Its inhabitants would perish when the world was renewed and the founders would not even care.
Once more, the scene shifted. At first, Shade thought the vision over. The rows upon rows of robed forms sat in their places in the underground chamber in the same reclining positions.
But the bodies were not lifeless yet. Here and there, someone moved a hand, a foot, a head. Shade had brief views of concerned visages. There was something wrong. A disagreement rising just as all was about to commence. A female figure, the same figure guiding them, stood to protest. Whatever protest she wished to make was dismissed by others seated near her. She and those of a like mind were outvoted.
A small form scurried past the lowest row of seats. A dwarf. He carried something, which he placed on a dais before the gathered founders. The dwarf—it might have been Edrin or his brother, Shade thought—then quickly departed the other way.
The thing on the dais flared bright. It was a pyramidal device whose center was an oval-shaped piece of the same iridescent substance from which the tower had been forged. Even though he was observing the past, Shade felt the draw of the device; it was hungry for energy, almost alive in its eagerness to gather power within it.
Without warning, a fiery brilliance illuminated the chamber. Wings folded in front of it, the phoenix materialized. Yet, for all its glory, it wore a subdued look. The guardian was there to perform a task, one it did not relish.
The avian spread its wings. A male founder who might have been the brother of their guide stood revealed. In utter somberness, he approached the device from the other side. Long, strong fingers clutched the sides of the founders’ creation.
The phoenix raised its head and sang.
What its song sounded like, Shade would never be able to say. It was both beautiful and terrible. More important, it was a song of magic, a spell in itself.
The device grew brighter . . . and hungrier.
The phoenix continued to sing. Shade felt as if invisible tendrils reached out from the device toward the seated figures. He even felt as if they briefly searched for the three watchers and their guide.
The seated figures stiffened. The radiance that Shade could make out on some of the faces faded. The spell drew the essence of each—along with their formidable power—into the device. What the purpose of the lone figure clutching the device was remained the only question.
The phoenix completed its song. The link between each of the gathered founders and their macabre creation had been established. The lone standing figure placed one hand atop the device. Shade sensed him cast a spell. The energies gathering into the founders’ creation began to flow into the figure.
But suddenly, the device began to draw them back. The founder increased his efforts . . . and the device more than matched those.
The phoenix lunged forward, clearly eager to assist the founder. The figures seated before them had already slumped into the positions in which Shade and Valea had found them. They were beyond life now . . . but not dead. They lived on, in the very energies the device held within.
The lone robed figure cast one last spell. He literally sank his hand into the pyramidal form. For a moment, the energies again flowed into him. The phoenix retreated.
The device erupted. Both it and the remaining founder were consumed by the escaping energies.
Moving swiftly, the guardian folded its fiery wings around the eruption. The energies clearly burned the ethereal creature, but the phoenix did not give in. It guided the unleashed power upward.
And as that power rose through the ceiling of the chamber, the scene again shifted. They were now back in the tower, where dwarves worked frantically to control the main mechanism, which now was filling with the altered essence of the founders.
There was a brief but overwhelming flash. Shade was blinded and knew that the other two were, also.
Even then, a final vision filled his head. He saw the tower unleash the energies through the five points in the crown. At the same time, Shade also understood that a similar but not exact duplicate of the device was doing the same across the seas. The two forces—created to adapt in different but cohesive manners—spread throughout the dying world.
Shade gasped as he returned to the present. An angry oath escaped him. He had wanted to witness the rebirth of the world, even if that rebirth had been accomplished through a faulty spell. To rekindle the life of a world was a feat no other race could have accomplished.
Next to him, the Crystal Dragon hissed. Valea said nothing but held Shade’s arm tightly. As his vision cleared, the hooded sorcerer saw the female founder fade away. There was no ash, no bits of cloth. She faded as if the morning dew, leaving her seat empty.
As that happened, what he had seen began to make horrible sense. The remaining founder had been the one who would be the hands of what would become the land’s collective mind. Whatever needed to be adjusted to achieve the success of the new world, he would do. It would have been a great sacrifice, his will forever subservient to what the land desired.
Only . . . he had perished.
“Ssso that isss how it mussst be,” the Crystal Dragon murmured to himself. The drake lord blinked, as if only then realizing that he had spoken out loud.
His words echoed Shade’s own thoughts. The hooded sorcerer stared at the empty seat, then at the faceless figures, whose stances now indicated extreme exhaustion. He was aware that in addition to relaying their story, they had also been keeping their counterparts from knowing where the outsiders had gone.
But that had become a negligible concern to him. In revealing the past, they had also revealed what had to be done. Shade had the key to finally escaping his endless curse, the true key.
He only had to sacrifice himself in the process.
The blank faces turned his way. Even though they had no features, Shade immediately understood that there was something more they wanted from him. They were not doing this just for his sake, but for something bigger.
Something that they had hoped of him when last he had come to this infernal place.
And slowly it dawned on him what that was. He could not help blurting, “You cannot be—”
At that moment, the entire chamber shook violently. The sorcerer also understood that this was no natural reaction nor one created by the mind of the land.
Shade bit back a potent Vraad epithet. The Lords of the Dead had finally made their move . . . and were unaware of the great disaster they were about to cause.
XXIV
PLOTS WITHIN PLOTS
KADARIA FELT THE power flow into her through the matrix she and her fellow Lords created, power that was magnified by that instilled into the matrix through the will of the Black Dragon. Duke Ravos sat frozen atop his ensorcelled mount, the conduit into this pocket world for his sire’s magic. The stress was already taking a toll on the duke; every muscle was taut and the scaled hide had grown a bit grey, as if fading.
The Black Dragon could neither see nor sense the damage being done to what he assumed would be his new body. When Kadaria had suggested this awful betrayal of the drake lord’s heir, the Black Dragon had not hesitated. To transmit his essence to the younger, undamaged shell of Ravos would enable him to rule for hundreds of years more. He would also no longer have to suffer from the terrible throat wound given to him by the Gryphon. All this the necromancers had offered him for his aid in seizing the tower’s legacy.
All this had naturally been a lie. The Dragon King would burn out Ravos’s mind and body, nothing more. The Lords of the Dead did not fear the Black Dragon’s wrath; with the tower, they would reign supreme over the world.
And she would once more be whole.
A tremor shook the vicinity, but the necromancers’ spell protected them from the land’s attempt to stop the inevitable. Alone, the Lords of the Dead could not have held against the founders’ incredible will—the land was that strong—but Kadaria had planned for every contingency. Not only did they have the master of Lochivar, but the
y also had the additional and not inconsiderable power of the Crystal Dragon.
He will betray us, Zorane insisted even during the spell, apparently having caught a flicker of her thoughts concerning the other Dragon King. His mind is crafty; he could be one of us.
He will and it will be too late. She had discovered the reclusive drake lord’s interest in the tower’s legend and had cut off any interference by him by offering to share that power with him. The Crystal Dragon understood about the communal mind that controlled the land, a threat that Kadaria knew the necromancers would have to deal with. Indeed, it was the Crystal Dragon who had suggested Shade as a potential weapon in dealing with them. That worked perfectly with what Kadaria had plotted.
The land had a particular interest in the lone “living” Vraad. Having observed his determination over the endless centuries, Kadaria could not blame it. She did not know the full connection between Shade and the land but was willing to make use of it.
He will find a way to survive, she thought, this time shielding her notions from her own companions. Manipulated into a direction he cannot avoid, our cousin will survive and bring the tower to us.
Her predecessor, Ephraim, had been shortsighted. He had decided that Shade had to be either forced into their ranks or destroyed. Kadaria preferred letting Shade believe his choices were his own. He had a nimble mind when under the misapprehension that he was free. By the time he understood the truth, he would at last understand that he had to willingly join her as her partner and mate . . . and co-ruler.
The rest of the Lords of the Dead would not be brooking any protest at his ascension. They would be dust, as dead as they appeared. This was the final secret Kadaria kept even from them. Like the Dragon Kings, like the ghostly founders, they were to perish.
Only the strongest survive. It was a tried-and-true Vraad adage and one by which Kadaria commanded. Only the strong survive . . . the rest will serve them.
The last was her own addition. Kadaria sent a part of her senses back into the Dragonrealm, summoning the final element of the necromancers’ gathering power. The ghosts that the Lords of the Dead had gathered since surviving their last battle with Shade began to flow into the pocket world. Every ghost, every spirit. By themselves, they were little more than nothing. Together, they were as potent, if not more so, than all the might of the Black Dragon and his heir.
And as the ghosts gathered, she turned her attention to their ally within. To the Crystal Dragon.
He is ready was the response.
Kadaria grinned and ordered her unsuspecting comrades to their next and final step.
DARKHORSE CONTINUED his silent roar, furious at his continual naïveté. He had sensed the Crystal Dragon’s spell at the last moment, but Shade’s and Valea’s conversation about some shadow that he could not see had put him off guard just long enough for the drake lord to do his foul work.
Dragon Kings had tremendous power, but Darkhorse still should have had a chance to battle the spell. That he had not been able to had been due to a more ancient, more subtle touch to it that the eternal had not been expecting.
The Crystal Dragon had utilized Vraad magic.
There were many connotations inherent in that fact, none of them comforting. Darkhorse wished for Shade’s knowledge in this one respect.
Another mind insinuated itself into his. The eternal tried to reject it, but it would not be denied.
If you would save them, you will give yourself to me.
There was no falsehood in the words. The other mind let itself be fully known to the ebony stallion so that Darkhorse could see that what it promised could only be achieved if the captive obeyed. Shade, and more important, Valea, had no hope unless Darkhorse did as he was told.
He acquiesced. He had no choice. Darkhorse let his bitterness be known and was surprised when the other mind relayed his understanding.
The eternal was alone again. Had he had a spine as mortal creatures had, a definite chill would have run down it. He had immediately known the source of the intrusion into his mind. It had been the Crystal Dragon, of course. Yet, in opening himself up to Darkhorse, the drake lord had revealed something else.
The Crystal Dragon had not simply used Vraad magic . . . he himself was Vraad.
CABE STRUGGLED TO cast another spell. It seemed that each effort came harder than it should have. He knew that it had to be another trick by the Lords of the Dead but had no opportunity to seek out the reason. To let up even for a moment was to allow the undead to reach the living defenders.
And they know we won’t let that happen, the master wizard thought angrily. He had been reunited with his son only to have both of them face possible death protecting others. It was not a fate from which the senior Bedlam shirked, but he would have preferred a few more moments to try to mend matters with Aurim.
There was also the fear of what had happened to Valea. Cabe wondered if she was still with Shade or if she now struggled to survive on her own. There was no hope of Gwen seeking her; the brief contact he had made with his wife had indicated that Penacles was also in dire straits. Yes, there seemed to be no true leadership on Lochivar’s side, but that was hardly comforting. Not only would the enemy fight until the very end, but Cabe knew the Black Dragon too well to not be worried about what the Dragon King was up to.
Cabe again sought out Darkhorse and again found no trace. It was as if, like Shade and Valea, the eternal had utterly vanished from the Dragonrealm.
Vanished . . . As Cabe used a scythe of golden energy to cut in twain what might have once been a human but was now some heaping mass of vegetation, bone, and armor, the mage thought about Shade’s quest. Where had it taken them?
“They’re catching up!” shouted Aurim, referring to the Red Dragon’s living warriors. The shelled creatures that made up the front ranks stared impassively as they neared, but they clutched their weapons with the ease of those well-versed in war.
Cabe made a tactical decision. The two of them could no longer be the front line alone. Cabe had tried to prevent more deaths—each of those additional fuel for the necromancers’ spells—but could not.
“We pull back!”
Grimacing, Aurim vanished. Cabe unleashed a swathe of fire in front of the corpses, then vanished as well.
But instead of retreating, the wizard materialized farther toward the enemy. Magic already erupted over both armies and dragons flew in the air, but Cabe only had eyes for the Jaruu. The testudinarian warriors closest to him suddenly lost their impassivity in the face of the spellcaster’s abrupt appearance. Several roared a challenge. Cabe discovered that although the Jaruu in some ways resembled tortoises or turtles, they were far more agile.
But an unnatural wind struck the oncoming Jaruu, toppling them backward. The wind swept along the foremost ranks with particular aim. Each Jaruu it pushed fell onto its back.
The fallen warriors struggled to rise. Others came to their aid while more sought the wizard. Cabe unleashed another sharp gust that sent them farther back. The fallen Jaruu could more easily pick themselves up than any tortoise could, but delay was all the mage had in mind.
“Unngh!” The force of the blow at his back was enough to send Cabe to his knees. Had he not shielded himself in advance, the two ghouls’ axe strikes would have ripped into his back.
“You should learn to follow your own advice!” Aurim seized him by the arms and vanished with him. They appeared back near the Green Dragon. “Next time, tell me what you’ve got in mind!”
Cabe said nothing, choosing instead to merely nod his appreciation. He would have managed to escape the creatures, but Aurim’s concern had touched him.
Horns blared again. The defenders moved in to face the undead and the creatures beyond them. They did so aware that many of them—perhaps all of them—would perish. Yet, move in they did.
And the battle raged. The first men fell even with the wizards to protect them. The Bedlams could not be everywhere. There were limits even to their great power
. The lord of the Dagora Forest also added his strength to the struggle, but death followed death in rapid succession.
Then, only mere minutes into the fight and with scores already slain, Cabe sensed a faint but insidious tendril touch the field of battle. He shut his eyes, seeing the world through magic means instead.
He saw the ghosts.
At first, Cabe thought them only the dead from the battle, but then more floated from beyond the edges of his sight. They moved with amazing speed, heading toward the direction of the Hell Plains. The ghosts floated through the living unseen. They did not do so willingly; the wizard could feel their reluctance. Yet, the Lords of the Dead called and they could not disobey.
Cabe understood that these were merely slivers of the dead’s souls, that the true people had passed on. Yet, those slivers had an existence, had every memory of the deceased. To Cabe, they might as well have been the full souls. Enslavement was enslavement.
A hand touched his shoulders. Thinking Aurim had something to tell him, Cabe opened his eyes and turned. “What do you—?”
Just for a moment, Erini stood before him. She wore a solemn expression and looked as if she wanted to tell him something.
Then she was gone.
Cabe spun around, wondering if he had simply imagined her because she was also dead, wondering and knowing instinctively that he had not.
“Look out!” shouted Aurim.
The ground exploded. Even with his shield, Cabe would have suffered, but Aurim magnified the protection around both of them.
The crimson dragon hovering above them dwarfed the rest of the red behemoths attacking. That they had not sensed his approach was due to the simple fact that he was none other than the lord of the Hell Plains. The titan had attempted to destroy both Bedlams at once, a worthy if dangerous plan. The danger revealed itself in the form of another gigantic dragon—this one forest green—who collided with the red beast.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade Page 27