Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

XVI

As the day began, soldiers all around the encampment noticed changes from the previous days. The fog moved with renewed violence and this time with a virile wind behind it. There were tremors now and then, each a little stronger than the last. Some also left in their wake peculiar humps of earth almost resembling the upturned dirt left by the underground passage of a mole or gopher, only larger. That started muttering about the need for fresh meat, which was quickly quelled by officers, who secretly agreed.

No one paid too much attention to the changes. There was nothing that the army could do about them and rumor had it that the expedition was at last going to be moving on to better climes. That sort of rumor was more welcome and soon became the only topic of importance.

Meanwhile, the tremors increased and the mounds, sometimes appearing even when there was no quake, soon crisscrossed the entire camp.

The gryphon ceased struggling with his bonds the moment he became aware of the sounds of armored men approaching the tent. Much to his dismay, the Gryphon had made very little headway in his attempt to free himself. D’Marr’s men had performed a practiced effort upon him; try as he might the bonds had not loosened one bit. That he had less than a full complement of fingers on one hand did not help matters.

Both he and the Quel looked up as a soldier pulled the tent flap aside. A column of six men entered the tent, the last two being D’Marr and a tall, scarred figure who could only be Lord Ivon D’Farany.

One of the guards removed the gag around the Gryphon’s beak. The lionbird opened and closed his mouth a few times to see if it still worked.

“You have not changed much after all these years, Gryphon,” the Aramite commander commented in quite polite tones. He reminded the captive of D’Rak, the senior keeper at the time of his arrival on the other continent. The same tone was there, although in this case, it was tinged with borderline madness. The Gryphon did not have to look into D’Farany’s unholy eyes to recognize the sickness.

“So, we have met before,” he replied.

The keeper toyed with his talisman, one of the largest of the so-called Ravager’s Teeth that the prisoner could ever recall seeing. “Under the streets of Canisargos, in the days when the true Pack Master still ruled, the Lord God Ravager smiled down upon his children, and I was chosen to be my Lord D’Rak’s successor.”

“Under the streets?” The Gryphon recalled battles and flight as he and the drake Morgis, the latter in humanoid form, were pursued by the minions of the empire. The keepers in particular had been avid hunters. That hunt had ended in chaos and destruction, however, when the spell that had prevented Morgis from transforming into a dragon had been broken. Bursting upward through the very streets of the massive city, the dragon, with the lionbird on his back, had flown off, leaving behind him ruin.

A lipless smile crossed the drawn countenance of the raider leader. “I led that patrol that fought you. When the dragon brought the city down upon the catacombs beneath, I was nearly crushed. I did survive though . . . only to suffer much greater later on, when our Lord Ravager’s gift was withdrawn.”

The Gryphon could still not recall D’Farany’s features, but that had been almost twenty years ago and humans tended to change more with time. Sorcerers, even keepers, lived longer, but the Aramite commander had also suffered withdrawal from the addictive power of his dark master. That had probably done more to twist his features than the entire war.

Glancing about, D’Marr dared interrupt his commander. “Lord D’Farany, you said that we must have the camp ready to move as soon as possible. While the order has just gone out, we don’t have much time.”

“I am aware of what I said, Orril. I am. A pity, though.” The eyes suddenly focused. “It is a pity, Gryphon, that we cannot make a grand ceremony of your death. I, for one, would have found it inspiring. I was thinking of first giving my verlok a few moments of your time and then allowing Orril to show us his prowess in the art of lingering pain.”

“Death by vermin. My apologies for the disappointment.” There was no great visible reaction from D’Marr, although his eyes might have flashed in anger for an instant. The lionbird tried to judge the distance between himself and Lord D’Farany. Even bound as he was, he was almost certain that a good push would send him rolling into D’Farany. It was a desperate venture, but if he was meant to die now he at least wanted one last chance at one of his foes. After what the Gryphon had learned from D’Marr about his son’s death, he would have preferred the young officer’s throat, but D’Marr was too far away to even consider.

“I will live with it . . .” Lord D’Farany gingerly shifted his grip on the glimmering talisman. “I made the brief acquaintance of a friend of yours, by the way. A dark-haired warlock . . . Cabe Bedlam was his name.”

The Gryphon tensed.

“It would have been so cozy to bring such old friends back together, but he didn’t want to come . . . so I left him buried beneath the rubble from a collapsed cavern.”

Cocking his head to one side, the lionbird carefully studied his captor. The drawn face, the constantly moving hands, and the stiff body told him more than the keeper’s words. Cabe might be dead, but that death had been costly for the Aramite commander. He began to ponder the sudden decision to break camp when it was obvious that the Quel city could hardly be stripped of all its prizes. Cabe or Cabe’s death had instigated something that bothered Lord D’Farany enough to make him uproot his entire force without warning.

D’Farany took his silence the wrong way. “I thought you cared about your friends more. You are little more than an animal, birdman. It would be best if we just put you out of your misery.”

By the side, Orril D’Marr removed the scepter from his belt.

A hand stayed the raider officer. “He does not die this morning. Have him readied for the journey. His death will entertain us on the morrow.”

Looking somewhat disappointed, D’Marr nodded. He glanced at the Quel, who stared back with unreadable expressions. The Gryphon thought that they looked a bit too calm considering their situation. “What about these little beasts?”

Lord D’Farany did not even give them a glance. “Kill them before we leave, Orril.” To his prisoner, the Aramite softly added, “I want to spend a little time with you before your death, birdman. I want you to know the pain and suffering you caused me all those years ago . . . and I know it was you. It had to be. I have never been whole since the day the gifts of the keepership were stripped from my soul.” He stroked the talisman and again smiled that lipless smile. “But here I have come close.”

With that, the keeper turned and departed the tent. His aides, with the exception of Orril D’Marr, hurried after. Only the young officer and the guards remained. The former studied the bound captives and scratched his chin in contemplation.

“I should do this all myself, but I’ve not the time. Too bad; it would’ve been fun.” He swung the tip of the scepter around until it was pointed at the lionbird. “At least I’ll have the pleasure of dealing with you later. Let’s see if you can scream as long as your son did.”

Holding back the rage that boiled up within him, the Gryphon calmly and quietly responded, “My son did not scream.”

It was not merely his belief. He knew Demion had not screamed. Demion would never have screamed. The Gryphon was also aware that his son had died quickly and in the heat of battle. D’Marr had never had time to torture him.

That in no way released the wolf raider from the lionbird’s vengeance. Somehow, he would take the little man down.

Seeing that his attempt to ruffle the feathers of his adversary had failed, Orril D’Marr replaced the mace on his belt and summoned the two guards. “Bind his mouth and kill those obnoxious beasts. Do you think the two of you are capable of executing those orders? I mean, they are bound hand and foot.”

The soldiers nodded. D’Marr turned to go, then stopped to stare at the Quel again. He reached into a pouch and removed something too small for the Gryphon to make out. Crouching, the Aramite spoke to one of the Quel males. “I have decided to give you one final chance to save your miserable lives. What’s in that cavern? What were you hiding? Speak to me!”

The Gryphon guessed that the unseen object in D’Marr’s tightly clenched fist had to be a magical creation similar to the crystals that the subterranean race used to communicate with those not of their kind. Talk of a hidden cavern interested him, especially the cold silence it brought forth from the Quel that D’Marr had questioned.

“It’s buried forever! There’s no use keeping it a secret any longer! I want to know!”

It was interesting to see the bland mask of the young officer slip away. He had obviously become obsessed with this cavern.

“Bah!” The Aramite rose, then turned toward the lionbird. “Stupid beasts won’t talk even to save their useless lives.”

Likely because they know what your promise is worth. At least they can die knowing they’ve frustrated you in this. Aloud, he wryly remarked, “You seem a bit put out. What won’t they tell you?”

D’Marr’s face returned to its more common banality. “You. You might know about it.” He leaned over the prisoner. “Far beneath the surface, past the Quel city, there was a chamber with some sort of great magical device.”

“Fascinating.”

The Aramite looked ready to strike him, but held back. “It’s what lies beyond, what I alone of the camp knows lies beyond, that interests me more. The beasties used sorcery-I witnessed the very end of that spell-to change the entrance to solid wall. There is something so valuable in there that they willingly die to preserve the secret. I was planning to set some explosives against one of the outer walls, but circumstances worked against me. Something always worked against me. Now Lord D’Farany says the passage is gone and we must leave here, but I still need to know what was in there.” While he had been talking, Orril D’Marr had put away the tiny talisman and once more removed the scepter from his belt. He began poking the head into the lionbird’s chest, but, fortunately for the Gryphon, did not make use of the weapon’s more devilish aspect. “Do you know what secret they hide from me?”

Certain as he was of the cavern’s contents, the Gryphon had no intention of passing that information on to the wolf raider. D’Marr could offer him nothing. The Gryphon had no love for the Quel and they certainly cared little for him, but here, for the moment, was a common foe. Let D’Marr’s curiosity eat at him. It was a small, petty bit of revenge, but at least it was something.

“I have never been to the domain of the Quel.”

It was an honest statement, as far as it went. The raider officer looked ready to strike him, but their discourse was shattered by another tremor, this one more violent than its predecessors. D’Marr almost fell on the Gryphon, who would have gladly snapped off the Aramite’s throat with his powerful beak if given the opportunity. One of the Quel did seek to roll into a guard, but the soldier backed out of the way and, without ceremony, thrust a good length of his blade into the creature’s unprotected throat. The armored beastman gave a muffled squeal and died. His companions rocked madly back and forth, but there was little they could do.

The tremor took long to settle. Now, the Gryphon had a better understanding of why the wolf raiders were beginning to break camp. This portion of Legar was no longer stable. That should not have been so, unless . . . The fools must have played too much with things they did not understand!

Collecting himself, D’Marr stepped back to the tent opening. He looked from his adversary to the sentries, his frustration revealed only in his eyes. “Finish the rest of those beasts and make him ready for travel. I want this tent struck immediately after. We march in one half hour. Anything or anyone not ready by then will be left behind.”

With one last glance at the Gryphon, D’Marr vanished through the tent flaps. The two soldiers matched gazes, consulted among themselves for about half a minute as to how best to dispose of the bodies, then turned with grim purpose toward the captured Quel.

The Gryphon felt the ground beneath him rise and braced himself for another tremor. When that did not immediately happen, he looked down and saw that he now sat on one end of a spreading rise of dirt much like a mole’s trail. The width of the rise spread as it neared the soldiers and their victims, in the end becoming twice as wide as either man.

Throwing himself to one side, the lionbird braced himself.

His sudden and peculiar action caught the attention of the two raiders just as they were about to dispatch a pair of the Quel. One of the guards sheathed his sword and started after the Gryphon.

The Aramite was thrown screaming into the ceiling of the tent as the ground before him burst skyward and several hundred pounds of armored destruction erupted from the depths of the earth.

The Quel was huge, even by the standards of the race. In one massive paw he carried a wicked, double-bladed ax that somehow he had managed to drag with him even while tunneling. The first soldier had still not recovered, but the second was already attacking. Much to the raider’s misfortune, though, he thrust his blade too low and it shattered off of the rocklike shell of the newcomer. The Quel, completely silent throughout all, brought the ax around and proceeded to nearly cleave the armored soldier in two. Blood and much too much more decorated the interior of the tent, but only the Gryphon seemed to care.

Turning, the armed creature stalked toward the remaining raider and buried one edge of his deadly weapon in the chest of the still dazed man, who managed another short scream before he died.

The Quel threw down his weapon and began freeing the other prisoners. Dragging himself along like a snake, the Gryphon tried to move as far from the sight of the Quel as was possible. So far, they were all ignoring him, but one of them might decide to leave no witness to the escape.

A soldier stepped through the flap. “What goes-?”

Reaching for his ax, the rescuer rose to face the stunned newcomer. Two Quel whose hands had been freed hurried to undo the bonds around their legs. The Aramite was not so caught off-guard that he was not able to defend himself. His blade was out and biting before his hulking adversary was able to bring his own weapon into play. This time, the Quel was not as lucky. The wolf raider caught him in a fairly unprotected area near the neck and managed to slice off a good piece of flesh. The Quel fought back a hoot of pain and swung. His ax passed through where the human’s chest should have been, but the wary raider had fallen to a crouch. The soldier started to shout at the top of his lungs.

Meanwhile, the lionbird, who had continued to move away from the battle, found himself against the side of the tent. He rolled over so his face was toward the material. Seizing the heavy cloth in his beak, the Gryphon tried to either tear a hole in it or pull it free from the ground. There was no other way out.

A true tremor struck. He lost hold of the material but quickly regained control. Unfortunately, the tremor continued to grow in intensity. It was all he could do just to hang on.

Then, someone tugged on the tent from outside. The Gryphon was so surprised that he lost his grip again. A figure in a robe peered inside.

“Gryphon?” asked a not-so-silent voice. The quake rumbled on, making it hard to hear anything below a shout.

He looked up into the worn but ready countenance of the warlock Cabe Bedlam.

“It would be nice to occasionally meet under more pleasant circumstances,” the imprisoned lionbird managed.

That brought the shadow of a smile to the visage of his old friend. Cabe started to crawl in, but the Gryphon shook his head. “Pull me out! There’s Quel in there!”

Cabe glanced past him and nodded, likely having known already. The Gryphon was glad the tremor and the anxious work of the wolf raiders was keeping most others from noticing the battle yet, but was certain that that would change in the next few seconds. The warlock seized him and dragged the lionbird out. Then he pointed at the ropes around the Gryphon’s arms and legs. The bonds loosened and fell to the ground. Rubbing his wrists, the former mercenary tried to remove the collar from around his throat. A sharp, immediate pain on each side of his neck made him cease his efforts.

“Let me.” The warlock reached forward and touched the sides of the collar with his index fingers. There was a brief, reddish glow. Cabe took hold of the Aramite creation and pulled it apart.

“My gratitude.” The Gryphon rubbed his sore neck. He noticed Cabe glancing at his maimed hand. “A gift of the war. A gift I blame on men such as Ivon D’Farany and Orril D’Marr.”

“I’ve met the first. Is the second a shorter, younger officer?”

“The same. There’s a blue man from the north of the empire that completes the set.”

Cabe shook his head. “That one’s dead. Would-be sorcerer. Killed himself with overconfidence, I think. These tremors are the result of that.”

The Gryphon straightened, the news bringing him some little pleasure. Still, there was no time to savor the death. “Tremors aside, we cannot remain here. The battle will draw others.”

“I have a spell. One that makes others ignore me unless I confront them. Let me include you under its shield.”

Tired as he was, he only nodded in reply to the warlock’s suggestion. Cabe blinked and, a moment later, smiled in satisfaction. Then, his face clouded again. “Now we have to return to Darkhorse and rescue him.”

“Darkhorse?” The Gryphon was too ashamed to admit that he had been thinking of searching out D’Marr and his master. It seemed that the eternal was not the only one with an obsession.

“He’s not far. Over there,” the warlock continued, pointing. “I came across him first, but the trouble is I can’t release him as easily as I did you. The harness device they have on him is linked to his very being. I’ve not seen its like before.”

“I have. They call it a dragon harness in the empire. It saps the power and will of the minor drakes and makes them docile. The wolf raiders also use it on other, more intelligent creatures. I was fortunate that they thought the collar was sufficient. Evidently they wanted me hale and hearty for my prolonged execution.”

“Can you release him?”

“I think so. I think I know how.”

As he started in the direction that the mage had indicated, Cabe grabbed his arm. “Wait! There’s something you should know about these tremors . . .”

“Tell me. Quick.”

Condensing the story to only the most basic details, the tired spellcaster told of his meeting with the Crystal Dragon, the battle of wills between the Dragon King and the keeper, Cabe’s ouster from the drake lord’s realm, and, lastly, his discovery and duel in the cavern.

“And as the hole grows more unstable, this region of Legar grows more unstable as well,” the Gryphon commented. The quake had begun to subside, but both knew that the next would not be long in coming . . . and it would probably be the next one that they would have to fear the most. There was a point of no return that had to be fast approaching. “Is that everything you know?”

“All that’s necessary.” Cabe Bedlam was hiding something, something that concerned the Crystal Dragon, but the lionbird assumed that whatever it was, the warlock felt it was not important to their immediate danger. He knew Cabe well enough to trust that decision. Later, they would talk.

“We’ll worry about-Dragon of the Depths!”

The ground exploded, tossing the two in opposite directions. Even as the Gryphon landed hard on his back, he knew what was happening. This was no tremor, but a much more localized threat.

Another Quel had burst through the rocky soil. The Gryphon continued to back away . . . only to find the earth behind him sprouting into a new mound. He rolled aside just as a second Quel tore his way through to the surface.

All around the Aramite encampment, the same thing was happening. Mounds formed, became craters. Bursting forth from each of those craters was a Quel. Wherever there was a trail of dirt coursing through the wolf raiders’ camp, there sprouted the armored, hooting figure of one of the subterraneans. One by one and then a dozen by a dozen, they burrowed from the deep to the day. Many carried large war axes, but others were satisfied to use their claws. It mattered not where they rose, be it open ground or beneath a stack of weapons, the Quel came on and on and on. The Gryphon knew that there would be hundreds of them, hundreds of tawny, hulking behemoths whose sole intention was to rid themselves of the surface dwellers. Like an army of the unliving released by the Lords of the Undead, they kept coming.

The sleepers were not only awake; they were angry.

Few folk alive knew the full story, although the legend had spread across the Dragonrealm. Once, before the Dragon Kings and before the Seekers, the land had been ruled by the Quel. Their race had prospered for a time, but like so many others preceding them, the armadillolike creatures had watched their empire decay. The avian Seekers became dominant.

The Seekers and their immediate predecessors shared one common trait. They could not accept a rival for power. The bird folk sought to eliminate the last bastion of Quel domination, the peninsula. What the Seekers did instead, however, was unleash a spell so terrible that not only did it nearly succeed in driving the Quel to extinction but also the avians. The bird folk retired to what few rookeries remained to them and tried to rebuild their depleted population. They would never succeed in raising the numbers, for many of their females would die.

As for the Quel, they sought a different solution to the disaster. Their already inhospitable land ravaged and the neighboring regions little better, the survivors devised a plan by which the race, through high sorcery, would slumber until the day would come when they could reclaim their realm. The notion had been suggested even before all the destruction, but the Seekers’ monstrous spell made its casting a necessity.

So the Quel race, excluding the sorcerers who had devised the spell, gathered into one of the largest of the underground chambers. The sorcerers and their apprentices would remain awake long enough to complete the grand spell and train successors, for there had to always be a handful to monitor events, keep the sleepers safe, and know how to awaken them when the glorious day came.

Something went terribly wrong, however, and those who knew how the spell worked perished in the process of casting it. It did put the race to sleep, but the secret of awakening them was lost. One other part did succeed; for each Quel who died, a successor was brought back to waking. There would be guardians, watchers, but none who understood what had happened. Over the centuries, the Gryphon knew, the Quel tried an endless variety of methods to bring their race back to life. They had never found success.

Until today.

Trust Nimth and the wolf raiders to wake something as unsavory as the Quel race! he thought. What would happen to the Dragonrealm with the Quel awake, the lionbird could not say. In his opinion, it could only be ill. He doubted that their long slumber had taught the overgrown armadillos the concept of sharing their world.

Around the Gryphon’s vicinity alone more than a dozen Quel had already risen. He looked for Cabe but did not see the warlock. That was not too surprising. The Gryphon had been thrown back several yards. It was a credit to the lionbird’s astonishing constitution that he was able to rise relatively unharmed, albeit more than a little dazed, by his flight and landing. Much to his dismay, though, the same Quel who had knocked him aside desired to change his good fortune. Heavy, taloned paws reached out for him.

He ducked and called out Cabe’s name, fearful that his companion was unconscious or worse. There was no response. The rising din made it impossible to hear any one voice unless the speaker was within a few feet. He gave up just as the monster attacked again, this time slashing down with his fearsome claws. Again, the Gryphon evaded him, but barely.

There were more sounds of battle. The wolf raiders had recovered in swift fashion. Years of war had no doubt made the wolf raiders well practiced in everything. They should thank me.

He dodged yet another swipe from the leviathan’s paws, all the while searching for something with which to combat the Quel. His reach was nothing near that of his adversary, so hand-to-hand was an option that the Gryphon wanted to reserve for last.

The lionbird found his weapon in the form of a pole tangled in the remains of a tent someone had been dismantling. He gazed at the deadly top of the staff with grim satisfaction. Only the Aramites would make tent poles with pointed tips at the end. Better still, the makeshift lance was made of good hardwood. Metal would have been best, but the Gryphon was not about to argue. He freed the pole, swung it around, and immediately jabbed at the Quel. This time, it was the beastman who backed away.

Taking advantage, he pressed the attack. The Quel hooted and took a defensive swipe at the wooden shaft.

It snapped in half.

Seizing the initiative, the massive creature stalked toward the Gryphon, all confidence now. Glancing around, the lionbird saw that there was no other object that he might use in place of the shattered pole. It was the lance or nothing.

In his long, bloody history, he had killed with much less.

The lionbird lunged. Surprised by the short figure’s temerity, the Quel left himself open. The Gryphon, well aware of the weaknesses of the race, aimed for the not-so-armored neck.

Backed by his momentum, the jagged end of the pole went into the tender throat and up into the back of the head. The Quel squealed mournfully and struggled with the staff, but the wound was mortal. Wheezing and with blood flowing down over his torso, the digger finally slumped forward. The Gryphon barely had time to leap out of the way before several hundred pounds of dead behemoth crashed to the ground.

The behemoth’s fall put an end to any other use of the pole, for the weight of the monster was enough to crush the staff into several small, meaningless pieces.

Only when his own battle was over did the Gryphon truly notice the growing intensity of the war around him. Men screamed or shouted or did both. The pain-wracked hoot of a Quel now and then pierced through the other noise. There was the constant clash of arms and orders cried out by the wolf raiders’ officers. Above, he heard the roll of thunder, which would have made him believe it was going to rain, save that the rumbling never ended, just went on and on and on. Now and then, there was green lightning.

The earth began to shake again. From the severity of the new tremor, the lionbird knew that the end was very near. The Quel’s world must already be a maelstrom of destruction!

Which is why they have come to the surface fighting, replied a chilling, vaguely familiar voice in his head.

I know you! The Gryphon’s eyes widened. His mouth went dry. He still recalled the details of the battle against the Ice Dragon.

Then you know that I may be an ally.

Cabe said-

The voice became defensive. I have changed my mind. I will aid your efforts.

“Because the Crystal Dragon’s own domain is also at risk?” the Gryphon could not help asking out loud.

The lord of Legar did not reply to the question. Instead, he acted as if all were settled. You may rest easy where Cabe Bedlam is concerned. The warlock will know his part to play in this. If all goes well, all will be ssssettled before long!

The Gryphon did not miss the sibilance toward the end. He recalled Cabe mentioning the Dragon King’s struggle with sanity, but was careful to shield the thought from the drake lord. At the moment he was willing to accept almost any help, even that from a mad creature like the Dragon King.

What do you want of me?

You must free the demon steed. I will show you how the dogs’ toy can be removed.

That’s all? What about all this?

The Dragon King’s voice began to fade away. We will ssspeak again when you have reached the ssstallion . . .

“Come back here!” the lionbird squawked. It was no use; the link the Crystal Dragon had created was no more.

The drake lord had spoken of Cabe playing a part. He feared for the human, knowing from the past how Dragon Kings toyed with their “lessers.” Still, the Crystal Dragon had helped save the land from his bone-numbing counterpart.

Whatever the case, the Gryphon had lost Cabe and pandemonium now reigned supreme over the wolf raider encampment. Freeing Darkhorse was the only path left to him. Cabe might even be there, despite the Crystal Dragon’s hints.

He knew that he would have chosen to rescue the eternal, regardless of what else happened. Not only did he owe the shadow steed much, but, astonishing as it was to sometimes believe, Darkhorse was a friend. A loyal friend. The Gryphon could not have left him behind any more than he would have left behind Cabe or his own wife.

The Gryphon began wending his way toward the area where Darkhorse was supposedly being held. In each hand he carried a blade retrieved from the corpses of mangled Aramites. The path was not an easy one. Not only was the spell cast by the warlock no longer protecting him, but a pitched battle had spread across the entire camp. The Aramites were fighting back against the Quel with lances and arrows. There were even explosions on occasion. Oddest of all the things that he heard was a series of high-pitched notes being blown on battle horns. He did not understand what purpose that served until he spotted soldiers with battle horns working in conjunction with a row of lancers. The lancers would try to pen in two or three Quel. All the while, the hornmen would take turns playing as sharp and long a note as they could. To the Gryphon’s shock, Quel within a certain range nearly fell to their knees as they tried to block the noise out. Weaponless and in aural agony, the subterraneans were easy prey for the lancers.

You see all possible things in war. The Aramites were holding their own, but it was a bloody fight. The lionbird felt no sympathy for either side as he wended his way through torn tents and twisted corpses of both human and Quel persuasion. He wondered if Lord D’Farany or the treacherous little D’Marr was among the dead. Likely not. Evil like those two seems to live on until the very last. If they escaped, he would have to hunt them down even if it meant scouring the Dragonrealm for them. Such men had a way of attracting new followers to replace those they lost. Even without an army, the keeper and his aide were dangerous to everyone.

The fighting, it soon turned out, worked in his favor. The wolf raiders and the Quel were too occupied with each other and the growing quake to pay him much mind. He was forced to do battle more than once, but none of his adversaries was equal to his skill, not even the second Quel he confronted. The latter he caught while the underdweller was still rising from the earth. It cost him one of his swords, the tip of the blade having become lodged between the natural plates in the creature’s armor, but he left the dead Quel on his back, half of the immense body still below the surface.

Then at last he came upon Darkhorse.

The black stallion struggled weakly against the harness that kept him in check, but his efforts were next to nothing. The Gryphon studied the area and saw no guards, which was as he had hoped it would be. Why, after all, guard something that was helpless while monsters from the depths of the earth were invading the camp? Nonetheless, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings as he completed the last bit of the trek. One could not be too careful.

Darkhorse looked up. “Lord . . . Gryphon. Good . . . to see you about. Where is Cabe?”

“He is safe.” What could he tell the shadow steed? That the warlock was supposedly a pawn of the Crystal Dragon? Speaking of the same, where are you, Dragon King? The lionbird would definitely need assistance with the harness. He could sense that its spell was far more complex than the ones he had seen before.

There was still no response from the Crystal Dragon. The Gryphon tried again, but still without success. All the while he tried also to follow the pattern of the spell that worked the harness.

“Can you not free me?”

“I should be able to, but it is going to take longer than I had hoped. I was supposed to have help.”

Darkhorse did not pretend to comprehend the last statement, but he dipped his head in understanding to the first part. “I will do what I can, Lord Gryphon, from within. Perhaps with the two of us striking at it . . . at it, we shall have an easier time.”

“I hope so.” The Gryphon stumbled. It was becoming more and more troublesome to maintain his footing.

The shadow steed’s eyes closed and his head slumped. Had not Darkhorse given him some warning, the lionbird would have been dismayed. Darkhorse had entered what was the equivalent of a light trance in the hope that he might be able to assist in his own release. Working with renewed confidence, the inhuman mage began retracing the lines of the spell. Somewhere he had missed the beginning thread. Somewhere . . .

He had it! The Gryphon used his magical senses to follow the thread. He saw how it wound around the collar of the harness and split off, but the new threads did not go to the bonds around Darkhorse’s legs. Rather, they returned to the beginning. He probed a bit further and found where they reconnected. The secret of the spell started to unravel before his eyes.

Then, a thousand needles turned his nerves to jelly.

The pain was almost enough to make him black out, but the Gryphon had fought against pain in the past. He fell to his knees, then would allow himself to fall no farther.

From behind him, the lionbird finally heard the sound of boots on rock. This time, he was able to roll away before the weapon could strike him in the back. The roll became a crouch, albeit an unsteady one. Only then did the Gryphon realize that his sword was not with him. It now lay at the feet of his attacker, who he had not heard because of his intense study of the harness.

I am getting old, he thought. But it looks as if I may not be getting much older!

“I knew I’d find you around here. Even in the midst of all this chaos and danger, you’d come to aid a friend. How sweet.”

Orril D’Marr drew circles in the air with his magical scepter, circles or perhaps bull’s-eyes, for the design centered around the Gryphon’s chest.

“You can’t leave now. Time to finish things, birdman. Time to die. After all, your son is waiting for you.”