Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

IX

For twenty minutes they had sat together in the privacy of the garden terrace and for twenty minutes Gwen had been unable to come any closer to the story behind the terrible words the Gryphon had spoken concerning his son. In truth, only she and Troia sat; the lionbird stood staring off into the main garden, his claws sheathing and unsheathing, his mane stiff. Neither he nor his bride had spoken more than a handful of words since their arrival.

Troia stared at her husband as if nothing else around her existed. That may very well be the case to her, the enchantress pondered. With Demion . . . dead . . . they can only turn to each other.

Still, there were limits to her respect for their turbulent emotions. It was clear that they had been dwelling on their loss since before their voyage, certainly a long time. Gwen did not believe that they should simply forget the loss of their sole offspring, but she was one who believed that life should go on, if only in the very name of the one who had been taken from them.

“Gryphon . . . Troia . . . I share your grief, you certainly must know that, but I need to know what happened; I need to know and I think you need to tell me.”

“You are correct, of course, my Lady of the Amber. I have been remiss.” He turned back to the two women. A table stood between them, a table with food and wine. Neither had been touched even by the enchantress, but now the Gryphon took the decanter and poured some of the glistening plum wine into one of the gold and silver chalices. Quite suddenly, the avian features transformed into those of a handsome, silver-haired man with patrician features. That image, though, lasted only long enough for the lionbird to swallow the wine in one swift gulp.

The Gryphon returned the goblet to the table, then glanced at his wife. “I will make this short . . . for all our sakes.”

She nodded, but said nothing more. A look had come into her eyes, but one directed toward neither her mate nor the enchantress. It was a look that could have only been directed toward the unknown wolf raiders who had stolen a precious life from her.

“How did it happen?” Gwen encouraged. “Is the war-”

He seemed to dismiss the war as something inconsequential to the topic. “The war goes well. Morgis and the Master Guardians of hidden Sirvak Dragoth have helped lead many of the former slave states of the empire to freedom. We have also done our small part.”

Small part, indeed! thought the flame-tressed sorceress. She knew, through missives sent by the drake Morgis, of the many things that the Gryphon had accomplished. He, more than any other individual, had been the driving force behind the continent-wide revolt against the sons of the wolf. It was odd that she and Cabe had learned much of what they knew from one of the get of the Blue Dragon. It was odder still that a drake could become so loyal a friend and companion to the Gryphon. From respectful adversaries to comrades-in-arms.

“The war goes well,” he repeated, “but because of it, the Aramites grew-have grown-more desperate and treacherous in their actions. When we overthrew Luperion, they began to gather their forces in and around their original homeland, especially in Canisargos, the seat of their power.” The Gryphon paused and gazed forlornly at his hostess. “Lady Bedlam, Gwendolyn, you have to understand that we are not like your kind. I was created a hunter and Troia’s people are born that way.”

“I made my first raider kill at the age of eight summers,” whispered the cat woman. Her eyes were narrow slits. “Three of my brothers made theirs at seven. It’s the way we are.”

The lionbird nodded in agreement. “What I try to say is that Demion was not unfamiliar with the war. He had fought and made his first kill only months before . . . and that far, far later than he could have. We had barely been able to keep him in check for these past four years and believe me, we tried.”

Gwen nodded, understanding. She understood quite well what it meant to grow up in wartime.

“Chaenylon, it was.” The monarch of Penacles unsheathed both sets of claws again. “Chaenylon, which will forever mean despair to us.”

They had only taken the Aramite port city some three months before, but in that short time it had quickly become a valuable part of their western campaign. Chaenylon gave them a new location to ship supplies to the forces ever inching closer to the heart of the empire, Canisargos. After all these years, the empire’s great citadel was within striking distance. The Aramites had always been more willing to give up their slave states rather than leave Canisargos anything but much overdefended. Now, not even that would save them. The confederation of free kingdoms, with the help of the Gryphon and Duke Morgis, had put together a combination of armies that would soon launch an attack in the direction of the Aramite city. It was possible that the wolf raider empire would cease to exist within the next three years.

That did not mean that the raiders would be defeated. There would be pockets of resistance for years and more than a few ships had slipped away into the open sea.

Gwen flinched when she heard the last. She had still not told her guests of the wolf raider rumors, in part because she feared that they would leave the moment they knew, but also because she herself needed to know what had happened overseas.

“Either they knew about the impending attack or it was pure bad fortune, but whatever the case, one morning Chaenylon itself came under assault. Six warships simply sailed in. The harbor was madness. They utilized special catapults to bombard the city. There were gryph-gryphon riders everywhere. Worse, from every ship there came an armed force. We turned back the first wave, but there was no way of keeping the second from landing.” The lionbird’s eyes lost their focus. He was once again in the midst of battle. “Western Chaenylon was in flames. The Aramites seized control of the docks, then spread through the city.”

Lady Bedlam recalled the siege of Penacles long ago. She and Cabe, fleeing the Dragon Kings who had sought the grandson of Nathan Bedlam, had been given refuge by the Gryphon. The drakes had not taken kindly to that. For days, they had tried to take Penacles. While the battle had never quite escalated to the sort of fighting that the defenders of Chaenylon must have gone through, it had been terrible enough. She could only imagine what her two guests had suffered through.

“We can never be certain of what happened.”

“We know enough!” hissed Troia. “We know that it was D’Farany again or at least one of his puppets!”

“Yesss, we know that. We know it was D’Farany’s curs, Troia, or else why would we be here in the first place?” Gwen would have spoken then, but the Gryphon, not noting her reaction to this latest revelation, continued with his horrific tale. “It happened during the fighting. We thought he would be safe where we had placed him. Understand, Lady Bedlam, that we valued Demion above all else. He was our pride. Despite his desires, we kept him away as much as we could, but no one could count on wolf raider tenacity.”

They had moved Demion and several others to what was considered the safest quarter of the city. Well behind the haphazard line of fighting. Not only was there a line of defense to protect him, but there was also little in that quarter that should have interested the raiders. Chaenylon had been one of the empire’s centers for cartographical study and thus great archives housing much of the sum of their seafaring knowledge had been built there. Maps dating back thousands of years were stored in the archives as were the most current. Whether drawn up by the Aramites themselves or stolen from some captured vessel, the maps were all carefully stored for future use. Much of the region where Demion had been placed was simply an outgrowth of those archives. There were only small stores of weapons and food there. Anything of true value to the invading force should have been near the fighting.

Yet, someone among the raiders had evidently found some need for those maps. Enough need to send a small but efficient force to hunt down the archives. They had somehow slipped past the lines, a trail of dead sentries marking their way. Their target they reached with minimal resistance, for everyone’s attention was on the main struggle. Once inside the buildings, they had proceeded to ransack the archives.

There it was that they had also evidently come across Demion, who had left the safety of the building he had originally been housed in by his parents.

Here again the Gryphon straightened. His mane bristled and his voice was both proud and bitter as he added, “We know that he and a few soldiers evidently with him gave of themselves the best they could. Nine raiders met their end there, three of them definite kills by our son.” He clenched his fists together. “But there were more than nine.”

“And the coward that cut him down did so from behind!” roared the furious and frustrated cat woman. She was on her feet in an instant, her own claws flashing in and out as she no doubt pictured the scene in her mind.

Despite barely being able to keep her own composure, Gwen responded in soothing tones. “But he did not let them take him without paying for it, Troia, Gryphon! He did not let himself be taken without payment. He fought honorably to the end. I grieve for your loss, but it is the good memories of him you must keep in mind from here on. The memories of what he was to you and how he will always be with you no matter where you are.” She was aware how different the thinking processes of the two were compared to that of either herself or Cabe. Both the Gryphon and his mate were civilized, but they were also predators, more than even humans were. She could only hope that her quick words carried some meaning to them. “Demion would want you to be looking forward, not dwelling in a maelstrom of hurt and anger.”

“We look forward, Lady of the Amber. We look forward to the final hunt, the snaring, and the running down of the curs responsible for his death.” The Gryphon’s part-avian, part-human eyes glared at the empty sky. Both he and his bride calmed a bit, if only on the outside. “Curs who have run to the Dragonrealm, if what we discovered is true.”

“The Dragonrealm?” It was a verification of everything she had feared, but Gwen did not reveal that fear to the duo.

Unwilling to sit down again, Troia began to pace gracefully back and forth. “In the end, we repulsed the damned dogs’ attack. They lost two ships there, but Chaenylon was in ruins. It took us the better part of the day to discover . . . his body. Whether the raider who killed him returned to the ships with the other survivors or died in the city before he could flee, we’ll probably never know, my lady. I wish we would . . . I’d follow him personally to the ends of the world . . . What we do know is that they seemed most interested in charts concerning the Dragonrealm.”

“And we discovered then that three of the ships never returned to the empire,” interjected the Gryphon. “Three ships, including the one carrying Lord D’Farany.”

“You mentioned him twice now . . . who is he?”

“He is a keeper, Lady Bedlam. An Aramite sorcerer.”

His words struck her with the force of a well-shot bolt. Having kept abreast of the distant war since its inception, the enchantress was aware of most of the major events. There was one in particular she recalled about the sinister keepers. “But they all died! Almost twenty years ago!”

“Died or gone mad, you mean? Lord Ivon D’Farany did not die; as to whether he went mad, that is another question.”

“Even still, he should be powerless!” Was Cabe heading toward a confrontation with a sorcerer of the darkest arts? “You said that they-”

“Had lost their link with their god, the unlamented Ravager, yes. You recall correctly. That loss, that withdrawal, was enough to kill most of them and leave the others mindless.” He squawked. “Somehow, a young keeper named D’Farany survived and although it cannot be vouchsafed that he had no power of his own, he has time and time again brought forth sorcerous talismans and artifacts that were thought lost and used them to the raiders’ advantage.” The lionbird held up his maimed hand. “This is the work of Lord D’Farany; even my skill is insufficient to heal it proper. Troia, too, bears the mark of one of the keeper’s discoveries.” She turned so that Gwen could better see the scars across her face. For the first time, the enchantress noticed that they glowed ever so slightly. Glowed bloodred. “He, more than anything else, has slowed the course of the war by at least three, perhaps four years.”

“And he does all this even though the dogs themselves mutter about his sanity!” Troia snorted, still pacing about.

Her quick, constant movements were disrupting Gwen’s attempts to remain calm. “You think he’s here.”

“He has to be,” the lionbird returned, almost pleading again. “There is no other place for him to hide so great a force. He cannot stay anywhere near the empire or the free lands. D’Farany, by abandoning the war, has in a sense made himself enemy of both. That is why he must be here.”

“What about the war? What will happen with you gone?”

He looked closely at her. “The war now moves well even without us and especially without D’Farany to aid them. We have given more than a decade of our own lives in addition to the life of our one child. There was no one who did not think we were entitled to depart. I did not abandon them. In fact, Sirvak Dragoth would only be too happy to see an end made of the curs. D’Farany and his men, as long as they live to fight again, will forever be a fear covering the freed lands and the surrounding waters.”

“We’ll find him, my lady,” hissed the cat woman. “He killed Demion as good as if he were the one who struck the blow. His death alone will pay for our son’s.”

The anxious sorceress could not help but blurt, “Do you truly think so?”

Neither of them could look at her then, but Troia slowly replied, “Nothing else will balance that scale, not even . . .” She held her tongue at the last moment, apparently unwilling to share some further revelation with her host. “Nothing.”

“The voyage across did nothing but stir the embers to new life,” the Gryphon added. It seemed whenever one faltered, the other was there to continue the tale. To Gwen, it revealed just how close the duo were to each other and in turn how close they had been to their son. “When we arrived on the shore of southeastern Irillian, I was barely able to control my desire to use sorcery to speed our journey to here along. Out of respect of the Blue Dragon, I held off until we reached the borders between his domain and that of the Storm Dragon. Then I found I could not wait any longer. Daring the lord of Wenslis’s ire, I teleported us from his lands to the ruins of Mito Pica, just beyond your forest. We would have even materialized at the very border of your domain, but the Green Dragon has ever been a good neighbor to Penacles and I would not wish to cause my former home any ill will.”

“We’ve told you our story, Lady Bedlam.” Troia stalked up to the enchantress, then nearly went down on one knee just before her. “Gryph said that if anyone could help us, if anyone had some word, it would be the Bedlams.”

The Gryphon stood beside his mate, the maimed hand on her shoulder. “Even if you have no word of the raiders, I ask that you might grant us the boon of letting us stay but one night so that we might be refreshed for the hunt ahead of us. You have my word that I will make amends for the trouble.”

She looked at them, at their eyes that both pleaded and hoped, and wanted to say that she had heard nothing. Like Darkhorse with Shade, they were obsessed. Gwen could not find it in herself to lie to them, though, possibly because she knew that under the circumstances she would have acted the same way.

“We think the wolf raiders are in Legar.”

They stood motionless before her, not at first comprehending her blunt statement.

“Cabe is there . . . and Darkhorse, too.”

The Gryphon did not question her reasons for not volunteering the information earlier. Perhaps he understood that she had wanted to hear his tale first. Instead, he asked, “How long ago? Where exactly?”

Troia stood up and clutched his arm. Her claws dug into it, but the Gryphon did not seem to notice.

“We do not know. Cabe-and Aurim-had a vision. Then, Cabe had another. They were peculiar, but both pointed to Legar. Both pointed to the Crystal Dragon . . . and wolf raiders.”

“The Crystal Dragon.”

Familiar with the Dragonrealm only through the stories told by her husband, Troia did not note the significance. “Can we speak with this Dragon King? Will he aid us?”

Again, the lionbird’s mane bristled. “The Crystal Dragon is not like Blue or Green, both of whom we might appeal to under certain circumstances. He is like none of his counterparts, Troia. He and his predecessors have ever been reclusive. He will tolerate those who, for one reason or another, find themselves traversing the peninsula, but woe betide anyone who seeks to disturb his peace. It was he who helped turn the tide against one of his own, the Ice Dragon. Without his aid, the Dragonrealm might now be a dead land under an eternal sheet of ice and snow.” The Gryphon grew contemplative. “Tell me about Cabe and his journey. Tell me everything.”

Gwen did, describing the visions, the Bedlams’ decisions, and the attack on the person of the Dragon King Green. The Gryphon tilted his head to one side during the telling of that incident and also the mention of the black ship in the vision. Cabe’s missive from Zuu particularly attracted his attention. New life had come into his eyes, but it was still a life dedicated to one cause, finding the ones responsible for his son’s death.

“Zuu. I remember Blane. His horsemen.”

“And Lanith?” asked the enchantress.

“He is unknown to me and hardly a factor in this.”

She did not think so herself, but telling the Gryphon that was not so easy. “You’re planning to go there.”

“Yes.”

“We should leave before the sun sets,” urged Troia to her mate.

He gave her an odd look, even for his avian visage. Then, with some hesitation, he said, “You are not going with me. Not to Legar. Any other place, even the Northern Wastes, I would take you, but not Legar.”

“What do you mean?” The fine fur along the back of Troia’s head stood on end. “I will not be left behind! Not now!”

“Legar is the one place where the risk is too great for the two of you.”

Gwen glanced from one to the other. The two of you?

“Any other time, any other place, I would welcome you at my side, Troia, but I will not lead you into Legar.”

“I’m far from helpless, Gryph! My stomach is not yet rounded!”

She was pregnant. The enchantress cursed her own words. If she had only known, she would have spoken to the Gryphon in private. Like Queen Erini, Gwen was not the kind to sit demurely to one side while others did the fighting, but one thing she found very precious was the creation of new life. Chasing after wolf raiders was terrible enough, but to do so now and in the domain of the unpredictable and possibly malevolent Crystal Dragon was sheer folly for an expectant mother, especially after having lost her only other child.

It was clear that they had discussed this issue several times in the past and it was clear that Troia had always won. That there should be someone capable of matching the Gryphon in stubborn determination would have been amusing under more pleasant circumstances. Now, however, it only threatened to muddle the situation further.

“Troia, you are with child?”

The cat woman spun on her, then recalled herself and settled down. She seemed more worn out than she had been before her burst of anger at her husband. “For these past eight weeks. I thought at first it was sickness from the trip; we’re not fond of the sea, either of us. It stayed with me, though, and I soon recognized the symptoms from-from Demion’s time.”

“You have grown tired quicker these past few days, too,” the lionbird reminded her. “In truth, I was beginning to worry even before we landed.” His voice was more understanding, more concerned. Both he and his mate were mercurial creatures.

The years have changed you, Gryphon, or perhaps merely opened you up more. The sorceress studied Troia. Despite the litheness of her body, there were hints here and there of aging that had nothing to do with the years of war. How long did the cat people live? Troia had little or no sorcerous ability, which meant she, like King Melicard, would age faster than the one she loved. For that matter, it had never been clear just how long the Gryphon would live if permitted to die of old age. He was not like Cabe or Gwen; his life span might be as long as that of a Dragon King or maybe even longer. Likely he had thought about that, which meant his time with his wife was all the more precious to him. To know that her life span was limited in comparison to his . . . it only added to the importance of seeing that this new child was allowed to enter the world happy and whole.

And she has had only one child in all this time, the enchantress pondered, still studying the anxious cat woman. This may very well be her last chance. There was no doubt, either, that Troia very much wanted this child. From what little Gwen knew of her kind, they generally had many children. Troia, however, had only had the one and among her people children were precious and well cared for. She could not afford to lose this one.

“We made a pact that we would follow this through together, Gryph!”

The Gryphon flexed his claws again, but the action was not directed at his bride. “You will be with me, Troia, I promise you that. I also promise that I will return with D’Farany’s head if need be to show you that Demion has been avenged, but I see now I must do it alone.”

“You will not be alone, Gryphon,” Gwen quickly pointed out. “My husband and Darkhorse are there ahead of you. Find them. Their quest is tied to yours.” And see to it that Cabe comes back to me! she silently added.

“There is that.” He took his wife in his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she took hold of him in a grip that vied with his own for pure intensity. “I know the Dragonrealm, Troia. Believe me when I say that this is one place I will not risk your health and that of our offspring. You know why Lady Bedlam remains behind; do you consider her any less than her husband because of that?”

The cat woman locked gazes with Gwen. “No. Never. I’ve known her too long in letters to believe foolishness like that. If only I could come, though! I left Demion in that place!”

“We left Demion in that place. There was no way either of us could have foreseen what happened.” He squawked, the equivalent of a sigh. The Gryphon had a habit of switching between his human traits and his animalistic traits without thought. “We came to hunt and we will hunt, but this time I must make the kill alone. I will, too.”

The tall sorceress shivered. Again, she was reminded that her guests were not to be completely judged by human standards, but that was not all there was to it. The war and Demion’s death had indeed changed the Gryphon the way the Turning War never had. It’s become much too personal. Would that I could keep him from going, too. Yet she welcomed his coming, for it meant more hope for Cabe.

“You will need food and rest, Gryphon. I will not allow you to leave until you have had a bit of both.”

He nodded his thanks, then looked back down at his wife. “If the Lady Bedlam permits it, I would prefer you stay here. There is no better place for you than with her.”

“There’s one place,” Troia corrected him. “That’s with you.”

“After Legar.”

“She is welcome to stay as long as she needs, Gryphon. You know that.”

“Then tonight I will leave for Zuu, to see if I can pick up Cabe’s trail.”

“You’ll teleport?” Troia sounded suddenly disturbed again.

The Gryphon did not appear to notice it. “I am familiar with the region and it will save days of travel. From there, I will teleport as carefully as I can into the midst of Legar.”

“Is that not dangerous?” Gwen asked. “You might materialize before a patrol of wolf raiders.”

He gave her a look almost devoid of emotion. “No one knows them as well as I do. Trust in me, my lady.”

Troia bared her sharp teeth. “I still don’t care for it. I should be with you, Gryph.”

“And you will be.” The Gryphon put one hand on his heart. “You will always be here.”

Gwen allowed them their peace while she thought of Cabe. She, like Troia, was still upset about being left behind even though both of them knew it was not because their husbands saw them as lessers. Even had the Gryphon offered to take her place and watch the children, she was aware that she would have turned the offer down. There had to be someone here for the children, especially with the Dragonrealm so volatile in other ways, and this had been Cabe’s mission from the very beginning. He was the one who had been contacted. It was not the choice every parent would have made, but it was her choice and she would live by it.

She consoled herself with the fact that the Gryphon’s presence would make Cabe’s safety that much more possible. Between the lionbird, her husband, and the irrepressible Darkhorse, neither the wolf raiders nor the Crystal Dragon were tasks insurmountable. It was possible that the situation was not even as terrible as they had assumed. There was even the chance that Cabe might very well return before his old friend was able to depart.

That was assuming that nothing had happened to him already.

The blue man stumbled through the godforsaken fog, cursing its magic-spawned ability to creep even into the most obscure passages below the earth. It was hard enough to see even with the torches lit let alone with such a thick morass enshrouding everything around him.

Yet, there was something else, something inviting about the fog. He could taste power, raw, wild forces, coursing through the mist. D’Rance had seen the proof of that, too. He had watched floors twist and turn, a man sucked into the walls as if he had never been, and fantastical figures prancing about in the fog. Mere tips of the proverbial iceberg, the northerner knew. Above, those on the surface would be facing much more. The Quel city seemed to dampen the effects of the wild power. Whether that was intentional or simply chance, he did not know. That subject could wait until later, after he had reached the surface and explored farther. As much as he disliked the fog, it offered him possibilities that even Lord D’Farany could not match. He had to find out where it had originated from.

He was nearly to the mouth of the tunnel when a dog-sized form skittered over his feet, causing him to fall against one side of the passage. From near his left, he heard it growl.

Verlok. From his time in Canisargos he knew the sound well. There was only one verlok on this side of the world.

“Kanaan. How good of you to be where I wanted you.”

“Lord D’Farany?” He could see nothing save the dim image of the verlok . . . and this with the light of day supposedly trying to cut through the murky fog.

“We were on our way down. It was not necessary to meet us.”

“Yes, my lord.” The blue man clenched both hands tight. “I must apologize, yes, for not noticing you sooner. This thrice-cursed mist wreaks havoc on the eyes, yes?”

A shape took form before him. The Pack Leader. “I suppose that could be troublesome, but it’s hardly a concern compared to other things. Fascinating, wouldn’t you say? As if entering another world.”

A world gone mad, yes! Kanaan D’Rance wanted to study the magical forces involved, but he by no means cared for any other aspect of it. If he could find a way to manipulate it, that was all he desired. “It is unique, yes.”

“But of course something must be done about it; it disturbs the men, you see. Disturbs my work.”

And that is all it is doing? The blue man was often fascinated by the Pack Leader’s peculiar pattern of thought.

“It’s magical, as you’ve no doubt guessed. Not like anything else. Not at all like his power. A shame, truly.” D’Farany reached down and picked up his vile pet. “It repels rather than attracts. I think I must remove it from this place and send it to wherever he unleashed it from.”

“He?”

“The Crystal Dragon, of course.” Lord D’Farany walked past him, the verlok taking the opportunity to snarl at the blue man. D’Rance quickly followed, knowing how easy it might be to lose someone in this mire.

The floor of the tunnel was shifting beneath their feet, but where the blue man struggled to keep his balance, the Pack Master simply stepped here and there, moving along as if nothing were the matter. A misshapen tentacle of rock darted out from beside them, but somehow missed D’Farany. The northerner, on the other hand, was forced to duck, not an easy act when the ground beneath his feet continued to move.

He acts as if this is the way of the normal world! Could this be what he sees, yes? If so, it explained much about Ivon D’Farany.

Although nothing major impeded their blind trek, it was still with relief that the blue man entered the chamber some minutes later. Relief and curiosity, for he immediately saw that the crystalline room was not touched as the others were. There was no fog even though the tunnel just beyond was dank and impossible to navigate by sight alone. For once, the sentries posted here must have felt themselves fortunate, he thought.

The Pack Leader, oblivious to all else, leaned over the Quel device and visibly sighed. Removing his gloves, he tenderly touched the various crystals in the arrangement, finishing with his own addition.

“Where is Orril?”

“I regret, my lord, that I do not know where he is.” He is hopefully lost forever. D’Rance knew he could not be so fortunate. D’Marr would likely show his blank little face at the worst possible time.

“No matter.” The former keeper began to activate the magical creation.

Interest was overcoming uncertainty. He had watched closely as Lord D’Farany had become quickly adept at the use of the diggers’ tool. Watching the raider leader had been a learning experience, although soon he would not need to watch. Still, if Lord D’Farany had a plan to disperse the dank and decay-filled mist, then there were still things the blue man could learn from him. “If I may, my lord, you have a plan, yes? What will you do, please?”

He did not catch the fascinated smile on the Pack Leader’s crystal-illuminated countenance but the tone and the words were enough. “I have no plan, Kanaan. I’m simply going to play.”

D’Rance suddenly found himself envying the men on the surface. They only had the fog to fear.