Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

"Two or three hundred years is enough for the two of you, then?"

  "Enough," Wellen agreed. One of the benefits of sorcery, even for an inept carrier like himself, was an extended life span. Both he and Xabene might live another two centuries, maybe more, and most of it looking little older than they did now.

  "No one has yet seen Purple depart the libraries," Lore said, changing the subject. "Perhaps he will be trapped forever."

  "Perhaps." The scholar still had the key. Just in case. He was not so certain that the Dragon King would not escape someday, though. Given time, if he survived his wounds, Purple would eventually reason out the tapestry and how it could be used.

  He had not spoken to anyone about the hand he had seen, a hand belonging to an obviously short being.

  "My lord fears what his brother will unleash if he does escape. All that knowledge in his vile claws."

  Here, Wellen relaxed. He smiled at Xabene, who nodded. It was time to show Benton Lore what they had discovered. Reaching into a pouch, he removed the book.

  The black man's eyes widened. "A dragon tome! You have one!"

  "Here."

  Lore caught the book and quickly opened it. After a few pages, he looked mystified. "It is blank!"

  "Not quite. Think of a subject involving the construction of a magical fortress . . . like Serkadion Manee's pentagon."

  The major-domo did. Before his eyes, the pages began to turn. At last, they stopped. The smile reappeared, then almost instantly disappeared again. "What is this gibberish? It looks almost like a . . . like a riddle or a poem! I do no understand!"

  "Shade stole that particular volume, then lost it. I picked it up, intending on giving it to him if we escaped, but then he vanished first." He looked a bit abashed. "I know I didn't mention its existence, but my curiosity got the better of me. I promise you I would have told the Green Dragon everything."

  "I believe you and so will he." Lore inspected the riddle. "What does it mean?"

  "The secret is within, one merely has to be willing to spend the time . . . years, even."

  "Then . . ." The officer laughed. "If Purple lives it may take him years just to decipher one?"

  Wellen joined him in laughing. "It gets worse. Unless you really work at it, what you read in the book will not be retained in your memory. You can't even write it down. Somehow, it always disappears."

  "The gnome must have done this!"

  "I think so. Just before he died, I imagine." Was he dead, though? What had Wellen seen?

  "So the price of Purple's victory is endless searching for even the minutest bit of information. He may spend his lifetime simply deciphering a simple experiment for telling time!"

  Knowing how complete the knowledge contained in the libraries was, WeIlen had no doubt that there was such information listed. The Dragon King might have won, but his victory would keep his ambitions curtailed. If anything, the rest of the Dragonrealm had gained much more than it had lost with the change in masters.

  Xabene glanced at the sinking sun. "It's time we returned to Zuu. Tomorrow, we head north. I know a settlement up there that the Dragon King Bronze never bothers with. A pleasant place."

  "You would both be welcome here. It would be safer. What about the Lords of the Dead?"

  "Shade did something to them, that's all we know," Bedlam replied. "We can only tell you that we have this feeling that they will not bother us, neither in this life nor the next."

  No one desired to contemplate what could have made the necromancers abandon their plans and their vengeance.

  "I think this would be better off in your hands," Lore finally decided. "I only ask that you share whatever you find." The dragon tome was returned to Wellen. "I shall depart, then. Farewell to both of you. Good luck with everything."

  "Farewell to you, Commander Lore," the enchantress said, taking a tighter hold of the reins.

  Wellen simply nodded. He was savoring being his own master at last, not to mention riding a horse rather than teleporting. His children, on the other hand, would likely be materializing and dematerializing before they were adults. Still, much of the fact that he was now able to live his own life was due to one person. As Benton Lore rode off, Wellen muttered, "May you find your future, Gerrod."

  "Shall we go?" Xabene asked him.

  They urged their horses to a trot. The sorceress, her lengthy dark hair fluttering, moved her mount alongside Wellen's and asked, "What do you really think is going on in the gnome's place? Couldn't Purple be dead?"

  "He might be, but I doubt it. He probably won't recover completely for some time, but I think he survived."

  She did not care to think about that. "At least we no longer have to worry about Serkadion Manee. His death is the one good thing we can thank the Dragon King for."

  "Mmm . . ." Wellen turned the dragon tome over and stared at the cover. He was tempted to throw the book away and try to forget Serkadion Manee, but curiosity made him put it back where he had originally packed it. It might not hurt to try and decipher the contents. Besides, unlike the Purple Dragon, Wellen only had one book to muddle through.

  With two hundred years ahead of him and some peace at last, he was certain to make some progress.

  Hissing, the Dragon King threw the yellow-backed book across the corridor. His rage unspent, he cleared shelf after shelf until finally, exhausted, he slumped against one of the library walls.

  "You seem ill-tempered. How may I serve you?"

  "You again?" Purple whirled on the tiny, calm figure. "You are dead! Dead! Leave me!"

  The gnome bowed. "I am here only to serve you, the present master of the libraries. It is all I exist for now, thanks in great part to you."

  "Sssstop ssssaying that, cursssse you!" The Dragon King reached forward and took hold of the gnome by the collar. The bald figure simply stared back blandly. This further antagonized the drake. "I killed you once and I shall do sssso again!"

  He brought a taloned hand down on the gnome's head.

  The squat figure vanished.

  "Perhaps if you tell me what it is you search for," came the voice again, this time from behind him. When the Dragon King turned, he once more found himself facing the libraries' former master.

  "I want out of thissss place! I want the secret of why it hassss turned mad!" He picked up one of the tomes and held it open for the other to see. "Mosssst of all, I want to know what you have done to thesssse precious volumessss! What is thissss foolishnessss written here?"

  The gnome calmly held forth another book. "I am only an extension of the libraries' purpose; I cannot aid you in that. The one you have there is the wrong volume, however. The one with the information you seek is this one here."

  A hand batted the book away. "I cannot decipher it!"

  "Perhaps if there was someone to help you . . ."

  "There issss no one but me!" Purple stepped back and glared at the shelves. "When I am free of thissss place, I will rebuild Penaclessss! I will take humanssss, who are inssssufferably adaptive, and educate them! The besssst will work to aid me in ssssolving these quandaries!"

  "That seems a reasonable course."

  "But I have to find the way out of here first!"

  "It is in the book . . ." responded the gnome, bending over to retrieve the volume. "All you have to do is read it."

  Hissing in frustration, the Dragon King fell to his knees. "Very well, then. Give it to me."

  "This is a simple one, truly," the shadow that resembled Serkadion Manee commented. "At the most, it would take one as clever as you no more than forty, perhaps fifty years to solve it. Possibly as little as a year or two."

  In sullen silence, the Purple Dragon took the proffered tome and began reading. His eyes narrowed and his breathing slowed. He knew he would need all his concentration to decipher the cursed poem/riddle. He also knew that he would have to struggle to retain whatever he read.

  "The key . . ." the drake lord muttered. "It would have been sssso much eassssier with the key."


  "Yes, my lord." There was still the tapestry, which the gnome recalled presently lay in an obscure part of one of the hallways, but it was not his place to offer such information. His purpose now consisted entirely of maintaining and protecting the libraries, as he himself had commanded before his demise. That was all he was to do and he would perform that task until the libraries themselves were no more, for he, unlike the minds trapped in the vials that had once monitored his creation, had tied his own immortality to this place.

  As he watched the new master of the libraries at work, the gnome could not help but smile.

  THE HORSE KING

  Chapter One

  He was sorry, but the king had to die.

  Miklo Vinimus respected, if not liked, the king of Zuu, but for the sake of peace, Lanith had to die before his ambitions grew to fruition. It was not that the muscular, graying monarch was so terrible a ruler, but he had begun gathering forces that Miklo and a few others understood would eventually overwhelm Lanith himself, then spread unchecked over much of the Dragonrealm.

  Back in the quarters of the Order, all the others save for Hysith would be sleeping now. Miklo did not fear that particular would-be mage. Hysith only had a shadow of Miklo's power, just enough to become a member of the king's Magical Order, and most of the time the aged figure could not even recall his own name. He had been drinking heavily tonight and Miklo had left him even stronger drink on his way out. Hysith would definitely be no danger. Lanith only kept him around because human sorcerers were still very scarce. Zuu could now claim a dozen, but most were little better than Hysith.

  Miklo had only been a baby when the Dragon Emperor had perished, a death that had opened the way for a new generation of human mages like himself. The last generation had been hunted down by the draconian emperor and his servants after the drakes had nearly lost a war against the Dragon Masters. The human spellcasters forming that legendary group had been out to free their kind from the oppression of the drakes. They had nearly succeeded, failing more because of betrayal in their ranks than because of the Dragon Emperor.

  A few spellcasters with resources or, more often, no discernible power had escaped the hunt. Meanwhile, more newcomers with potential appeared every year. However, Miklo would be old and wrinkled before mages became more than legend to most common folk. Only in Zuu and perhaps far-off Penacles did common folk see sorcery on a daily basis.

  But not much longer, if I succeed. It'll all crumble without Lanith to urge it on. Clad in robes the color of the night that made his rather trollish features look even less human, the short, swarthy Miklo stalked quietly through the corridors of the palace. The Magical Order had its living quarters in a converted stable next to the palace . . . near enough if Lanith desired the presence of his mages but far away enough for when he did not. The place still smelled of the memory of sweaty mounts, but then, so did the rest of Zuu as far as he was concerned. The murals Miklo passed were illustrations of the natives' great passion. Each one represented some scene of equine majesty, the animals gamboling, racing, or charging into battle. The kingdom was renowned for the horses it bred, horses purchased by eager folk from every corner of the continent. The horse folk earned a good living from raising and running the animals. It should have stayed that way, but Lanith was too ambitious a monarch. With most of the Dragon Kings dead or their power in disarray, he had decided that the time to expand his lands was near at hand and his grand Magical Order was to be one of the weapons he would use to achieve that desire. Even horses seemed now a secondary passion to the king.

  Torches lit the corridors through which the self-appointed assassin silently moved, but Miklo left no shadow as he passed. The trick that she had taught him worked well, even better than either of them could have hoped. Although he had started learning to use his gifts just shortly before reaching adulthood, he had quickly proven himself a capable and fairly powerful sorcerer. Not at all as powerful, say, as the great Bedlams, but powerful enough. His abbreviated training had been enough to gain him entrance into Lanith's Magical Order and a position of some trust. He was one of the Order's more competent mages and, therefore, one of the more better treated.

  Of course, without her quick training, he would never have made it to this point, the assassination of the king. She was the reason he had finally dared to take this great risk, even if she had not actually wanted him to make such an attempt. However, Miklo's home in the independent barony of Adderly lay just to the north of Zuu and was an attractive first target for the horse king's campaign. For that reason alone, Miklo had to stop Lanith.

  Adderly consisted of rich farmlands barely defended by a few large towns and one castle, a land that had prospered since the death of the Dragon King who had lived there. Miklo 's parents, his sister and her family, and his younger brother all lived in the heart of the barony, near the castle itself. Although he had not seen them since leaving for Zuu a year before, their possible fates if Zuu went to war were always on his mind. Adderly could not hold out against the horse king. It would be trampled by his armies in one day, two at most.

  There would be no aid. Gordag-Ai, the nearest other great kingdom, lay much farther north, too far away to be of assistance. Besides, Gordag-Ai had a marriage treaty with far-off Talak, and Talak a treaty with Zuu from over twenty years ago when both had fought for freedom against the drake lords. Neither of those kingdoms would likely risk their treaties simply for his home. They would probably be preparing their own defenses instead, waiting for the day when the horse king unveiled to all his mad crusade.

  Miklo's own people could not believe that their neighbors to the south, neighbors with whom they had traded for generations, would suddenly turn to war. Frustrated at their lack of comprehension, he had finally come to Zuu on his own with only the intention of seeing if his notions were simply delusion. However, his chance meeting with her two days after his arrival had introduced him to revelations so great and terrible that had he not seen proof Miklo would have not believed them himself.

  Lanith has opened the way to a future darker than the one the Dragon Kings once intended for our kind, she had informed him that first night. There's something already alive in the palace that should not be a part of our world. I can feel it.

  He had not seen that thing, but he had seen evidence of its existence, evidence that frightened Miklo yet steeled his resolve to kill the horse king.

  A guard stood before the doorway through which Miklo needed to pass, but the bronzed, braided figure neither heard nor saw the mage slowly walking toward him. Miklo allowed himself a brief, satisfied smile. His potential had both stunned and pleased his mistress. Miklo knew very well that his ability to perform sorcery had been the reason she had also chosen him as a lover; she herself was quite accomplished in sorcery, not to mention a few more fascinating fields, and more than once she had spoken of how the marriage of Cabe Bedlam to the legendary Lady of the Amber had produced offspring reputed to be even more powerful sorcerers than their parents. Knowing nothing about the Bedlams save from tales passed on by visitors to his village, Miklo took her word on the abilities of the children, but he was also aware that each time she spoke of them, she did so with envy. She clearly desired a similar union and the results thereof and he was the prime candidate. Once this was over, there would be time . . .

  When he was next to the guard, Miklo reached up to the man's chest and tapped it. The guard immediately went rigid. Impressed by his success so far, Miklo paused a moment to admire his work. True love had not been a part of the relationship between the northerner and his mistress, at least not where she had so far been concerned. Miklo was already hopelessly her slave and had been so from the moment he had first stared into that perfect face. Only on one other had he seen such beauty and that beauty belonged to one who would flay him alive if he was captured. Saress was very protective of her royal lover and her power of sorcery was as great as that of Miklo's mistress, possibly even greater.

  They will both be in the bed, a
sleep by now. One simple target. She said that even Saress would have no defense against this attack How his mistress knew so much about the horse king's devil woman Miklo did not know, but everything had so far worked to perfection. The guards he had passed were now ensorcelled, the Magical Order slumbered on without knowledge that their protective spells had been temporarily negated, and King Lanith and Saress had only a few steps left worth of life.

  He tried the door, but found it locked. Reaching into his robe, Miklo removed a small vial from an inner pocket. For some reason, locks remained impervious to his skills no matter how much he practiced. Miklo would have stood a better chance of breaking the door down with his shoulder than of opening the door with sorcery.

  Miklo poured some of the contents into the lock, then leaped back as the liquid immediately began eating into the metal. A low, sizzling sound accompanied the process, but other than the would-be assassin the only one within earshot was the frozen guard. Miklo Vinimus counted to twelve as he had been instructed, then pushed against the door. It resisted at first, but with a little more effort, he at last opened it. The slight groan of the joints was not enough to worry him. As soon as the door was open wide enough, he slipped through.

  "Almost there . . ." he whispered. Miklo gazed around the chamber, somewhat disappointed at the dust-encrusted but otherwise bland decor of what had once been a royal bedroom. Dark shadows clung to the farthest corners of the room. The dust made his nose itch, but Miklo held back his sneeze as he stepped farther inside.

  It had once been the chambers of Lanith's brother Prince Blane, but Blane had perished years ago in some old battle against the forces of the long-dead Dragon Emperor. The previous king had ordered the chamber sealed up and guarded after his son's death and Lanith had carried on his father's eccentric desire. Miklo felt a touch of guilt at the thought of utilizing the room of one dead son in order to eliminate another, but for the sake of his homeland and the lives of many, it was best that Lanith walk the Final Path.