Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  "The outsider's doing?"

  "Perhaps." The ruling lord waited for his counterpart to withdraw, but the other was not yet finished.

  "There is . . . one more thing."

  Hesitation. The coven leader arched a brow he no longer had at the sudden show of uncertainty. "That is?"

  "He has taken an interest in the outsider and the gnome. It may be that he too desires the book."

  No one had to ask who it was the one spoke of. He had been the bane in their existence for longer than they cared to recall, ever since they had sought to steal the power that he had brought with him from the birthworld. Unfortunately, his link made him stronger than they and he had refused to see the inevitable and die. Century after century he had kept himself alive by one means or another.

  Now he was after the gnome's secrets. That meant that he was growing desperate, but it also meant that their own plans were in jeopardy, for it anyone understood them, it was he who now called himself Shade.

  Shade. The name was a mockery. The Lords of the Dead preferred the use of his true name, when they could recall it, for it served to remind them that he was, after all, no more than their errant relation.

  "There is no choice," the ruling speaker intoned. "We cannot allow the dragon tome to belong to anyone but ourselves. Even if it means confronting . . . our cousin." He found that this time he could not recall the name. There were many things he especially had forgotten over time. With effort, the name would come, but like so many other such moments, it made more sense to utilize that effort for their plots than for recalling little-needed things like the past.

  One whose memory in regard to Shade was a bit stronger than the others, supplied the name that the others could not recall. "Gerrod. His name is Geffod, Ephraim."

  Ephraim, who realized with a start that he had forgotten his own name as well, moved from the center, breaking the pattern. The others saw determination etched into his features, but only because they shared the same delusion when it came to one another. "Then we will know what to call him when we summon him later . . . from the lists of the dead."

  The gnome's citadel did not loom over them, but regardless, its presence unnerved them both. It was not as big as Wellen had thought, but the fact that it stood here was impressive enough. From what he had learned, the citadel was as solid a landmark as the mountains Shade had dragged him to . . . was it only a day or two earlier?

  "Do what you must and hurry," Xabene demanded, her eyes darting this way and that. He knew she expected to see a dragon or some other threat come swooping down from the sky or springing up from the earth. In truth, the scholar was somewhat surprised at his change of luck. The determination to reach this place had dwindled the nearer they had come. It was almost as if geas had been put on him, one that had now served its purpose.

  His head throbbed with undefined warnings of danger, but Wellen was beginning to understand a little about how the ability worked. There were things with the potential to threaten him and things which were a danger to his existence. The horses, a mystery yet unsolved, were one of the former. Shade he considered one of the latter.

  Xabene was an enigma. Bedlam knew she should have been one or the other, yet she was still one of the few things that apparently did not mean him harm. That was contradictory to everything he knew or thought he knew about her.

  He dismounted and walked toward the blank, ominous structure. After a moment's hesitation, the enchantress followed suit. Wellen had expected that. Xabene wanted to get in more then he did. In fact, had it been up to him, he would have turned around now and ridden back as if a thousand hungry dragons were nipping at his heels.

  Too late now. He glanced at the wall that rose before him. Not a leviathan, but still more than three times, probably more than four times, his height. Careful to avoid touching it, the curious explorer leaned close enough to inspect the substance from which the edifice had been built. It looked like stone, possibly marble, but there were differences. He started to walk along the side, trying to find a place where blocks had been joined together, but more and more it seemed that the gnome's citadel had either been carved from some single massive rock or that it had been formed and baked into shape, like a clay pot. Neither theory was very plausible. There had to be another explanation. Lost in curiosity, he continued along the wall.

  "Where are you going?"

  Wellen glanced back. "I have to look it over. How do you think he breathes in there? There's no opening that I can see. Are there vents or windows on the top?"

  "No." She folded her arms in aggravation. "Is this necessary? I though you had some plan to make the gnome listen to you."

  "Plan?" Wellen turned the corner. After a moment, he heard the soft steps of Xabene behind him. "Until this morning, I hadn't even thought about coming here. I was going to ask you to help me get back to the coast so I could see if the Heron's Wing was still anchored there." He began to walk faster. "It was not until this morning that I felt I had to come here. I don't even know what I expected from him."

  "Do you mean I—" Xabene snapped, her words cut off so abruptly that the scholar turned to see if something was the matter.

  "What was that you were saying?"

  "Nothing."

  Nothing? Wellen pondered the possibility that Xabene had been responsible for his overnight change of mind. Could the vague recollections he had assumed were dreams actually be some true scene? If so, why did he not sense any danger from Xabene?

  Wellen continued around the ancient structure until he had come back to his starting point. The enchantress followed him all the way, her expression sour and possibly a bit fearful.

  Of what?

  "Did you find anything?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Only that I have wasted my time. Have you ever touched it?"

  Hesitation, then, "Yes."

  "Nothing happened?"

  "See for yourself."

  Taking a deep breath, Wellen reached forward. His fingers grazed the surface. When no bolt of lightening smote him, he planted his palm flat against the wall.

  "Extraordinary, wasn't it?" Xabene asked, the sarcasm in her tone sharp and biting.

  The disappointed explorer removed his hand. The wall felt like any wall, save a little smoother. He had no idea what he had been hoping for, just that he had been . . . hoping.

  "And so it ends," the enchantress chided. Wellen met her gaze. Xabene looked away and began to walk to the horses. For some reason, Wellen saw that she was more upset with herself rather than with him. Another puzzle.

  The logical thing would have been to follow his companion, remount, and ride off. In a few years, he might be able to forget his debacle, providing he lived that long. Yet, now that Wellen found himself here, he knew he could not just walk away. There had to be something else he could do.

  Facing the wall, the scholar quietly spoke. It might be that he talked only for his own benefit, but at least he could say he had tried. Perhaps the proper words could do what force had not.

  "I do not know if you can hear me in there, but my name is Wellen Bedlam. I've come from across the seas to explore this continent." He shrugged. "I have no designs on your secrets. My only reason for coming here was to see if you could help me return to my land. Right now I want nothing more than to begin my studies anew."

  A breeze tossed his hair about. The gray, flat face of the edifice remained as indifferent as it had before. No magical portal opened in the side. No voice boomed in the heavens. For all he knew, the gnome might not even be inside.

  Xabene, mounted and ready to retreat from this disaster, leaned forward and called, "What was that you were saying?"

  He was about to turn and tell her when a tingle ran through him. It was not a premonition of danger, but rather some effect from outside his body. Wellen stared at the blank wall for a few seconds, then reached out and touched it.

  With a yelp, he pulled his hand back. His fingertips felt as they had been burned. A belated throbbing wa
rned him that he should not touch the wall.

  "What did you do?" the stunned sorceress cried.

  Explanations had to wait. The tingle increased. Though he sensed no danger to himself, Wellen stepped back just in case. The entire pentagon shimmered.

  "No! Don't!" Xabene tried to urge her mount forward, but it was strangely still, almost like a frozen corpse. She cursed the animal, then called to Wellen. "Get away! You might be killed!"

  He could not. The shimmering structure nearly had him hypnotized. A panoramic display of colors surrounded the gnome's citadel, a display that grew brighter with each passing breath.

  "Wellen!"

  Bedlam put a hand over his eyes to shield them from the brilliance.

  With what sounded like a hiss, the entire building vanished. "Lords of the Dead!" Xabene swore.

  Slowly, Wellen took a step toward where the edifice had stood. His hope that it had merely been an illusion and that the gray structure still stood there, invisible, was quickly shattered. For all practical purposes, the gnome's sanctum might never have been built. Grass as high as his waist fluttered in the light breeze. There were no indentations, no fragments. The citadel was simply gone.

  The enchantress leaped from her mount and ran over to him. She took him by the arms and spun him around to face her, displaying at the same time incredible strength for one of her size. "What did you do? What spell did you cast?"

  Spell? He realized that she had taken his words, unintelligible to her, as some sort of complex spell. He knew that sorcerers sometimes found need for vocal guides, what the ignorant called "magic words," but surely she did not think that he was capable of such sorcery?

  Or was he? The novice warlock gazed thoughtfully at his hands. Had he somehow unleashed a spell of such potency that it had taken the entire building, gnome, book, and all?

  "This was not his fault."

  The two turned at the sound of the voice, Wellen's heart sinking, for he knew all too well to whom it belonged. Xabene, on the other hand, ignorant of who faced them now, took a step toward the newcomer and held up a fist that crackled with power. The disappearance had wracked her far more than it had Bedlam. He, after all, had only wanted escape; she wanted the tome . . . and not, Wellen suspected now, for herself.

  "Who are you?" the enchantress demanded. "This is your doing, then?"

  "You may call me Shade," the hooded warlock advised her quietly. As usual, his deathly visage was half-obscured by shadow. "And I am no more responsible for this than Master Bedlam here."

  Wellen could not meet her gaze. "You know him? You lied all the time? The book was what you wanted?"

  "No! Shade assumed I did, just as you have! He's the one who wants it."

  Xabene looked from her companion to the elderly but potent figure before her. "The dragon tome is mine!"

  To their surprise, Shade simply walked toward them. Wellen quickly stepped aside. The enraged enchantress, confused by the peculiar action, finally stepped away just before Shade would have walked into her. The shadowy warlock continued on a few more feet until he was at the edge of where the citadel had been. He went down on one knee and studied the grass with avid interest.

  "A masterful piece of work. Worthy of him."

  Despite circumstances, Wellen was interested. "Worthy of who?"

  "The gnome, of course."

  A movement by Xabene drew the explorer's attention. In horror, he watched as she stretched out her hand and pointed at the shrouded backside of Shade.

  "Xa—" was as far as he managed before her spell was unleashed.

  With perfect timing, Shade raising a single gloved finger. Xabene's attack faded with only a spark to mark its brief existence.

  "There will be no more of that," the kneeling figure commented in an absent manner, still studying the ground. "For Master Bedlam's sake, I will forgive it this once."

  The disheveled sorceress began to shake. She looked at Wellen with sudden pleading in her eyes. He frowned, not understanding her growing fear, and joined her. To his further consternation, Xabene fell against him and started crying

  "What is it? What's wrong?" he whispered. There was no reason to include Shade in this, whatever it might be.

  "She has failed her masters," the hooded warlock interjected. He rose, his back still to them as he surveyed the field. "They will, of course, see that she pays appropriately for that failure. This is, after all, a very important task and they do not generally take failure well. Still, do not take all of her anguish to heart. She's hardly given up."

  Xabene's shivering had grown worse as Shade had talked. Her tears had lessened, though. She looked up at Wellen, gave him a shadow of her seductress's smile, and then focused on the cold figure of the ancient warlock.

  "Who are you that you know so much? Who are you that thinks you can best the gods?"

  Grimacing, Wellen quickly whispered, "Take care! He's mad!"

  "They are no more gods than I am." Shade faced them. "Their power—" began the scholar.

  "Has its limits. You may trust me on that." He cocked his head to one side, almost resembling a Seeker. "They and I are related, as a matter of fact, though neither side is willing to admit it at times. We also have a tendency to forget, it being so long."

  His explanation was hardly what she had expected. "How could you—"

  "Cousins, actually. Perhaps half brothers in some cases. Father . . . he had a tendency to . . . share."

  Wellen, mind busy in what was so far a futile attempt to find a way to extricate the two of them from Shade's hands, recognized the telltale signs of the aged warlock's insanity seizing control again. Shade was beginning to drift back in time.

  "Xabene." He tried to keep his voice as low as possible, hoping that she would be able to understand him and that Shade, in his present state, would not pay attention regardless of his exceptional hearing. "Forget what I said earlier. Teleport us away from here now!"

  He was gratified to see her nod slightly. She, too, realized that this situation was beyond her abilities, especially if all the master warlock had said were true.

  Xabene tensed in his arms and then—

  Nothing. Nothing, save that Shade was walking up to them and Wellen discovered that he . . . and Xabene . . . could not move so much as a finger.

  "I think we should go elsewhere to discuss this further," the warlock suggested offhandedly. This close, even the shadows could not hide the fact of his parchment skin. He looked ready to crackle. "There will be others along shortly and they will raise a fuss."

  The Dragon King! The reptilian monarch of this land would surely know of the catastrophe before very long, unless, of course, he knew already. The choice was not one that he would have preferred to face, but Wellen decided that departing with Shade certainly had to be better than awaiting the scaly presence of the angry drake lord.

  "I'm not going anywhere with you!" Xabene swore.

  "Then you may remain here, if that is your desire." He stretched out a hand toward WeIlen. "Come, Master Bedlam."

  "I won't” —Wellen discovered himself now standing next to Shade—"leave her!" he sputtered, mentally cursing teleportation and its misuses.

  "Wellen!" The enchantress, also released from the movement spell, rushed to his side. Whatever her goals, she evidently did not want to separate herself from him. He wondered how much of it had to do with fear for herself because of her failure and how much had to do with the chance that she still might be able to redeem herself in the eyes of her masters if she remained with Wellen and Shade. Possibly she was evenly split; the short scholar still had no delusions about her attraction to him. What did he have to offer?

  "We all go together then." The corners of the warlock's mouth crooked upward at the sight of the twosome holding one another for reassurance. Shade seemed most coherent when he had an audience or something that particularly piqued his interest. If not for his indifferent attitude toward the lives and deaths of others, Wellen might almost have been able to li
ke him. As it was, the best he could do was again pity the aged spellcaster.

  The shrouded figure began to curl within himself. It was something he had always done prior to teleporting himself, but this was the first time that Wellen had actually paid attention to it. He wondered if that was the way he had looked when the hooded warlock had teleported him.

  A force tugged at the duo, Shade's spell pulling them in. Bedlam and the enchantress held one another tight, if only because neither of them cared for the idea of entrusting themselves to their spectral companion. Wellen thought the spell was drawn out much more than it had been in the past and wondered what Shade might be doing differently. He glanced back up at the warlock.

  Shade, twisted sideways in a manner that turned the anxious scholar's stomach, froze . . . and untwisted with a scream.

  The cloth-enshrouded figure crumpled to the ground, his spell dissipating even before his face struck the grassy earth. At the same time, Wellen felt a heavy weight he had not noticed earlier lift from his mind. A cold shiver passed through him as he realized what it might be. He looked down at the motionless form.

  "What happened to him?" Xabene separated herself from Wellen and took a tentative step toward Shade. She leaned forward and studied the warlock.

  "I think . . ." It was insane, but he could see no other explanation. "I think! might have fought him off."

  "You?" The enchantress rose and inspected him, trying to see something that neither she nor Wellen had noticed before. "You think you stopped him?"

  Her disbelief was reasonable. He shrugged. "When he started to collapse, I felt different, as if something had been accomplished or . . ." The confused man spread his hands in surrender. "I cannot explain exactly how I felt. It just makes sense somehow. I knew that I wanted his spell to fail. The thought of teleporting again . . ."

  "Perhaps you have something there. Now that I think of it, I thought I sensed a difference in you, but my first notion was that it was just an effect of his sorcery." She dared to prod the still form with her foot. "His power . . . so different, yet still like theirs . . ."