he was of my blood. We left and entered dwarven life over and over, always standing ready when needed. We’re the last of the originals and that’s why they kept us going. We know this mechanism, should it need repair.”

  “You purposely brought out the stone,” Valea suddenly interjected from where she was held. “You wanted it taken from the caverns!”

  “Couldn’t just give it over. Tried that the last time and it ended up in the king’s hands. Had to make this one work for it so that he wouldn’t know what was happening.”

  Aware that his features were not distinct even to the dwarves, Shade surreptitiously eyed the phoenix and the device while he faced the twins. “But I didn’t steal it. The Crystal Dragon did.”

  “That was a bit of luck. We didn’t know he knew about it. The pasty ones, yes, but not him.”

  Pasty ones? “The Lords of the Dead?”

  Edrin started toward the mechanism. “Aye, your dear cousins. They think this thing’ll give them the power and the life they crave.”

  “Will it not?”

  Edrin reached the artifact. He raised his left hand toward the nearest script. “Oh, aye. If they had a chance to reach it, but they don’t. Not even with the life force of a Dragon King to fill their spell.”

  While he had no idea what the dwarf meant by the last, Shade knew that it was not wise to underestimate the necromancers. If they knew half of what he did, that made them capable of far more than Edrin or the faceless ones understood.

  Never underestimate a Vraad. It was a fact with which Gerrod Tezerenee had grown up and it was one that marked Shade’s entire accursed existence, for at heart, despite his denials, he was still one of them.

  And that meant that even now, Shade had not given up.

  Edrin placed his hand on one of the words. The script grew brighter and as it did, the structure itself began to vibrate perceptibly.

  The low, steady sound stirred more memories in Shade. He had watched Edrin—or whatever this dwarf’s true name was—perform the same step. The hooded sorcerer was even able to predict the next move Edrin would make.

  The dwarf touched a symbol slightly higher. The artifact’s vibration altered, touching some chord in Shade’s hearing.

  He cannot be allowed to continue. To Edrin, Shade asked, “And what do they want with me?”

  “Oh, ’tis not just you. They’ve been waitin’ for her all this time, too.”

  Shade did not recall anyone else being a part of what had happened last time. There had only been him.

  Edrin touched a third word and a stairway formed out of light. Despite seeming nothing but illusion, Shade knew that if he stepped onto it, it would support his weight. The steps would enable him to reach the unseen top of the artifact.

  The top.

  Then Shade thought again about what Edrin had just said. “She is no part of this! I will do as the land demands, but send her from here!”

  “No, that’s why things were a bit incomplete that time. You remember what happened. Worked out right for some things, but they weren’t satisfied. Just look at ’em!”

  The featureless figures did not move. Still, Shade sensed that the dwarf was correct. They were not satisfied, even though they had torn him apart and created of him a monster.

  As Edrin spoke, Magron trotted to the stairway and climbed up. The other twin let out a low grunt when he reached the top, a simple sound that yet pulled Shade’s attention there. He knew the reason for that grunt; there was something atop the artifact, something that had been there for thousands of years.

  Magron turned to the phoenix. “Want to clean this off?”

  The guardian briefly peered at Shade, its expression indecipherable.

  Edrin, hand still on the last word, jerked his head in the direction of his brother. “Do it.”

  One wing of the ethereal creature swept over the area. Magron watched with interest as a grey mass floated off the artifact with the wing.

  The phoenix deposited the debris on the floor before it. It looked at Shade, but the warlock was eyeing the jumble that looked at first like some rocks and bits of cloth.

  “Ain’t much left of ya, is there?” Magron cheerfully called from above.

  There, before Shade, were the last remains of the mortal Gerrod Tezerenee.

  “Peeled off all the useless stuff and made you better,” Edrin remarked, touching a fourth word. The artifact radiated stronger.

  “You call this better?”

  “This time it’ll be right. You’ve been tempered and, more to the point, the proper conduit’s been born. They’ve been workin’ on that, too, buildin’ up the line strong to this point.” Edrin cocked his head. “Though her grandpa, that Azran, he took off in a direction they didn’t expect. Almost threw ’em for a loop when he nearly brought the line to a halt.”

  Had Azran had his way, his son Cabe would have been sacrificed to advance his arts. That would have ended a plan as ancient as Shade’s creation; the Bedlams were another component of the land’s master plot, a plot that Shade still did not understand.

  He felt no better knowing that Sharissa’s blood and magic had also been perverted by the ancient forces, manipulated for whatever long-term purpose the land—or rather, the ancient minds of the last founders—had in mind.

  The dwarven leader went on working as he talked. “Even then, she might’ve gone on livin’ her entire life if they hadn’t come to the
ir final decision about now.”

  Shade eyed their featureless captors. “What decision?”

  “Oh, they’ve got a notion on what to do now. They’re gonna have to start from scratch to do it. So, everythin’ gets wiped clean and they reshape it all to their new intention.”

  The indifferent tone only made the actual words even more horrifying. Shade looked to Valea, whose expression no doubt would have mirrored his own if his could be seen.

  “They want to destroy everything?”

  “Well, we’ll pretty much survive to do more work for ’em, but the major races will all be gone. This time, no leftovers, either. All gone.” Edrin looked up at his brother. “All in order up there?”

  “Aye!” Magron nimbly descended, moving more like an elf than a dwarf. “All set.”

  Shade fought for time. “This was all planned? The entire search for the tower?”

  Magron chose to answer. “Well, no, but when matters got too interestin’, they decided things had come to a head. Everythin’ needed was on hand, so they just nudged here and there, like they’ve always done.” He brushed his hands off. “Now, you got all your answers and we’ve got things workin’ here. Time to finish up. There’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

  Despite having run a hundred notions through his head, Shade was almost ready to agree. He looked again at Valea, finding somehow that she enabled him to focus better. Shade felt the lingering magical link between them.

  Her expression did not change, but her eyes narrowed.

  Shade felt her power bind with his as never before. She was entrusting him with her very essence, her very soul.

  The sorcerer sent a ripple of energy through the chamber. This time, with Valea so much a part of him, there was far more effect.

  The faceless figures tumbled over as if puppets without strings. The dwarves shivered, then slumped over.

  The phoenix dissolved.

  Shade had hoped that perhaps he might also affect the arcane device, but it remained unchanged. Aware that the spell would not last, he cast differently.

  His surroundings changed. He did not know where he was. His intention had been to transport Valea and himself toward the tear and flee this pocket world, but instead he was in some darkened place.

  Another fear struck him, but, fortunately, it was a fear quickly ended by a single word.

  “Shade?”

  He created a dim, grey light, revealing to him her concerned face. The concern, Shade recognized, was for him, not for her.

  But then he saw what filled the wall behind her.

  Despite the fact that his expression was murkier than the gloom, Valea obviously sensed his sudden shift in mood. She lunged toward him, twisting around at the same time. Clutching his arm, she joined with him in staring at his discovery.

  They sat in row upon row of simple stone seats with armrests. Each robed and cowled figure leaned back in repose. The pale brown robes were even more voluminous than that which Shade wore and at first glance nothing could be seen of the occupants within. The only things that the two could tell about them was that they were roughly human in size and build.

  They could also be nothing less than the founders.

  Shade expanded the light and as he did, the rows of robed figures expanded as well. He shifted the light back and forth, finally locating the end on each side. Even then, a swift calculation indicated more than three hundred.

  More than three hundred corpses.

  “They look as if—as if they’re expecting something,” Valea whispered. Even the whisper echoed loud in the ancient chamber.

  “They are. They have alwaysss been.”

  The hooded sorcerer turned the light behind them. Not at all to his surprise, the Crystal Dragon, once again in his scaled knight form, stood revealed.

  But he did not look at all well. The facets that were both his false armor and his true skin did not glisten when the light touched them, and Shade knew that even what dim illumination existed should have caused the Dragon King to glitter. Instead, the thousands of facets remained dull, lifeless.

  There were also great burns across his body where Shade guessed the phoenix’s searing tail had wrapped around his dragon form. Wherever the long black streaks ran, the crystalline scale appeared to have melted.

  The drake lord’s breathing came in gasps and he clutched his right side where the scorching was worst. The burning reptilian eyes studied both spellcasters.

  “An impresssive combination you make, the two of you. I feared that I might have to attempt sssomething I would have found quite detrimental.”

  What that might have been, the Dragon King did not seem inclined to explain. Shade had no curiosity about it; he was more interested in other things.

  “I find this place of great interest,” he replied. “More so because of your presence here. Are you the reason that this proved to be our ‘random’ destination?”

  “No.” The Crystal Dragon bared his teeth in what was either a grim smile or simply pain. “That determination can be placed at the feet of our friendsss ssseated above.”

  The other two looked up again at the robed figures, but still none of the forms moved. Yet, Shade could not help feeling that this was not merely some strange tomb.

  Valea squeezed his arm tighter. “Shade!”

  He paid no mind to her use of a name almost as long dead as the seated figures, instead following where her gaze had shifted.

  Five of the faceless figures stood in the shadows.

  The hooded sorcerer immediately prepared to cast, but it was Valea who forced down his hand. “No. These aren’t the same. I know that.”

  Even as she said that, there came a stirring from among the corpses. One in the center slowly shifted an arm back. As they watched, stunned, it rose to its feet and turned the deep hood toward them.

  For the first time, Shade caught a glimpse of a familiar if no less startling coloring. He said nothing, waiting to see if the figure would pull back the hood.

  It did . . . and verified what he had seen.

  The founder’s flesh had the same pearly iridescence as the tower itself.

  Gloved hands, with the ordinary five digits, the sorcerer saw, pulled the hood off completely. The face was a female one and very beautiful, if a little unsettling, with wide green eyes devoid of pupils. Shade had to admit that he had always assumed that the founding race would look much like the Vraad, a clear prejudice on his part, evidently.

  The nose was slight and upturned, the ears pointed and delicate. Lush emerald hair cascaded out from the withdrawn hood.

  “Is that their true skin?” asked Valea.

  Shade saw her point. How very suspicious that the founders should have the same coloring as the tower.

  Before he could answer, the Crystal Dragon replied, “No, ivory, perhaps, but not the brilliance of the tower. That came from delving so much into its majestic energies.”

  He stilled. Neither Shade nor the enchantress had to ask why, for they too suddenly felt the images wash over them. To Shade, it was something akin to how the Seekers communicated, but with far more elegance, more dimension.

  The three of them and the female founder strode through a garden of towering ferns. The ferns had splayed edges and turned toward the four whenever the party neared one of the plants. Shade knew instinctively that the plants were sentient in a manner both akin to and distinct from that of the bipedal creatures walking by. He wanted to know more about the ferns, but they were only a peripheral part of the female’s explanation to them, a way of building to the point without actually saying so.

  Without warning, they stood at the edge of a vast balcony. Shade instinctively glanced behind him, only to find nothing but greyness there. Whatever this balcony was a part of had nothing to do with what was being conveyed.

  Shade felt his focus pulled back to what lay beyond the balcony. At the same time, he somehow sensed both Valea’s and the Dragon King’s dismay.

  Beyond where they
stood was a dead land. That did not mean that there was no life on it, but that life had already long passed any hope of revival. High hills dotted the scenery, hills still maintaining a few copses of trees. Most of the trees were rotted; a few had sparse foliage. Elsewhere, some bushes and grass also futilely attempted to mask the inevitable.

  It was a simple but stark picture. There was none of the violent, unnerving upheaval that had overtaken the Vraad realm Nimth. This was simply a world dying. A world that had been dying for some time.

  This was a world old and aged, Shade understood. It had thrived and now had reached its end.

  But those who had made it theirs were not ready for either it or them to fade away.

  Before Shade could attempt to ask their guide anything, the view shifted again. Now they stood in another hilly region, this one still with life. The hooded sorcerer immediately understood why. The founders had poured a tremendous amount of their energies into preserving it. Magic permeated the ground, the plants, the sky.

  And magic even more heavily permeated one hilltop, where several indistinct, robed forms had begun to construct a citadel through magic.

  Shade could not help thinking how the power of the Vraad was dwarfed by that of the founders. Once again, he thought of his father and his brothers, so proud of their might and so foolish in their pride.

  The view abruptly retreated . . . or the group did. The hill and the construction being done shrank into the distance.

  There was a rippling. Valea held on to Shade. Even the Crystal Dragon stood unsteady. They could still see the greenery and the citadel, but through a tear in the air. Beyond that tear, the dying world once more reigned supreme.

  They had been inside another pocket world. Knowledge flowed through Shade, knowledge that this place they had seen existed on the other side of the world from where the Dragonrealm now existed.

  They had witnessed work on the sister citadel to the tower, the other location needed so that the founders could perform their great spell and ultimately rejuvenate the entire world. The brief vision was actually of an earlier moment, showing how matters were progressing there.

  But Shade was not interested in that. His mind was on another, unintended image. As they had receded from that other pocket world—spellwork that Shade had been disappointed had not been part of the “explanation”—the sorcerer had caught a brief glimpse of something unnerving. Dying the world might have been, but he had seen some sort of habitation just beyond the tear, habitation not on the grand scale of the founders, but rather a more primitive race.