He smiled in anticipation of what their next move might be and when it might take place. Whatever they plotted, he would be ready for it, of course, but the thought that they might have come up with some novel approach stirred his hunger for research. He would have to research the possibilities this incident presented, even if it turned out that any such possibilities were nothing more than the products of his inventive imagination.
The hole had just begun to seal itself when he again felt the presence of that patient watcher. Freezing the doorway spell, the bent sorcerer peered outside again. He saw nothing, not that he had expected it to be that simple, but in his mind's eye, where the power flowed, there came an image of a tall figure, human perhaps, wrapped in a shroudlike cloak.
That was all. As if his sensing this had broken a fragile bubble, both the image and the feeling of being watched vanished.
Frowning, the gnome allowed the wall to finish sealing itself up. He had protected his precious legacy from foes human and otherwise for endless millennia and he saw no reason that he could not protect it from one more. Be his rivals birdmen or cloaked sorcerers, they were nothing next to him.
Another image flashed through his mind, but this one was merely a memory of his most persistent and patient adversary yet. He chuckled at some of the clever but futile tricks that one had pulled. "Yesss, and that goes for you, too, lord dragon!" the aged spellcaster muttered. "The book's mine and that's all there is to it!"
The squat figure resettled the rabbits on his shoulder and trundled down the hall, thoughts of dragons, bats, and such now giving way to memories of the sensual aroma of roast hare. He so enjoyed the peaceful life. This was not at all like his former home, the place that he had abandoned so very, very, very long ago.
No, this domain was nothing like Nimth.
Chapter Two
"There!"
It was Captain Yalso himself who planted the flag. With the aid of his great bulk, he shoved almost two feet of the wooden pole into the soft earth at the inward edge of the beach. As two sailors unfurled the banner—which was actually a ship's identification banner borrowed for just this occasion—a cheer went up from both those who made up the shore party and those watching from the three-masted vessel anchored in the natural harbor. After months of treacherous sailing, the Heron's Wing had reached its destination.
The myth was now a fact. There was a fabled Dragonrealm! Or at least a continent in the same general location, Wellen Bedlam thought, staring in sour humor at the tiny flag, one that had not even been his idea.
The guiding force as well as the master of this expedition, he should have been the one most excited by this turn of events. His dream had been fulfilled. From the first time his parents had told the children the tales of Lord Drazeree and the Dragon Men to the final days of his own researches in the ruins of the ancient city, he had believed that the Dragonrealm had existed as more than just a storyland. Somewhere there had to have been a basis for such tales.
His entire reputation as a master scholar had been at risk these past few years, but that had hardly been a concern to him. Even when the Master Guardians, who ruled the nebulous region called the Dreamlands from mysterious Sirvak Dragoth, had warned him of the dangers of delving too deeply into the past . . . a shaded threat? . . . he had pressed on. After his researchers had finally, conclusively, pointed to the west, beyond the terrible seas, Wellen had somehow gathered the support to finance this expedition. When it had appeared that the effort was about to flounder just as the Heron's Wing was about to set sail, he had even taken his own meager finances and spent every last coin to make certain that the ship would leave.
Brushing sand from his brown, cloth shirt, he pulled his long, green cape about him and turned from the merrymakers. Yes, he had made his dream come true, but now Wellen wondered at what cost that might be. In the safe seclusion of his chambers back home, he had only imagined the dangers. The reality of those dangers, however, was more than he truly wanted to face. It bothered him that he of all people might most jeopardize the expedition.
I'm afraid! The thought had burned its way into his soul. I'm afraid. I've spent my entire life with the deadliest threat to my existence the possibility that I might fail to graduate!
Sand flew up as he walked aimlessly across the beach. Even with knee-high boots, some of the granules still managed to get inside, making his feet itch. Wellen wished all of his sufferings could be so tiny. How would it look back home if the expedition leader was the first man to crack? How would it look if Prentiss Asaalk had to take over?
Thinking of the northerner, whom other interests had chosen as Bedlam's undesired second, Wellen now recalled his own physical deficiencies. It was bad enough that he was afraid, but he had to compete against a man who looked like some demigod hero out of an ancient myth. Where Wellen was short, barely topping the midway point between five feet and six, Asaalk was nearly a foot taller. The shorter man was by no means unathletic, but his broad frame more resembled a flat gate when compared to Prentiss Asaalk's herculean dimensions.
Facially, there was no comparison. Wellen's own features could be called unremarkable at best. Slightly rounded face, simple nose, unassuming mouth . . . only his hazel eyes, which somehow always snared the attention of those he spoke to, rose above the ordinary. Penetrating eyes, however, added up to little compared to the aristocratic features of his second. Not only did Asaalk have the bearing of a leader, but he had the arrogant beauty that all those story heroes had seemed to have, save for the legendary Drazeree.
Despite his constant listing of his faults, however, the short man still found himself very much in charge. For some reason, people were more willing to listen and follow him. It confused Wellen and it almost certainly annoyed the ambitious Asaalk. That added yet another fear to those of the scholar. When would come the point when he led his people into disaster and, should they survive, Prentiss Asaalk finally and irrevocably took his place as leader?
The day was young. The wind fruitlessly tried to tousle his brown hair, which had been cut short in order to save him the trouble of having to take care of it any more than he had to. He pushed a few loose hairs aside, trying not to think of the damnable silver streak that his fingers touched, and paused to stare at the woodlands beyond the beach. They seemed quiet and unassuming, but was anything so in this strange land? A part of him argued that he worried needlessly, but the rest of his mind knew that such worry was the only thing that kept him from growing too dreamy, a dangerous tendency of his youth. Though not quite three decades old, Wellen liked to think that his reckless days had ended with the broken leg and arm he had received because he had been daydreaming instead of making certain that the library ladder was stable.
"So just what're you doing here?"
He nearly jumped, so startled was he to hear the question that he had just been asking himself spoken out loud. Then, realizing it was not he himself who had spoken, Wellen knew that the question had a different, far more mundane basis behind it. He exhaled in relief and turned to face Captain Yalso.
The mariner was ancient, but no one could say just how ancient he was. As old as the seas, one crewman had said, but if Yalso was that old, he was holding up well for one of his age. Though the hair on his head was shockingly white and his beard stretched down to his chest, the captain was by no means a frail old man. His girth alone proved that, if not also the way he was able to manhandle his crew during the roughest storms and get them working in order to save the Heron's Wing and all those on board. He had done that more than once on the long journey. Like most men, it seemed, Yalso also stood several inches taller than Wellen. Again, it always surprised him when men such as the sea captain deferred to him in matters.
"You're driftin' off, you are," Yalso told him in tones designed not to carry beyond the two of them. If there was a man on the ship that could be called Wellen's friend, it was Yalso. Until the scholar had come along, he had been looking at nothing but a long overdue retirement. We
llen had given him one last great adventure . . . the greatest one, in fact. No one had ever sailed this far west. No one that had come back to tell of it, that is. The young scholar had had an insistent, knowing way about him, however, and that had been enough for the seaman. He had never lost faith in Wellen.
"I'm sorry," Bedlam muttered. "I keep wondering what we'll find out there." He gestured inland.
"Oh, trees, grass, animals, birds . . . " Yalso winked. "I think maybe a few lost cities, damsels in distress, and gold aplenty. . ."
They both smiled at that image. While there were always those aboard who expected the expedition to find such things, the two were more practical. As far as the captain was concerned, sailing here had been a reward all its own. He had proved once more that he was the best captain there was and that the Heron's Wing was the finest lady ever to set sail. Wellen, on the other hand, cared mostly for the history.
His spirits had risen a little, but Wellen could not shake off certain fears. Not after the first attempt to land.
Here be dragons was a warning essential to the tale of this distant land. Dragons they had not seen . . . at least not enough so that they could be identified as such . . . but there were strange dangers aplenty here, of that Wellen was certain.
"You're thinkin' of that blasted city again, aren't you, Master Bedlam? Don't. This here's safe harbor, not like that haunted, monster-laden cove."
Haunted, Wellen could not recall, but the ruined city to the northeast, the wind-swept region that was their first sighting of the legendary Dragonrealm and was to have been their initial landing point, was indeed 'monster-laden' as the ancient mariner had just commented.
Their first sight of land had brought a cheer and when the city had first been spotted it was thought that here might be people open to trade. Only when they had sailed closer had the crew and passengers of the three-master noted that the port city was in ruins and had been so for centuries. Part of it had apparently even sunk into the sea. Still, it had been a marvel to see, what with its almost inhuman architecture and beauty, and so they had talked of exploring it, possibly even finding riches long abandoned.
Then, the lookout had seen the sleek, scaled backside in the water.
Sea-blue, that was why no one had noticed them at first. Possibly they had been swimming too deep, also. All that the daring explorers still knew was that suddenly there were several murky shapes in the waters around them that promised leviathans. Captain Yalso was of the opinion that they had come across a breeding ground or something. Prentiss Asaalk had wanted to hunt one. He was, fortunately, in the minority.
The shapes had remained no more than that, ever diving out of sight when the explorers moved closer, but that did not mean that the ship was left alone. When the first tremor rocked the Heron's Wing, they knew that several had swum underneath. Oddly, very little damage occurred to the ship, but possibly because Captain Yalso instinctively understood what it was they wanted. Each strike was focused at the bow of the ship, halting the three-master's progress and soon forcing the vessel back.
"They want us out of here!" he had informed Wellen. "They're givin' us a chance to leave in one piece!"
Sure enough, when the Heron's Wing had finally turned about and headed away, the fearsome shapes had receded. The explorers had kept sailing and had not looked back until the city and its denizens of the deep were no more than a spot on the horizon.
"Drifting again." The comment scattered the shorter man's memories. The scholar stared down at the sand beneath his feet, reorienting himself to the present.
Wellen started walking up a small rise, wanting to stand among the foot-high blades of wild grass. "Sorry, captain. I don't mean to do it. It just happens."
"Nothing wrong to dream; that's what got you, got all of us, here. You just have to know where the dreaming ends and the reality begins . . . otherwise ya put your foot in something terrrrible!"
He was never certain whether Captain Yalso affected a salty accent at times or whether the man just switched back and forth without realizing it. Yalso was far more cultured than the short man had expected, but that might have just been the personal prejudice borne of having been highly educated. "I'll try to remember that."
"Good!" The heavy-set sailor joined him, his boots sinking a bit in the soft earth. "If anything happens to you and I have to listen to the blue man's royal orders for very long, then there's gonna be a mutiny!"
The "blue man" was Prentiss Asaalk. For reasons only the Dreamlands might know, Asaalk's folk were blue-skinned. It was not a dye of any sort; they were born a dusky blue from head to toe, including their hair. The only people so colored, they felt it marked them as special, which explained to a great extent Asaalk's arrogant manner. He was a product of his culture.
Still, even for a blue man he could be demanding.
"Come on back to camp, Master Bedlam! If you want a search party ready for tomorrow, we've got plenty to get done before then! I've sent out a few men to scout the nearby area, but I'm goin' to need your presence of mind to keep them enthused and the blue man from takin' over!"
Knowing what an opportunist Asaalk was, Wellen readily agreed. He also knew that keeping himself busy was the best way to maintain a steady rein on his fears and self-doubts. It was one reason he enjoyed his research so much; for a time he could depart from the world and his deficiencies.
Sure enough, when they arrived back among the others the blue man was already attempting to seize control. His expression was bland, much like a king's might be when commanding his subjects.
"There and there," he was saying in a clipped, slightly accented voice. Though most folk spoke the common tongue in the same manner, the northerners put a certain twist in their inflections, making them sound to Wellen as if the ceremonial daggers they wore on their kilt belts were digging into their abdomens. No one, of course, ever joked about Asaalk's voice, in keeping with his heroic image, he was a deadly swordsman and wrestler. "Create a perimeter here, yes?"
Despite their mild dislike for the blue man, the sailors' minds were so ingrained with the concept of obeying the voice of authority that they were grudgingly following the northerner's commands.
"Thank you kindly, Master Asaalk!" Yalso roared, his beard fluttering as he spoke. "I can take such a meager task off your worthy shoulders!" The captain gave Wellen a conspiratorial glance. "Master Bedlam! Certainly you have something more pressing that would not be so beneath the able control of your second!"
It was likely that Prentiss Asaalk knew very well what the seaman was doing, but the northerner was nothing if not capable of masking his true feelings whenever need be. Instead, he smiled and broke from his self-appointed duties in order to join the two. Yalso, having no intention of submitting himself to the one-man oratories Asaalk thought conversations were supposed to be when he was a part, bowed to the young scholar and made his excuses. He made certain to avoid glancing at the blue man as he departed to organize the camp . . . providing Prentiss Asaalk had left him anything to do.
"Master Bedlam!" Asaalk greeted him with such fervor and pleasure that the expedition leader expected the larger man to envelop him in a bearhug. Asaalk did not, however, choosing instead to cross his arms and stand in cobalt splendor before Wellen like a storybook champion who has just bested his archrival. "Glorious day, yes?"
"The weather seems to be holding---"
"Weather? Not weather!" The blue man smiled broadly, as if appreciating Wellen's comment as a joke between good friends. "The weather is good, yes, but I speak, of course, of our being here!" With a finger, he indicated the ground beneath his feet. Asaalk's tendency to emphasize points always reminded Wellen of an actor onstage. He wondered if professional acting was yet another talent of the northerner's. Probably. There were few things that Asaalk did not seem to have some ability in. In fact, Wellen could think of nothing so far that was beyond the skills of his second.
Maybe I should let him take over! Then, I might find his limitations! Wh
at would happen, however, if Prentiss Asaalk proved to have none, though?
A hand twice as large as his own fell upon his shoulder. He was jostled again and again as the blue man patted him. "This is your day, Master Bedlam! Those who scoffed will hide their faces in shame when we return with our vessel laden with riches, yes?"
Riches? This was to be a voyage of discovery, not plundering! He wanted to shout that in the northerner's perfect countenance, but did not. It would have only made Wellen look ridiculous and Asaalk would not have paid any real attention to his words, anyway. Asaalk was not the only one who sought riches. Most of those aboard, even Captain Yalso, dreamed of returning home with a king's ransom. It was not that they had no interest in the knowledge that might be gained; they were merely of the opinion that one could have knowledge and wealth. Asaalk's people had only invested in the expedition because they were certain that the Heron's Wing would return with something of value . . . providing, of course, that it returned at all. Neither the ship nor Wellen dared return otherwise.
"The city in the north," his mighty second was saying, entirely ignoring the frustration that was evident in the shorter man's eyes. "We could reach it by land, yes? The creatures in the sea would then be no threat! Think what might be there!"
Wellen did and shuddered. "There might be things other than those monsters, things that move about on land. Besides, as ancient as the city looked—what was still above water, I mean—it's probably been picked clean already. Probably hundreds or thousands of years even."
"There is always something . . . and did you not want to find your knowledge? Surely, this must be a good place to seek it, yes? A city as mighty as this might have once known the great Lord Drazeree!"
It was doubtful that things could work out so neatly for him, but the scholar could not deny that a place as massive as the ruined city might contain countless answers and endless surprises. There was one other problem, however, that Prentiss Asaalk was evidently oblivious to, but that Wellen could hardly forget.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 2