Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

XIV

“Rise, Cabe Bedlam.”

The voice sounded familiar, yet it also did not. Cabe, his body responding as if it had long ago given way to rigor mortis, managed to rise to a sitting position. He found himself staring at the blurred images of one countenance, a countenance that every facet of every reflective crystal repeated. It was the face of a man much like the one the warlock had seen in the visions, but despite the blurriness, he could see that this one was a younger, varied copy. A son, perhaps. Until the detail became much more focused, he could guess no more.

“You are resilient, warlock.”

He turned to the source of the voice and only then discovered that it was not the images that were blurred, but rather his own vision. Not really a shock, considering what had happened.

Dragon Kings will be the death of me yet . . . even when they are not purposely trying to achieve that result.

“Your-Your Majesty?” He blinked several times, but to no discernible effect.

“Wait a moment. Your vision should clear. You were not, fortunately for you, struck in the eyes. I did what I could for you otherwise.”

What did that mean? Cabe started to reach up with his left hand and was wracked by dagger strikes of pain. He quickly lowered the arm and clutched it with his other hand, which thankfully did not hurt. “What-what happened?”

“You deflected most of the fragments, but a few stronger ones broke through your shields. Only a few pierced you; it was the force of the explosion, which I fought to contain, that left you unconscious.”

“The fragments. The sphere. One of the pieces struck me in the arm?”

He knew it was the Crystal Dragon who spoke to him, but still the voice sounded so different from anything he had heard before. What new change had the explosion wrought upon the Dragon King’s personality? “It did not strike your arm. It pierced it, warlock. The wound goes completely through your upper arm. I did what I could, but it will not heal for me. It may never heal, you understand, not completely.”

Never heal. Much the way King Melicard’s face and arm had never healed after the burst of magic that had maimed him. Cabe was aware that his own wound did not even approach the severity of Melicard’s, but he could not help but be more upset by it.

“There are also small scars on your neck. You were very fortunate, warlock. Your skills are impressive.”

Skills? More like pure luck! Cabe pulled his robe askew so that he could study the wound. A jagged, green scar surrounded by red, swollen skin marked the fragment’s passage. With great trepidation, he touched it. The soft touch was still enough to make him grunt in intense pain. Bracing himself, the wounded mage touched the back of the same arm. Again, the pain struck him.

Never heal?

He was still staring at the wound when the Crystal Dragon spoke again. “We are both fortunate, Cabe Bedlam. When the sphere was shattered, the doorway to Nimth was closed, not opened. That was how the device was designed, but there was no true way of testing it except by an occurrence much like this explosion.”

Cabe looked up. His vision had cleared enough so that he could now clearly see the Crystal Dragon. The drake lord looked unmarred, but that did not mean he had not been wounded. More important now was his state of mind. He seemed sane enough . . .

“What happened?”

“I underestimated the wolf raider leader. I underestimated so much. He has wrested control of the mist from me. Before long, he will understand something of how to utilize it. Things go from bad to worse.” The glittering leviathan closed his eyes.

The warlock’s gaze darted back and forth between the massive dragon and the face that stared at him from all directions, but his attention remained on the subject at hand. “What will you do now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I must do nothing!” The Dragon King’s long, narrowed eyes opened again . . . and was this the first time that Cabe had noticed how crystalline they appeared? They were almost like the insane orbs of Plool. “I dare not! I will not lose myself!”

Cabe’s gaze again drifted to the multiplied countenance covering the walls. This time, however, he studied them closer. Not lose myself, the leviathan had just said. Did that mean what Cabe thought it did?

“Who are you?”

The Crystal Dragon settled back. He seemed almost to welcome the strange question. The huge head turned and indicated the faces. “Once . . . I was him.”

Him. The faces in the visions. The eyes of Plool. The obsession with the foulness of Nimth. It all began to make sense to the warlock.

“You’re a Vraad.” He found he was really not that astonished by the revelation. So much had pointed to it. Yet, if the knowledge that the Crystal Dragon had once worn a human form was not shocking, then the fact that he still lived was. How long had it been since the coming of the Dragon Kings?

“How did it happen? When?”

The dragon’s laugh was harsh and humorless. “By the banner, I no longer even know, warlock! Centuries, yes. Millennia, yes. How many it has been I have forgotten! I have watched generations come and go, live and die! I have seen the rise of the Dragon Kings and I have watched their pitiful decline! The others passed on, but I lived! Ha! Lived? I am fortunate that I have not gone insane!”

The last word echoed throughout the chamber. Cabe stood, careful to avoid stress to his arm. He had to hear. “Tell me.”

“Tell you?” The Crystal Dragon contemplated that. His expression was weary. “Tell you of Logan of the Tezerenee? The dutiful son, one of many sons, to Lord Barakas Tezerenee, he was. Not like Gerrod or Rendel or Lochivan, he was. Logan obeyed blindly as was proper. When the Vraad fled Nimth, he was there to aid his father. When Barakas claimed this land under the dragon banner, Logan was there to enforce that claim.”

Cabe Bedlam listened transfixed as the history of the first Dragon Kings began to unfold before him. The wound was all but forgotten as the time-worn leviathan spoke of the fatal error that had led to his present existence.

“It was the bodies, the bodies his father and Master Zeree and his brothers Gerrod and Rendel had created, created from the stuff of dragons! They were people-shaped, but they were dragons in heart. The spirits, the ka, of the Tezerenee crossed the path of worlds to this one and claimed those bodies. Claimed their own eventual destruction.”

The sorcery-shaped bodies had worked well for the Tezerenee. Most of the other Vraad had crossed over physically, but that door had not been open at the time of the Tezerenees’ crossing. So the folk of the dragon banner truly became dragon men, which served to increase their power and presence among the other refugees.

It was not until a few years later that people, not merely the Tezerenee, began to notice some changes. Their skill in sorcery faded, but even that was not so insurmountable a situation to the Tezerenee, who had always espoused the physical even while they made use of the magical. For a time, it served to make the Vraad more reliant upon the clan. Not enough to accept the rule of Lord Barakas, however. When he sought to take his rightful place, there was resistance. Strong resistance. It was that in the end that forced Lord Barakas to seek a new kingdom overseas.

“They claimed that land.” The Dragon King did not seem to consider how the Tezerenee had made the long crossing from one continent to the other without ships and sorcery important enough to discuss. Recalling what little he had gleaned from Darkhorse over the years, the warlock wondered if this was where the eternal had fallen prey to the Vraad. It might explain the shadow steed’s bitterness and, yes, fear where things relating to Nimth and the Vraad were concerned.

Lord Barakas had evidently expected to fight the Seekers, but the avians’ civilization had collapsed in some war and only a few bands were strong enough to give them trouble. Flushed with success, they conquered the mountain stronghold of the bird folk and took its ancient secrets for their own.

Kivan Grath. Cabe recognized the place from the Dragon King’s description. Kivan Grath, the mountain whose caverns would become the citadel of the Dragon Emperor. Odd how he recalls so much but not how much time has passed. Then again, he may want to recall his humanity, but not how long it has been since he lost it.

As he spoke, the Crystal Dragon seemed to shrink a little. More and more he became a man seeing a horror ahead than a great leviathan who ruled and was feared. With great unease, the warlock noted how the multitude of faces copied the drake lord’s emotions. It was like being surrounded by a thousand tormented ghosts.

“It may be that the land was fearful of them and although it could not destroy the Tezerenee, it made them into its own. Or perhaps the bodies themselves, formed from that which was dragon, at last sought to revert to what they had been meant to be. In the end, all that matters was the changing. First one, then another. No one understood then. No one saw it was happening to all, not merely a few.”

He shuddered, blinked, then looked directly at his human guest with something approaching desperate envy. “I remember the pain that day. I remember screaming as my arms and legs stretched and bent at angles no human appendages had been meant to bend. Do you know what it feels like to sense burgeoning wings squirming beneath the flesh of your back and then having them burst fully formed through your skin? To feel and see your skull reshape itself and then realize that your eyes, too, are shifting, changing? To scream and scream again as the transformation tears through armor and sends you crashing to all fours . . .

“. . . and then to know oblivion.”

Cabe, thinking of his own fear of even the minutest shifting of form, swallowed.

The reptilian monarch looked down at the floor. “I recall vague images, the thoughts of a beast struggling to think. How long, I do not know. I only recall that one day I began to think as a man, but I was not myself. I was a creature. I was . . . a dragon. This land was supposed to be my kingdom. Years it would be before I remembered that it had been chosen for me by my father, that all of us had, despite becoming beasts, claimed our particular kingdoms.” His laugh had more than a tinge of bitterness. “I have never known whether he gave me this peninsula because he knew what wonders were here or simply because I was one of the least important of his many sons.”

It was child’s play to seize these caverns. The Quel civilization had been in worse condition than that of the Seekers, disorganized and much too busy trying to devise a method to save their kind to note the danger until it was too late. The self-proclaimed Dragon King explored his new domain and in doing so found a place that the Quel had obviously shunned. There were no signs of recent activity. Nothing but a dark passage before him, a dark passage leading to the mouth of an even darker cavern. His arrogance and curiosity got the better of him. The passage was wide enough to allow him through and so with no reason to retreat, the dragon entered.

“There was no flash of memory, no flood of recollections. I entered the chamber and stalked to the center, fascinated by the glitter. I was not yet what you see before you, although my form had already adapted to my kingdom. Turning about, I studied this place from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. When I was finished, it came to me that this would make a most proper citadel for such a magnificent leviathan as myself. This chamber, I decided, would be my sanctum.

“And then it was the truth overwhelmed me. Then I recalled who it was I had been.”

Cabe waited, but the Crystal Dragon lowered his head to his breast, as if that distant moment was still too terrible to speak of even now. The warlock suspected he knew what had happened. The images surrounding a startled dragon, images of what he had been. Memories rising from the buried portion of his mind. It would be like awakening from a long, deep slumber, but a slumber whose peace had been shattered at last by a nightmare of untold horror. Only this was a horror that would turn out to be all too real.

“I can only say, warlock,” the Dragon King began again, lifting his head just enough to eye his guest. “I can only say that it was as terrifying as the transformation, which was my last recollection. Now I saw what had become of me. I roared in anger and madness and it would not be exaggerating to say that on that day I put the fear of the Crystal Dragon into all that lived in Legar.” He scratched at the floor with his talons. “Not that I cared. My own fear was all that mattered. I tried to destroy this place, but you can see how well I did. Although it resembles other cavern chambers in this underground world, I think it lives, in a manner of speaking, lives and plots and does what it can to give it purpose. If the Dragonrealm is not a living thing, then it may be that this chamber is what guides the course of our land. Perhapssss it even viessss with the Dragonrealm for powerrrr.”

Cabe tensed, noting the change in the Crystal Dragon’s voice. The human quality in it had given way to the more reptilian sibilance that he was accustomed to from the other Dragon Kings.

Looking more and more exhausted, the drake lord slumped back. The hissing became more pronounced with each breath. “I wasss a man who wasss a beassst, but I knew who I wasss now and so I believed there wasss hope for my humanity. The others mussst have become like me. I decided to summon the other dragons, the onesss I was certain were of the Tezerenee, and bring them into the chamber one at a time. Surely, with all of usss once more knowing who we were, we could work to transform oursssselves back to what we had been.”

It was not to be. He who had once been the Vraad called Logan summoned drake after drake into the chamber, only to find that none of them recalled even the vaguest of memories. One after another disappointment. When the last had been dismissed, he again attempted to tear the place asunder and was again defeated by the power that held the chamber together. He and he alone was evidently the recipient of the crystalline chamber’s great sorcery. He had been chosen; that was the only answer that he could surmise. It would be useless to summon his brothers even assuming he could find them. They would be no different than the poor fools who were now his clan.

Humanity briefly crept back into the Dragon King’s voice. It was as if there were a constant struggle going on between the two sides of his mind. “And so through the millennia, I have remained alone, my mind a man’s and my form a monster’s. The chamber gives much: the ability to view the land all over, power that reaches beyond the borders of my domain, and, most devilish of all, life eternal.” He allowed Cabe time to think of the ramifications of that gift, then resumed, “But it does not give me the power to become the man I once was. Nothing has. If I try to transform, I risk losing control over my very thoughts. All that is left to me is my mind. After so long, that is little consolation, but I will not give it up. I have watched the others give way to generation after generation of heirs, each more of a monster than the lassst. I have watched the rise of humanity, who thinks that it, in turn, inherits from beasts and not from its own ancestors. I have watched . . . and watched . . . and watched.”

A lengthy silence followed. It was a silence that the warlock knew meant the tale was at an end, or at least as much of it as the drake was willing to tell him. There were many questions that Cabe wanted to ask, including whether Shade was one of the Tezerenee and how the Crystal Dragon had kept his immortality secret from his counterparts, even barring his hermitic existence. Perhaps someday he would be told the answers to his questions, but not this day. What he had learned was stunning enough. The Dragonrealm was ever a cornucopia of surprises.

The silence continued without foreseeable end. At last able to stand it no longer, Cabe dared speak. “Your Majesty?”

There was no response from the massive form.

“Your Majesty?” The warlock paused, then shouted, “Logan Tezerenee!”

The Crystal Dragon’s head shot skyward. Blazing, reptilian eyes fixed on the small, defiant figure standing before him. The monarch of Legar hissed. “You have my attention. Make it worth the danger.”

Cabe Bedlam had had enough, however. He took a step closer and retorted, “I don’t fear the danger. If you were anything of a threat, you would be acting against the true problem, the wolf raiders. Instead, you remain here, dwelling on a past that is lost. If you care so little about your existence, then you should have ended it long ago.”

“Beware of how you ssspeak, human!”

“Listen to yourself! Is that a man speaking?”

The glittering behemoth rose to his full height. Even then, the warlock would not back down. He dared not.

“You are purposely trying to annoy me! Why?”

Pointing at the walls, Cabe responded. “You’ve seen what’s out there. You unleashed the fog. Now, instead of bringing down the Aramites, it may become a weapon they can use. You have to do something.”

“The fog will eventually dissipate! It must! It cannot hold itself together, not even if he commands it. The raiders will wipe themselves out trying to conquer this land and that will settle the situation.” He hesitated. “Now leave me . . .” The Dragon King started to turn away. “I must rest.”

Cabe could not recall ever becoming so infuriated with a Dragon King before. The very notion surprised him even now, but he knew that he was nonetheless fast approaching the point where he would lose his temper . . . and then probably his life. There were too many people relying on him, however, for the incensed sorcerer to give up.

“You’ve been hidden away here too long, content with observing through this device rather than seeing the world through your own eyes! You’ve become afraid of the outside, afraid of becoming part of the Dragonrealm!”

“You understand nothing!” roared the Crystal Dragon. “You understand nothing! I cannot leave this chamber! If I do so I lose everything! I will become as the others did, as I once was! I will be a creature, a monster, in form and in mind! I will lose myself! And this time it will be forever, I feel it!” The enraged dragon tried to calm himself down. “The sssame it isss if I exert my power too often, asss I nearly did when Ice sssought to end all things with his foul spell! I have rested much since then, but it is still not near enough!

“It almost happened once, when I decided to seek out some of the others and see if they, too, with the aid of this chamber could recall their past. As I started to leave, though, my head began to swim and my thoughts grew beastlike. I only barely made it back here. It was three days before my mind was calm enough to think my bitter experience through. I came to realize that only here was I myself. Only here could I survive intact.”

Intact? Cabe found that debatable. His shoulders slumped in resignation. There would be no alliance with the lord of Legar. Now, Cabe was truly alone unless somehow he could find Darkhorse.

“Then there’s no need for me to remain here,” the warlock stated. He readied himself for the worst. “Am I free to depart or have you told me this fantastic story with the intention of keeping me here?”

The Crystal Dragon no longer seemed even interested in him. He curled up in what was obviously a prelude to slumber. It dismayed Cabe to see what the Dragon King had become. “You were free to go the moment you woke. You are free to go now.”

What are you waiting for? the sorcerer demanded of himself. To his surprise, he tried once more to convince the Dragon King to see his way. “If you would only consider-”

Glittering, inhuman eyes that had been nearly closed widened. A hiss escaped. “I ssssaid leave!”

With those words, the warlock began to spin. Cabe gasped and tried to stop, but was helpless. He spun faster and faster, a frantic, living top. The cavern became first a bright blur and then a murky nothing. Cabe tried to concentrate, but the constant twirling threatened to make him black out. It was all he could do to keep conscious.

All at once, he simply stopped.

With a grunt, the stunned mage fell to the floor, but a floor that was hard and, strangely enough, very uneven. Cabe shook his head, then regretted the action as vertigo set in again. He settled with putting his head in his hands and waiting for the world to come to a halt on its own. Only when it finally did was he willing to look up.

Cabe first saw nothing. Wherever he had landed, it was pitch-black. Cabe summoned a dim sphere of blue light, then grimaced at what the illumination revealed. He was in another tunnel, but unlike the ones leading to the drake lord’s lair, the malignant fog held sway here. That meant that Cabe must be closer to the surface. Closer to the surface and, he suspected, almost beneath the Aramite encampment.

With the Crystal Dragon’s aid no longer a hope, the warlock was on his own. The surface was where he now needed to go, but which was better, he wondered, journeying in the direction he was already facing or turning around and seeing where the other end of the tunnel led? Did he really want to continue to the surface or would it benefit him to descend farther into the earth? At this point, it was impossible to tell which path led to the surface and which did not. One thing was certain: no matter which direction he chose, the mage would have to walk. As long as the tendrils of Nimth had hold of Legar above and below ground, the warlock dared not try teleporting save as a last desperate venture. There was too much chance of something going wrong with the spell.

Grumbling, Cabe at last chose the direction he was facing and started walking. What he hoped to accomplish without the aid of the Crystal Dragon, he could not say. Yet, even without the Dragon King’s might behind him, the warlock knew he had to attempt something.

By the time he did reach the surface, Cabe hoped he would know exactly what that something was supposed to be.

One hour ’til dawn, yes? thought the blue man. It was hard to be certain in this godforsaken place, but that seemed a good estimate. Kanaan D’Rance estimated he had two hours at most to accomplish his task before Lord D’Farany rose. If all went as his grotesque visitor said, that would perhaps be an hour more than he needed.

D’Rance did not at all trust the macabre creature who had visited his tent, but Plool did indeed know things about sorcery that the northerner had never come across before. What especially interested him, however, was the stranger’s knowledge of the magic that was the fog. With that to add to his own growing skills, the blue man would have need of no one. He could leave the mongrels to their own end.

The blue man entered the tunnel mouth and hurried down the deep, descending path. The guards in the passages would think nothing of him returning since his other work was down here, but those who kept watch in and around the chamber would be suspicious if he entered without Lord D’Farany. None of the Aramites trusted him that far. His skills were still not sufficient enough to deal with so many, otherwise he might have been able to do this without Plool’s aid.

One thing he pondered about was why his bizarre ally could not work the Quel device himself. Plool refused to enter the chamber, not because he did not want to, no, but because he could not do so without endangering himself somehow. That, at least, was Kanaan D’Rance’s humble opinion, yes. The creature needed D’Rance for that reason alone and that reason alone was why the blue man knew that the advantage was his. He was familiar enough with the magical device to know some of the things he could do with it, enough that he would be prepared when his ally turned on him.

Plool was still an enigma to him in most other ways and D’Rance was willing to admit that he had perhaps been a bit too hasty in joining forces with the ghastly, deformed mage. Yet, when Plool had spoken of the power to be obtained by working together, it had been too enticing. More than enough power, horrid Plool had hinted, to make the dangers negligible.

He was a part of the mist, that much the blue man had gathered despite his ally’s confusing manner of speech. Plool had come from somewhere, drawn to this place at the same time as the fog had been. Plool had originally wanted to go home, but he could not. To open that doorway would require more effort than both he and D’Rance combined could summon. Searching for such power had brought the sorcerer to the camp and the caverns, where he had observed enough to know that somewhere below the surface there was a thing of great potential. Yet, it was a creation of a foreign sorcery. Plool did not understand that sorcery and so had sought out someone who might. Someone who also would have an interest in aiding him. In return, he could show that someone how to manipulate the magic of his world. Then, his part of the bargain kept, he would return to that other place-Nimth, was it?-and leave the spoils to his temporary ally.

The skill and knowledge to control two very different types of magic. The blue man had taken the bait . . . but was careful only to hold the hook, not bite it. From studying the efforts of Lord D’Farany and devising a few secret theories of his own, he was certain that he knew more than enough to ensure that this partnership would end in his favor. D’Rance even suspected he knew almost all he needed to know about Plool’s magic. In his own grand opinion, he certainly knew enough about the Quel’s creation to guarantee that whatever else happened Plool would not be able to betray him.

Still none of the scattered sentries questioned his presence in the passages. Likewise, he crossed the abandoned city of the diggers without any trouble, save that the damnable mist, which somehow remained strong even down here, made walking a matter of stumbling every few yards. At least it was thin enough here that he could see the men just ahead of him. It would not do to walk into one of the guards. Some of them might be tempted to attack first and question afterward.

Each time, the sentries straightened as he passed, strictly because of his position as aide to their leader, D’Rance understood, and did nothing to slow him. He nodded to each man. With luck, this would be the last time he saw their ugly, pink faces.

Then, almost before he realized it, the blue man was at his destination. The entrance to the chamber stood before him. He saw two guards standing there, seemingly oblivious to him. That, D’Rance was certain, would change with a few more steps. He was puzzled, though, that nothing looked different. Where are you, my misshapen friend? Something should have happened by now, yes?

“Enter you may, whenever you like,” a familiar voice whispered from his right. “You may enter whenever you like.”

Although it took all his will, D’Rance neither jumped at the sudden sound nor did he turn in the direction it had originated from. The northerner already knew that there was no one to see. If Plool had been visible, the sentries would have been able to see him from this distance, if only as a strange shadow demanding investigation.

“The sentries are dealt with, yes?”

“Will be bothering you not; you will not be bothered.”

The blue man grimaced. If the Aramites thought his manner of speech was strange, they should listen to this clownish figure.

Standing straighter, Kanaan D’Rance walked toward the two silent guards. Even with the mist, his identity should have become apparent to them, yet they did not move to bar his way. At the very least, they should have been calling out, asking what business he had here alone.

It was only when he stood face-to-face with one of them that he saw that the man looked somehow different. His eyes had a glassy, blank look and his skin was smooth and bright pink, almost as if it had been carved from wood and painted over.

The mouth . . . was it actually cut like-

The sentry suddenly bent over in a comic bow, one arm flopping loosely, and said in a familiar singsong voice, “Enter, O seeker of knowledge!”

D’Rance nearly choked. He stepped back from the horrific monstrosity. The guard straightened again. D’Rance could almost imagine strings holding the dead figure up and making it move.

The lower jaw of the macabre puppet slid down and Plool’s chuckle filled the tunnel.

He cannot enter the chamber! Remember that, yes! A bit more shaken than he would have cared to admit, the would-be sorcerer walked toward the entrance. To the opposite side, the second guard slowly turned his head so that he was staring at the newcomer. D’Rance shivered as the man’s head continued to turn beyond normal limitations. The sentry’s countenance was a monstrous copy of the first man.

What of the guards inside? Had they heard nothing? Had Plool somehow dealt with them, too? How?

There was only one way to find out, of course. He stepped into the chamber.

Gods! What sort of creature had he aligned himself with? The blue man surveyed the carnage with growing horror. He had braced himself for the worst once he had seen what had become of the two guards outside, but it was Plool’s playfulness that daunted him. The two sentries had been twisted into marionettes, puppets. Here, where the madcap monster could not physically go, Plool had chosen a different but still effective manner of mayhem.

As with the sentries outside, each soldier appeared to be standing ready. They would stand ready forever, or until someone had the nerve to remove them, for from head to toe they had been pierced by long, thin needlelike projectiles of metal. So great had been the velocity of the deadly needles that the guards must have barely had time to realize what was happening, for several still held their weapons. Glazed eyes stared ahead, eyes that might have barely acknowledged the flying death before it struck. Strangely enough, there was hardly any blood, which only served to make the scene that much more frightening for it gave the tableau an unreal quality. Recalling what little damage Orril D’Marr’s scepter had done to this place, D’Rance swore under his breath. Plool’s lances had penetrated armor and rock with little effort.

Plool himself might not be able to enter, but his power reached easily enough. D’Rance steadied his nerves. He would have to be on guard.

“Admiration later,” whispered the peculiar voice from behind him. The blue man could feel those terrible, lopsided eyes on his backside.

“You should not have done this, yes? By damaging the walls, you may have ruined everything!”

“It will function; function it will. To your task.”

Avoiding the accusing eyes around him, the blue man made his way to the Quel’s great toy. Here was where he had the malformed spellcaster at a disadvantage, the blue man reminded himself again. Plool might be able to kill a dozen or so men with a single strike, but he dared not use his sorcery on the magical construct. Without the understanding of how it worked, Plool was more likely to destroy it. This was a thing requiring careful, physical manipulation of the patterns and crystals.

Thinking of crystals, D’Rance glanced quickly around the array. The Aramite talisman was still there, ready to be used as his key to unlocking the secrets of sorcery. He had been mildly worried that the Pack Leader might have decided to take it with him when he retired, but D’Farany had apparently assumed it was secure here. Kanaan D’Rance smiled at such egotistical naivete.

As he bent over the platform, the blue man shifted so as to obscure one side of the array from his companion’s sight. There were some adjustments to be made that he did not want Plool to know of. They would be of value when the time of betrayal came.

It took several minutes to organize the crystals to the pattern he wanted. So far, he had not had to summon much power to aid him in the binding of the new array, only enough to make the pattern stable. Still, even as little as he called made the chamber take on a reddish gleam. The blue man could feel the forces stirring above and around him, growing stronger with each passing second. Soon, he would have to move to the next stage . . . which meant including Plool in the spell.

How much of a fool had he been to go along with this insane scheme? A truly great fool, but it was often the fools, he knew, that became the masters.

D’Rance straightened. “I am ready, yes?”

“Do it, then,” came the voice from the corridor. “All was explained to you.”

The fog itself would be the key. Lord D’Farany had bound the deadly fog to the Quel creation. He did not know the specifics of how the Aramite commander had done that fantastic deed, but that did not matter. All he needed was to seize control of the magical cloud, spread its might to this chamber, which had somehow been neglected by the fog, and use it to open the way. He would have his power and the monster would have his path home.

The would-be mage touched the shimmering keeper talisman. In the process of combining the two sorceries, he would also make certain that Plool would not steal all that power from him. The blue man had seen D’Farany use the talisman enough to know that redirecting all those forces away from where his mishapen companion expected them to go would be simplicity itself. D’Rance smiled, his uncertainty giving way to confidence as he saw how everything was under his direction.

His fingers gently played across the array of crystals. Every movement that Lord D’Farany had performed was etched into his mind. Now, all that careful observation was going to profit him.

I will be the greatest mage to ever live, yes! What other mage had ever held in his figurative grasp two distinct and deadly variations of sorcery? What other spellcaster could lay claim to such power?

He traced the last pattern.

A bluish glow surrounded the Quel artifact, burning away the reddish light and bathing the entire room in its own magnificent color. Yes, very appropriate!

“Mind yourself!” Plool called. “You should mind!”

The blue man ignored the warning. He knew what he was doing! As the glow strengthened, he glanced up at the macabre legion surrounding him. The eyes of the dead guards watched him, he thought. The greatest moment and all there is to see my victory are a score of blue-tinted ghosts and a monstrous jester from beyond!

Kanaan D’Rance reached down to again touch the Aramite talisman. It would be the receptacle of all that combined might. A receptacle that only he would wield.

A second later he snarled and pulled back blackened fingers. There was blood where the skin had cracked the worst.

“This should not be hot,” the northerner muttered, fighting back the pain. Lord D’Farany had touched the talisman time and time again during his experiments and never had there been any visible sign of such terrible heat. The keeper was no god; his fingers should burn as easily as D’Rance’s had. What was wrong?

He spat on his injured fingertips and carefully wiped away the blood. He would cure the wound when the power was bound to him. The pain was not so much that he could not make use of those fingers. A slight adjustment of the Aramite artifact was all that was needed. A simple mistake was all it was.

Kanaan D’Rance reached for the talisman again.

This time, the blue man shrieked.

The hand he pulled free was burnt, torn, and twisted. Still screaming, Kanaan D’Rance fell forward. His arm was a wave that knocked aside crystal after crystal from the delicate arrangement. Blue light darted forth from the device to the walls and back again. The northerner stumbled away from the wreckage, only partially aware of what he had done.

“Plool!” he managed to croak. Through blurred eyes, the blue man sought out the ungodly form of his ally in this venture. Waves of agony coursed through his body. His lower arm was not only burnt, it was also cut to ribbons. The blue man did not wonder how the second had occurred; sorcery was just that way. All he knew was that he needed help quickly and there was only one who could provide that help.

No response. It was as if Plool had fled . . .

There was a sound like a crack of thunder, thunder that was in this very chamber. Even maimed and in agony as he was, D’Rance turned in curiosity.

A hole had formed above the battered array of crystals. Within that hole he could see another world, a dark, violent, misty world smelling of decay.

“I have d-done it, yes!” he hissed, the pain fading for a time. “Yesss!”

It was beautiful in its own way. Beautiful and seductive. Kanaan D’Rance stumbled back to the battered crystals, a trail of blood forming behind him, and looked up. A smile spread across his sweat-soaked face. “Y-yesss!”

The smile remained on his face even as he collapsed backward to the floor.