Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

III

The monk had never been listed before and that alone refueled her interest some, but what Valea found more fascinating was a pattern she had finally noticed. The staircase was the site of more than one encounter; in fact, through the years at least six different specters had been seen on or near it. Valea suspected that, as with many of the apparitions, they also materialized when no one was there to see them. Why her father had never noticed this, the young sorceress could not say, but clearly the area was one requiring more intense study.

And that was why she now sat hunched to the side, hidden from the staircase, watching the darkened area while the rest of the Manor slept. With both the grounds and the building surrounded by an invisible barrier that let no one in without the permission of the Bedlams, sentries were not needed. Besides, even if anyone managed to penetrate the shield-as the dread drake Toma once had-there were other spells in place that would alert the inhabitants.

Satisfied that no one would disturb her watch, Valea waited. She had purposely dressed in her favored light green sleeping gown just in case by a rare chance someone would rise from their slumber. This near the kitchens, she would have the perfect excuse. Her brother had made it a regular habit to wander down at night and take back a small snack. Why not her as well?

One hour passed, then two and three. Valea’s confidence eroded and her clever plan now seemed absolutely absurd. In addition, lack of sleep began to take its toll. Despite her determination, her vigilance finally slipped. Yawning, Valea tied her hair back, then decided to lean against the wall just for a moment-

A slight creak from near the top of the staircase woke her. Silently cursing herself for her lapse, she drew back, hoping that whoever descended would be so bleary-eyed that they would save her a confrontation. With her mother now away in search of Aurim, the odds were decidedly in her favor, but still . . .

The creaking drew nearer . . . yet in the dark Valea could not make out anyone. She squinted, not daring to risk a spell that might alert whoever stood upon the stairs. It was quite possible her father had returned unannounced from his mission northwest, but somehow she doubted it.

Now it sounded as if the newcomer should be at the very bottom, but the staircase remained devoid of any user. It suddenly occurred to Valea that there existed one simple reason why.

The monk had not returned, but another ghost had come.

A thrilling chill ran down her spine. The creaking was suddenly replaced by a gentle tap on the floor, giving Valea the mental image of a light-footed person, perhaps a woman.

No one had recorded any such encounter, adding yet another to the staircase’s collection. Valea stepped from her hiding place, trying to focus on the exact spot where the figure would be standing. More and more she had the sensation that it was a woman, a young woman.

A muffled cry nearly made her back away. Only at the last did Valea realize it was another sound from her ghost.

And then . . . a blue haze formed, a hunched figure.

A dying woman. An elf in blue, her face turned to the floor, blood pooling from somewhere around her stomach.

Valea acted instinctively, reaching out to help one who could no longer be helped. Her fingers, instead of touching cloth, sank into the vision.

“ARE YOU ILL, cousin?”

His face was narrow, but handsome, handsome much the way Kyl’s was. He was tall, silver-haired but youthful, unless one stared at the eyes. The oak-brown eyes had seen much, perhaps too much, yet even they managed some gentleness as they looked down the slim, almost pointed nose at her.

Cousin?

That an elf called Valea cousin did not confuse her so much as his presence . . . and that did not confuse her so much as the fact that they both danced and danced, he in his regal, silver-blue jacket and slacks and she in a bright blue gown that spread like a bell at the waist. One hand of hers the elf held high, the other touched lightly the left side of his torso just above the belt. Likewise his own hand touched her torso, but in a proper yet affectionate manner.

Music played, a windswept sound like none Valea had ever heard. She had little experience with elves, although supposedly their blood and hers had ties . . .

Blood! She recalled the dying figure.

As she faltered, he caught her, his expression one of mild concern. Valea felt certain her face had grown crimson, but she could do nothing to stop it.

“Stop,” the figure calmly ordered, but not to her. At his command, the music ceased.

As their dance finished, Valea realized that she stood near the staircase . . . and on the exact spot where the ghost had formed.

“My apologies, Galani. Sometimes when I lead, I forget to think about my partner.” He said the last almost ruefully, as if the words held more meaning.

“No-” she managed. “No-apologies, Arak!”

“But, yes! Here you visit your cousin, and what does he do but throw you around like a leaf in the wind!” Arak frowned at himself. “Perhaps the others were wise to suggest you avoid this journey.”

Valea did not know what to reply, but it seemed her lips did. “What the elders think is their own concern, cousin. They spend too much time worrying about nothing!”

“Such as my mad suggestions about our people staking their own claim in this world at last? Such as the elves no longer being passive in a world ruled in turn by such as the Garoot, the Quel, the Seekers, and now the Dragon Kings?”

“Our people have thrived under one master race after another, Arak. Though they have already ruled for several hundred years, we will survive the drakes, too. Certainly better than those beastly humans that seem to be sprouting up everywhere.” Valea listened with fascination at the words she-or rather Galani-spoke. The confidence of the speaker was undermined by the sorceress’s own knowledge of the lengthy reign of the Dragon Kings and how humans, not elves, would begin supplanting the drakes.

Arak nodded-somewhat hesitantly, Valea thought-then led her toward what the sorceress knew to be the entrance to the back of the estate.

Outside, the fanciful topiary animals she already knew greeted them, as did the high, vast hedge maze in which Valea and her brother had cheerfully lost themselves as children. Instead of night, the bright sun illuminated everything. Yet, where Valea’s world was one bustling with the activity of the human/drake settlement that dealt with the Manor’s expansive lands, Arak’s domain seemed one of emptiness, loneliness. The two of them looked to be the only inhabitants and Galani clearly had come as a guest.

“Why are we out here?” her mouth asked.

“I thought you’d feel more at home out among the foliage.” Again, the male elf spoke with some hesitation in his voice.

The ties between the two clearly ran deeper than blood, that Valea could sense. She knew that among the elves cousins did marry, but for some reason any hope of that happening between Arak and Galani had long faded.

Her body shivered. “It is very pretty, but . . . there is something different about the plants here . . . something not natural.”

“This place has been touched by magic in more than one way since its creation, cousin. You simply feel that.”

Valea abruptly found herself staring up into the elf’s eyes. She could imagine losing herself in them-until Kyl’s visage briefly overlapped Arak’s.

Valea pulled away. Valea . . . not Galani.

“What is it, cousin? Do I now disgust you the way I disgust the elders?” The handsome face twisted into something not so handsome.

The sorceress could say nothing, too stunned at having interacted. Fortunately, Galani answered. “Never that, Arak! I only fear that you underestimate the pressures you put upon yourself-” The eyes surveyed the grounds and the tall marble and wood facade of the Manor. The statue of a soaring Seeker, one of the avian humanoids Valea knew of even in her own time, stood perched on one edge of the sloped roof. “-and this place . . . this place is not good for an elf’s mind. I feel that.”

“Rubbish. This is why our people remain nothing more than incidental influences in the land! Beware of the unknown! Beware of change! Beware of outsiders-”

“Surely not all outsiders, my friend . . .” came a voice that, despite its calm, quiet tone, still made every fiber of Galani’s and Valea’s mutual body grow taut.

Arak reacted with anything but uncertainty, He spun around to face the Manor, a look of pleasure on his face. “You are back! How timely! Perhaps between the two of us we can talk some sense into my cousin. I told you of her imminent arrival, did I not?”

“You did.”

Through Galani’s eyes, Valea stared at the newcomer who had so brazenly appeared out of nowhere as if he, not the elf, was master of this domain. Valea tried to speak, but her host’s own startlement kept both frozen.

Not at all sensing his cousin’s mood, Arak reached out an arm toward the newcomer. “Cousin, permit me to introduce the most ardent supporter of my efforts, a fellow exile whose aid in my work has been invaluable! Galani, this is-”

The figure, a tall man in leather boots and wearing flowing-almost living-robes of black, reached forth a gloved hand to take Valea’s own. He interrupted Arak’s own introduction, saying, “Call me Tylan . . . this time.”

Through Galani, Valea stared and stared at the imposing form, stared mostly at the face . . . or where the face should have been. Beneath a voluminous hood, she caught a glimpse of brown hair and a streak of silver. However, beneath that, the face remained just out of focus. No matter now hard her host or she tried, it never quite defined itself. Eyes could be made out and a mouth and nose, but seen as if in a fog or through water.

And the gasp that escaped belonged to Valea, for she, if not Galani, knew whom she confronted. The name burst forth, with its uttering the sorceress’s entire world turning into a blur worse than that beneath the hood.

“Shade!”