Legends of the Dragonrealm

by Richard A. Knaak

  And sometimes not even stopping then.

  However, eventually it had learned the concept of loneliness from those long periods when it had no such plaything. Somehow, it had learned that it could divide itself and so it made a slightly smaller piece.

  A ‘brother’. A companion.

  But despite being part of the same, that severed piece had quickly found the concept of ‘toys’ a frightening thing. Where the larger mass continued to enjoy the macabre games it played, eventually the severed portion had become revolted and fled.

  And then, it had eventually met a creature from one of those mysterious other places, a sorcerer by the name of Dru Zeree. The concept of a name had intrigued the mass and from a blurted comment by the startled sorcerer had come to call itself Darkness. Later, when it had followed Dru Zeree back to the Dragonrealm, it had beheld a creature so impressive to it that it had not only chose to take on the word for it as part of its ultimate name, but also the very shape.

  Thus had Darkhorse been created.

  But Yureel had eventually found his way to the Dragonrealm, too, and in the process had nearly brought the entire continent to war merely to satisfy his insidious craving for entertainment. Yureel had seemingly perished then, but a small bit had survived to briefly threaten Darkhorse later.

  “You think a part of him has reformed?” the Gryphon asked when the eternal said nothing.

  “I...do not know what to think. Please. Let me tell you what happened.” He quickly explained the recent events, leaving absolutely nothing out.

  The Gryphon nodded. “I can see the need for concern. How may I help, though?” He blinked. “The libraries? Is that it?”

  “Yes...I had never thought of it before, but I wondered what information they might have concerning the Void.”

  “An intriguing notion. I never considered it myself.” The lord of Penacles rubbed his beak again. “Yes...I can see why you might ask.”

  “Do you think it possible?” Unspoken had been the ebony stallion’s hope that the Gryphon would immediately pronounce such a suggestion as complete nonsense.

  “Why don’t we find out now?”

  Darkhorse exhaled. “I thank you, Lord Gryphon.”

  “Don’t thank me. I owe you, but that is not the point. A revived Yureel is not a danger any of us want. The Dragonrealm suffers enough right now. Come!”

  Without another word, the Gryphon led him down the hall. Several guards snapped to attention as their lord neared, then turned white with concern at sight of his inhuman companion.

  “Be at ease,” the lionbird ordered futilely. Although Darkhorse had visited the palace several times over the decades since Lord Purple’s fall, his was not a presence easily accepted by most.

  They reached a doorway flanked by a pair of ominous metal statues with only faint hint of features. The two fearsome figures seemed ready to fling themselves at the pair...and would have if the Gryphon had not been one of the two attempting to enter the chamber beyond. Instead, the iron golems—for that was what they were—simply remained frozen.

  The room within was small yet elegant. There were few pieces of furniture, but then this was not a place where one came to sit and rest. The purpose of the chamber hung on the opposing wall, a wide and very tall tapestry depicting a masterfully-detailed image of the entire kingdom. Indeed, as the pair approached, even the minutest details became clear. To someone not familiar with the tapestry, it appeared as if the piece had been newly-crafted, for it even revealed buildings currently under construction or repair.

  Darkhorse, though, knew the truth, even if he had rarely seen the artifact work. Created by the same magic that had been used to build the libraries themselves, the tapestry constantly altered its appearance as Penacles itself changed. Had Darkhorse stood before it long enough, he would have seen subtle alterations here and there as life around the kingdom progressed.

  Yet, the true purpose of the artifact was not just to record the ongoing existence of the City of Knowledge. Now the Gryphon carefully eyed the image, seeking one thing in particular. The eternal also sought for it, but the trained eye of Penacles’s ruler found the prize first.

  The Gryphon set his finger on the small image of a red book positioned in the midst of the main marketplace. More often than not, a similar symbol alway noted the location of the hidden libraries...but rarely in the same place each day. The entrance to the libraries constantly shifted position and the only true way to reach the facilities was by rubbing the symbol, as the Gryphon did now.

  And then...without warning, they stood at the intersection of at least five long, long corridors filled with endless shelves of thick, leather tomes. This time, they were all a light gray, but other times the books had been green, blue, or many other colors. They were not necessarily the same books, either, the libraries an incredibly vast system.

  “How may I serve?” a raspy voice asked from behind them.

  They turned to find a bald, gnomish figure clad in dark blue robes that trailed to the marble floor. As with the books, it was possible that either the coloring of the gnome’s robes changed each time or that he was merely one of many identical keepers of the vast collection. Not even the Gryphon knew and if asked of his origins, the librarian—or maybe librarians—could not or would not answer. The figure before the pair was as much of the ancient edifice as the rows of books.

  “We want to know the truth about the Void,” the Gryphon replied carefully. “Especially where it concerns all things related to Darkhorse.”

  “Many puzzles there, many truths there,” murmured the librarian. “Come. Let us see what can be divined. You may be fortunate. We shall see.”

  He turned and walked down the first corridor to their left. Despite so many books, Darkhorse noted that the gnome headed directly for one several yards down and on the lowest shelf. From what the ebony stallion had gathered in the past, the librarian always knew where to head.

  The librarian extended a hand toward the tome in question. The book flew from the shelf into his waiting grasp. He, in turn, handed it to the Gryphon.

  “Thank you.”

  The librarian bowed and backed away.

  The lord of Penacles opened up the hefty tome. “This may still be a fool’s errand. It would not be the first time that the libraries gave such murky clues that we would need years to decipher them.”

  Darkhorse said nothing, fully aware of the prospect yet still hopeful. If there was any knowledge of the Void to be had in the Dragonrealm, it would come from this place.

  “By the Dragon of the Depths...” the lionbird breathed as he beheld the contents. “What the blazes does this mean?”

  Darkhorse leaned over to see.

  The two open pages were utterly black, as if someone had painstakingly covered every inch of each with ink as black as DArkhorse.

  “I do not understand, lord Gryphon.”

  “Nor do I. Another one of the libraries’ damned puzzles, but I’ll be damned if I can fathom what it’s supposed to mean!”

  The eternal did not answer. For a moment, he thought he saw something in the sea of black, as if there was movement on the page.

  “My lord Gryphon...do the pages ever reveal animation of any sort?”

  His companion gave a leonine growl. “You have no idea what these books can do. Just what do you see?”

  Instead of immediately answering, Darkhorse leaned closer. Just as he was about to give up, he saw the movement again. “There is something near the center of the right page.”

  The Gryphon cocked his head. “I don’t see anything.”

  “In the very center now. It—”

  The page turned of its own volition.

  The next two were as black as the first pair.

  With another growl, the lionbird flipped the next. Sure enough, more black pages revealed themselves. The Gryphon rep
eated his action over and over, with the same results.

  But as he did, Darkhorse felt a now-familiar concern. “Do not flip anymore—”

  The book flew from the Gryphon’s hands. It fluttered just above Darkhorse’s gaze, the pages flapping hard.

  And in the midst, the movement grew more noticeable.

  To the side, another movement caught Darkhorse’s attention. The librarian backed farther away, his expression intent. Whatever was causing the book to act as it did was something with which the gnomish figure was familiar.

  “Lord Gryphon! The librarian! He—”

  The pages flapped harder, blurring together. They created a scene of darkness.

  “The libraries!” Darkhorse roared, suddenly feeling a familiar presence he would have never expected here...and yet made perfect sense. “The magic at its very foundation! It’s the same—”

  A tremendous suction pulled the shadow steed off the floor. Darkhorse swiftly lost all definition as he was dragged into the depths of the book.

  Behind him, he heard the Gryphon shout something, but by then it was far too late. A thundering sound cut off the lionbird’s call, a sound that Darkhorse could only imagine was the book shutting tight.

  He tumbled through the blackness, still reeling over what he had sensed from the book.

  Buried deep beneath extensive spellwork that bore traces of magic from humans, Vraad, Quel, Seekers, and more was the utterly distinctive trace of magic Darkhorse could hardly mistake.

  After all, it was identical to his own.

  He was rocked by a violent storm that left him senseless for a moment. Darkhorse spun around and around...and then the blackness gave way to a place utterly white.

  The eternal shook his head to clear it. As that happened, it became very evident just where he was. The very last place he would have desired to return.

  The Void.

  IV

  The absolute emptiness surrounding him felt so oppressive that Darkhorse could not contain a long shudder. His time in the Dragonrealm had made him understand just how awful the Void was. Endless nothing forever save for the few pieces of refuse that somehow found its way in from other dimension.

  Refuse, including the occasional body.

  With a snort, Darkhorse concentrated. When Yureel had still existed, Darkhorse had kept from the Void rather than risk his elder half discovering the Dragonrealm and all its innocents. Even after Yureel had been destroyed, Darkhorse had avoided the accursed realm. There had been too many memories of terrible things that he had not prevented, even if only because he had not had the power to do anything then. To Darkhorse, the Void would always be synonymous with Yureel’s evil and its legacy.

  But Yureel is no more! No more! The eternal reminded himself again.

  And yet...after all that had happened, a niggling doubt remained. Both the energies revealed in the books and the traces he had sensed coming from the rippling air had tasted of Yureel’s taint. Of Darkhorse’s taint, of course, too.

  A taint that continued to pull at him like an irresistible siren’s song even now. It trailed off into the emptiness, teasing and torturing him.

  With little other choice anymore, the black stallion pushed himself through the white, empty dimension after it. He saw nothing before him, to each side of him, to any direction he twisted his view. Dread memories stirred even more by what he followed continued to haunt him, memories of the twisted pleasures of his other self.

  I am not Yureel, he continually repeated to himself. I am not Yureel...however much I was a part of him.

  Yet, still, after so many millennia, the shadow steed was not entirely certain how great a difference there was between Yureel and him. Darkhorse could not count his own victims, so many were they. In fact, before Yureel’s invasion of the Dragonrealm, the ranks of those who had been vanquished by the ebony stallion had greatly outnumbered those of his progenitor. True, for the most part they had been what Cabe and the Gryphon referred to as ‘evil’, but still Darkhorse ever suffered some guilt, a concept Yureel had never understood nor cared to learn.

  The icy blue eyes continued to survey the emptiness. Even though he could still see nothing, Darkhorse knew that he drew near his ultimate destination. The pull was stronger than ever. He increased his pace, his legs moving at a gallop. The physical action was unnecessary, but Darkhorse had become so accustomed to his equine form that it would have proven extremely difficult for him to keep the legs still. He would have had to dispense with the entire shape, something he did not wish to do unless absolutely necessary. At the moment, the familiarity of his form was one of the few anchors of comfort remaining to him.

  Guilt of a different origin began to stir inside him again, guilt at leaving the Bedlams at their hour of need. True, they supposedly had Shade to assist them, but even Darkhorse still distrusted the warlock’s stability. Away from the nearby vicinity of the Bedlams’ daughter, Valea—the only calming influence Shade had—the accursed spellcaster was still as much a risk as he was a benefit.

  I must trust in Valea, though, the shadow steed reminded himself. She has already done the impossible merely by giving Shade an expression of hope...literally—

  Something came into sight far ahead.

  All thought of his human and not so human companions faded in an instant. From its size and the distance—both still arguably questionable at best in this place—he believed it to be of fair size.

  Of possibly human size.

  At the same time, the peculiar siren song grew stronger yet. Despite that, Darkhorse adjusted his direction and speed in an attempt to match that of the object. While it was more than likely that whatever he confronted had no tie to the call, he could still not take the chance of missing a possible clue.

  Even though he had been ‘born’ in the Void and thus knew its way better than any, the shadow steed kept a very wary eye on the mysterious object at all times. The Void did not follow the laws of nature as the mortal planes knew them. Darkhorse understood that he might yet discover himself racing away from his goal rather than toward it. The Void had a sinister whimsy to it that the earlier rippling had hinted at, a refusal to follow consistent laws of nature that the eternal had not recognized until having experienced the Dragonrealm and other saner dimensions.

  Indeed, despite the fact that he raced at a speed that would have already sent him along the breadth of the vast Dagora Forest, Darkhorse still did not find himself any nearer to the object. The stallion snorted, then veered to the ‘left’ of the view. There were tricks he had once used without thinking to compensate for the ways of the Void and this one had served him well in the past—

  The object vanished.

  Darkhorse came up short. He surveyed the endless nothing surrounding him. While the Void had its odd ways, this was something with which he was not familiar. Things did not instantly vanish. They might drift another direction, but they did not disappear unless they somehow passed out of the Void into one of the many realities beyond.

  One ice blue eye sank into the equine head, reappearing a moment later on the maned neck. The eternal saw nothing in his wake. A quick glimpse above and below him revealed the same nothingness. Whatever Darkhorse had noticed was no longer in sight.

  Restoring his eye to its intended position, the shadow steed considered his next move. Logic suggested that he ignore the disappearance and continue on his trek. Only with Yureel had Darkhorse ever had any link resembling that which he felt with the unseen force calling to him now. That alone made it of the utmost urgency for the eternal to finally discover the source and hopefully be done with the foul matter.

  More and more he feared that his growing suspicions were true...that what he would confront would be another segment separated from Yureel. Why would Yureel have not created another? Darkhorse wondered. Yureel—who had confronted Darkhorse in the Dragonrealm in the form of a sinister
shadow puppet—had never mentioned repeating the process, but then the last encounters between the two had been nothing if not violent. Unless it would have suited Yureel’s intentions, Darkhorse’s progenitor probably would have kept a second mistake quiet.

  He snorted as he considered the implications. If another variation of himself did exist, escaping Yureel did not necessarily mean that it, too, had come to understand the difference between good and evil. It might even now be a thing more horrific than—

  A feathered form blinked into sight barely a yard from the shadow steed’s muzzle.

  Darkhorse reared. Its four arms waving back and forth, the feathered creature hovered before him. Darkhorse instinctively kicked, striking the beaked attacker hard in the cloth-covered chest.

  The force sent the avian flying back...and only then did Darkhorse see it well enough to not only recognize the figure, but also the more important fact that it was most definitely dead.

  The corpse gradually slowed. The arms continued to wave, but only because of the momentum remaining from the stallion’s kick. Darkhorse had only to look at the wide, round eyes to verify what he had thought upon first glimpse; life had long ago fled this being. Still, he approached cautiously. Somehow, this dead thing had vanished and then reappeared without Darkhorse sensing it either time. True, there were the unseen, random portals that were the reasons behind some of the things drifting in the Void, but Darkhorse was familiar with how those worked and even how to open new ones. As subtle as their formations were, the eternal could generally sense them. Not so, in this case.

  The body stilled. In general appearance, it reminded him of the Seekers, the feathered race that had once ruled the Dragonrealm. However, while the Seekers had countenances more akin to hawks or eagles, this unfortunate victim of the Void had an appearance similar to another winged hunter of the Dragonrealm, an owl. The extra two appendages were also a clear sign that this creature came from some reality far, far from Darkhorse’s adopted home.