Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

IV

Two days passed while Cabe sought news that might confirm his fears. There was, in that period, no reoccurrence of the vision and as evening of the second day came and aged, he began to have small doubts. Not about what both he and Aurim had seen, but how he had interpreted it.

That very night, those doubts were erased as he slept.

He was among them again. One of them. Clad in the green dragon-scale armor, they mounted their flying drakes and took to the air. The wind was hot against his face. There was something horribly wrong with the heavens, for there was no blue, but rather a sickly green vying with a bloody red. Clouds swirled like whirlpools and wild, free magic was rampant.

The lead rider-his father-turned to him and, in a voice that demanded obedience, called, “Don’t dawdle back there! We’ve far to go!”

Suddenly his father’s face stretched beyond belief. His body hunched over and his arms and legs became twisted. Wings burst forth from his backside . . .

A dragon loomed over him. He tried to turn his drake, but now he lay sprawled on a rocky plain, the animal nowhere to be found. The dragon, huge and terrible, lowered his head and hissed, “You cannot essscape what isss inevitable . . . you cannot escape . . .”

Then he, Cabe, found himself in the Legar Peninsula. He had barely time to register it when a shadow covered the land. The warlock raised his head and saw a vast sailing ship, black as pitch, slowly sinking toward him from the very sky. He tried to move, but pain suddenly jolted him. His head was on fire. It felt as if he were being torn apart.

Cabe glanced down at his hands, which tingled, and saw with horror that they were stretching, becoming more beastlike than human. Frantic, the spellcaster tried to reverse the effect, but it was as if his magic were no more. He could not even perceive the lines of force from which he drew his power.

The looming shape of the black vessel grew larger and larger. The ground beneath his feet trembled. Cabe was certain that he saw movement around him, as if large creatures lurked just below the surface.

The ship was almost upon him now. Cabe raised his hands in hopeless defense, then could not help stare at them despite the oncoming leviathan.

His hands were reptilian, the clawed paws of a dragon, but that was not what held his gaze so. It was the skin, a dragon hide that fairly glittered even in the shadow of the ebony ship.

He had become the Crystal Dragon.

Cabe woke sitting bolt upright, raw magical energy dancing and crackling at his fingertips. He shivered uncontrollably, not so much because of fear, but because the vision had looked and felt so very real.

Slim arms took hold of him in the dark and a concerned, caring voice whispered, “It’s all right, Cabe. Nothing was real. Nothing in the dream. You are in the Manor. You’re home.”

The quivering slowed, then finally ceased. He looked down at his upturned fingers and watched with vague satisfaction and relief as the glow about them dwindled to nothing.

“Cabe?”

“Gwen?” Blinking, the warlock turned toward the voice. His eyes adjusted to the dark, allowing him to make out the dim image of his wife. He conjured a small light instead of using his abilities to adjust his eyesight further. Changing any part of one’s form, even temporarily, was a task that required precise concentration for all but a few human mages. It was one area where the drakes would always be superior in the arts of sorcery. He was surprised that he was even able to create the light, considering how turbulent his mind presently was.

She pulled him close and kissed him, more from relief than anything else. They held each other tight for several moments, then Cabe finally broke the embrace. He looked into her eyes. “I had another vision.”

“I suspected as much. It’s not a memory of the Manor, is it?”

“Hardly.” Wiping his hand across his face, he related to her the various images and events he had suffered through. Describing them, however, brought them back to life for him and by tale’s end he was shaking again, albeit not near as much as the first time.

Gwen took his hands and held them until long after the shaking had ended. “Something has to be done.”

“We both know what, Gwen.”

The enchantress squeezed hard. The strength in her hands was amazing. “Don’t even think of it, my love.”

“What other way is there? This is too demanding. I am either wanted by someone or something or I’m suffering some sort of premonition . . . and it all points to the Legar Peninsula in the end. That means the Crystal Dragon.”

She did not want to believe that, he saw. In truth, he really did not want to believe it, either. Of all the Dragon Kings, the Crystal Dragon was the most enigmatic, the most ominous. Even the late Ice Dragon or Storm, the drake lord who ruled Wensils, the marshy, rain-drenched land far to the northeast, were definable dangers. No one knew much about the Crystal Dragon, not even his fellow monarchs. He had stepped in during the last rage of his northern counterpart, Ice, and, with what seemed a simple gesture, had helped turn inevitable defeat into salvaged victory. In the years since then, he had been silent, ignoring the vast changes in the Dragonrealm that steered it closer and closer to being a human world.

“The lord of Legar tolerates intruders in his domain, Cabe, but not when their interest lies in him. His predecessors were all the same, it’s said. Secretive and hermitic, yet more than willing to raise their power against those few who dared to disturb them. The Crystal Dragon, whether this one or any of his ancestors, has always been a creature to avoid at all costs. Look what arrogance cost the Ice Dragon.”

“I’ve been to the peninsula before, Gwen, and not always by choice.”

“But you never sought him out! That’s the difference, Cabe! This time, you may end up confronting him! I don’t like the thought of that happening!”

The warlock sighed. “I don’t like it, either, but what else can I do?”

Gwen paused, then suggested, “Why not go to the Dagora Forest? Perhaps he can help.”

“The Green Dragon?”

Her voice took on an urgent tone. “You know he will do for you what he can. At least hear his advice.”

He considered her words. Green’s borders, now extending into the realm once called the Barren Lands, were close to those of the Crystal Dragon. The Barren Lands had once been ruled by their counterpart, Brown, but after his death, which a young Cabe had unwittingly caused, the Master of the Dagora Forest had claimed them for his own. The Crystal Dragon, in typical fashion, had remained silent on the matter.

If anyone might be aware of something amiss in the peninsula, it would be the Dragon King Green.

“All right, I’ll go to him. It’s possible that he might be able to explain what’s happening to me.” Cabe stiffened. “Or to Aurim!”

“Aurim!” Gwen released his hands, recalling what her husband had told her about their son’s sharing of the vision. The warlock was suddenly alone in bed. It took him a moment to realize what she had done. By that time, the enchantress had already returned.

“He’s sleeping,” she said, relief paramount in her voice. “Sleeping quietly. This time he must not have shared it with you.”

Cabe rubbed his chin. “Why earlier and not now? It doesn’t make sense.” He frowned. “No, it does. This is no premonition. Someone does want me . . . me alone. It must be the Crystal Dragon!”

Gwen took his hands again. “Even if it is, talk to Lord Green first. Please.”

“Don’t worry; I will.” He took her in his arms and the two of them lay down again. “I promise you that.”

It was near dawn when Cabe was at last able to relax enough to sleep.

Although he had known the Green Dragon since his earliest days as a spellcaster, it made his audience with the monarch of the great forest land of Dagora no less imposing. He was, after all, facing one of the Dragon Kings, the legendary rulers of the continent. Until his own involvement with them, Cabe would have never believed that the drake lords were in the twilight of their reign. There were few things in the Dragonrealm he found as overwhelming as the draconian monarchs even after having watched their empire crumble to a few deeply divided kingdoms suspicious of each other and of the humans who were taking their place.

Green was different, though. He had accepted the decline of power as a natural course for his race, yet the drake had no intention of merely letting his people fade away. He wanted to see both races working together, for in that was his own future.

Cabe liked to consider the reptilian monarch his friend as well as his ally and he hoped that the Dragon King felt the same way.

“To what do I owe this visitation, Cabe Bedlam? It is not yet the time for a report on the progress of the emperor’s hatchlings.”

“They fare well enough, though,” Cabe informed him. “The same problems still exist with Kyl.”

“Of course. He is like his progenitor.”

The lord of the Dagora Forest sat in an immense, human-style throne carved from rock and situated atop a marble dais in the back of the vast underground cavern complex that was the lair of his clans. Like so many of the drake race, he had a fondness for the humanoid shape, eschewing his original dragon form for it for months at a time. In Cabe’s opinion, the dragon people were becoming more and more human with each generation.

There were those, however, who would argue that and would point out the Green Dragon as their example. Humanoid though he was, the Dragon King was most definitely not human. To the eye, the seated monarch resembled a tall, massive knight clad in dragon-scale armor of the finest detail. He would have been more than seven feet in height had he been standing. In truth, the drake lord resembled more what an elfin lord would have looked like were those folk inclined to such warriorlike garb and not the lighter woodland outfits they wore. The armor was a vibrant shade of green, a forest green that spoke of the strength and majesty of the vast wooded region. It covered the Dragon King from his feet to his neck, only giving way above, where the helm, with its intricate dragon’s head crest, nearly covered all else.

It was impossible not to stare at the dragon head, for anyone who stood before one of the drake lords would certainly feel that the head was staring back. The crests of the wolf raiders were crude in comparison. With their long snouts, toothy maws curled back in what was almost a smile, and narrow, seeking eyes, the dragon heads looked almost alive . . . and very hungry. It was not so surprising. The crest was more than simple decoration; it was the true visage of the Dragon King. The face within the helm was a mere parody of humanity. The face above the helm was the reality. In fact, the entire image the drake presented was false. What seemed like armor was actually his very skin. The scale armor was dragonscale still attached to the original. His helm could not have been removed, for it was his head as much as what was within pretended to be. In attempting to make use of the human form, which they had found so practical for so many things, this had been as close as the male drakes could come. Their progress was slower than that of the female drakes, although no one could say why. Yet, if Kyl and Grath were any indication, the next generation of males had finally crossed the barrier . . . in terms of appearance. Like the Dragon King before him, they still had much to learn about humanity itself.

For that matter, so did many humans.

Cabe forced himself not to focus on the crest, which always tended to draw his eyes first. “I come on a matter of great urgency, my Lord Green, and I thank you for this swift audience. I realize I was very abrupt when I requested it.”

The Dragon King lifted his head, and if there had been anyone in the chamber still thinking that the figure before Cabe could be human, now would have crushed any such foolish notion. From within the false helm, two bloodred eyes burned into those of the warlock. Although the helm obscured much, there were glimpses of a flat and scaly visage. There was no nose, only two slits. When the drake lord spoke, his lipless mouth revealed the sharp teeth of a predator. A parody it might be, but the humanoid visage that the Dragon King wore was in its own way almost as terrible because of that.

A narrow, forked tongue darted out on occasion when the Dragon King spoke, yet except for some slight sibilance every now and then, he spoke more clearly and precisely than many humans. “Sssso formal, friend warlock! It truly must be an urgent matter then, if you would speak to me so.”

The chamber was empty of all save them, which had been as Cabe had requested. Torches lit the great chamber. Its rock walls were too smooth, which long ago had led Cabe to the conjecture that one of the Dragon King’s ancestors had dug it all out. There were plants of all shapes and sizes in the cavern and skillfully woven tapestries, some incredibly ancient, decorated most of the walls. Some Dragon King long ago had worked hard to make his lair a thing of beauty and had succeeded, but the dark-haired mage was by no means calmed by the regal setting. It was never possible to forget that this was the nest of a dragon and had been so for countless generations.

Cabe had debated on a number of ways to begin, but none of them had seemed satisfactory. Being blunt still appeared to be the best route. “My lord, I seek information concerning events in the realm of your brother, the Crystal Dragon.”

“Do you?” The Dragon King could not entirely mask his surprise. “And why do you desssire this?”

The warlock stepped closer, stopping only when he stood at the bottom of the dais. He kept his face devoid of all emotion. “I believe something is happening there. I believe it may involve the wolf raiders.”

“Aaah?” Now he truly had the drake lord’s attention. If there was a threat other than human magic that the Dragon Kings respected, it was the ever-hungry wolf packs of the Aramites. The black ships had been a scourge that even the most cunning of the Dragon Kings had been unable to put an end to. The revolt that had forced the Aramites to abandon their plundering had been a blessing. “Tell me more, friend Cabe.”

Cabe told him of the visions, leaving out nothing. The Dragon King was silent throughout. The warlock knew that his host was already considering possible meanings to the visions and what those meanings might demand of him. By the time Cabe was finished, the drake lord had already formulated some thoughts of his own on the subject.

“I have heard rumors, but this . . . It should not surprissse me that the wolf raiders have come to the Dragonrealm. They are your kind at their most tenacious. If they have chosen the lands of my brother Crystal, then I cannot possibly predict what might occur. The lord of Legar is an enigma even to his brethren.” The Dragon Kings all called one another brother, but the term referred to their supposedly equal status, not any blood relation. As far as the mage knew, none of the surviving kings were truly brothers.

“Have you no contact with him . . . in any way?”

“He is not one for conversation, human. Ever has his line kept to itself. He does not seek our company, and in truth, we have ever avoided his.”

Cabe considered this. “You have no contact with him?”

The drake lord bared his teeth, but not because of any anger toward the mage. Rather, he appeared frustrated at himself. “I have no contact, friend warlock. No spies. Through no method have I ever succeeded in divining his purposes . . . if he has any. Do not think that I have not tried. Do not think that my brothers have not tried, too.”

“What about the rest of Legar?”

A reptilian smile briefly crossed the shadowed countenance. The Green Dragon straightened, then rose from his throne. Cabe did not step back, as many would have done, but merely crooked his neck and looked up. He knew the Green Dragon well enough to know that the monarch respected more those who stood up to him. “Of the rest of Legar, there is generally nothing of interest, friend Cabe. The land glitters, but it is devoid of a soul. One might as well observe the snow-smothered Northern Wastes, for there is just as likely something happening there as there is in the hot, dry domain my brother rules.” The smile died. The Dragon King stepped down from the dais so that he was more or less at eye level with his guest. “Yet, I trust your word and your judgment when you say that now that may have changed. You make me curious for the first time.” He paused, then hissed. “If you will join me on a short walk, perhaps there is a way to answer your questions . . . and your fears.”

“Where are we going?”

“I have been awaiting the opportunity to test a creation of mine. I see no reason why this should not be the perfect time. Come. It would be better to show it to you before I explain.”

The drake lord led him into one of the branching tunnels and through the mazelike passages that were common among the lairs of his kind. Some of the passages were huge, perfect for a full-grown dragon, but others, newer, were designed strictly for creatures the size of a man or a drake in human form. Cabe knew that many Dragon Kings, especially the line that had ruled Dagora, often had human servants, but they did not generally dig their tunnels to accommodate those servants. The smaller pathways had come into existence about the time that the drakes had begun to favor the humanoid forms.

They came at last to a pair of plain bronze doors, something rare in the depths of a dragon lair. The bronze doors indicated how valuable the contents of the chamber behind them were to the woodland monarch. Four guards, all human, interestingly enough, were another good sign that any who trespassed here forfeited everything.

At a gesture from the drake lord, the guards stepped aside and the doors swung open. The reptilian ruler waved a taloned hand at the warlock, indicating he should enter first.

Cabe never knew what to expect when he was brought to the Green Dragon’s inner sanctum. Each time, something was different. The lords of Dagora had always been scholars, their prime interests tending to run either to the vast history of the continent or the workings of magic as various races used it. There was no one save perhaps the Crystal Dragon who knew as much.

To a mage, the chamber was a collection worthy of envy. Seeker medallions hung next to tapestries by a race whose face and form not even the Dragon King knew. The tapestries were older than anything else and the images always revolved around landscapes that did not exist, at least now, anywhere in the realm. There were bottles filled with specimens of both animal and vegetable origin and row upon row of great tomes, many of which the drake lord had long ago admitted he had yet to decipher.

The Dragon King turned to the guards. “You may close the doors. No one is to enter, no matter what you might hear. That includes everyone.”

“Yes, my lord,” the men chorused. Two of them took hold of the handles and pulled the bronze doors shut. The Green Dragon’s human servants were ever swift and thorough in their obedience, but unlike those who served many of the other drake lords, these obeyed out of pure loyalty. The Masters of the Dagora Forest had almost always cared for their humans as much as they did their own kind.

When they were alone, the reptilian knight turned back to his guest. “Have no concern, Massster Cabe. The warning was more for the sake of our privacy than to hint of any danger to our beings.”

“I hoped as much.” Despite the words of his host, however, Cabe was not completely at ease. Any venture that involved delving into the realm of the Crystal Dragon had to have at least a tiny element of danger inherent in it.

The Green Dragon stalked toward a small alcove in which a pedestal no higher than the warlock’s waist stood. Carved into the flat top of the marble artifact was an array of symbols that looked vaguely familiar to him. The memory was so distant and hazy, however, that he wondered if perhaps it was not one of his own but rather something left over from when he had shared the memories of Nathan.

“This is what I wished to show you. It isss far superior to anything that my brothers have . . . save perhaps the one we seek to learn more of. I have only recently completed its creation; one would almost think that your request had been foreseen by the Dragonrealm itself.”

The warlock did not like to think about that. Too often, it seemed that the Dragonrealm somehow controlled his life and the lives of those he cared for. “What does it do? How does it work?”

“An explanation now would pale against the actuality. It is best if you simply observe.”

Cabe watched as the Dragon King first passed his hand over the symbols and then touched three of them. Again, a memory of the far past teased Cabe, but he forced it down. All that he knew was that the patterns carved into the pedestal were of a language of sorts, but not the common tongue spoken by humans and drakes. However, there had been many races that had preceded the Dragon Kings and at least some of them had spoken and written in other tongues. In the Dragonrealm, there were even those kingdoms where the written form of Common was undecipherable by any save those who had grown up learning it. When time permitted, he would ask the Dragon King about the markings, but now there were more important tasks at hand.

As he completed a second arrangement of symbols, the drake lord explained some of what he was doing. “The patterns are directly tied to specific forces in the Dragonrealm, almost the way a sorcerer’s mind is when he reaches out to use power, but more precisely. There isss less chance for random failure due to a lack of concentration and a greater ability to focus on specific regions or even individualsss.” The drake’s sibilance grew as he became excited about the subject. “It alssso drains the mage usssing it less than mossst mechanisms becaussse it does not require the great amount of willpower that cryssstals often do.”

The Green Dragon performed one more pass over the pedestal, then stepped back.

“What happens now?”

“Wait . . . and watch.”

At first, it was only a small black spot. It hovered over the center of the artifact, slowly growing. When it was the size of his hand, its form shifted, making it look more like a dark cloud about to unleash a tempest. He almost expected to see lightning and torrential rains. Slowly, though, the cloud thinned until it was almost transparent. As it thinned it continued to grow. Only when the dark mass was the size of Cabe’s chest did it stop. By this point, he could see the wall beyond through it, but other than that, there was nothing, not even the most vague of images. After several anxious breaths, he finally could wait no longer. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” was all the drake replied.

Even as the Dragon King spoke, the thin cloud convulsed. Cabe almost took a step back, but when he saw that the Dragon King was nodding his head, he realized that this was part of the spell. The cloud continued to convulse, but now the changes in its form became specific things. Leaning forward, Cabe held his breath as he realized what he was seeing. The things became true shapes and the shapes became distinct features. Tiny hills sprouted and ravines deepened. The upper half of the vision turned blue as the heavens divided from the earth. The now nearly formed landscape suddenly glistened as light from an unseen source blanketed it.

A miniature world had blossomed into being. No, not a world, Cabe corrected himself, but simply a portion of one. A very familiar one.

It was the rocky, glittering hills of Legar. They floated before the two, not as some flat image, but as a very real place. It was as if someone had stolen a part of the land, shrunken it down, and brought it before them. The warlock wanted to reach forward and see if he could touch it, but he knew that the sight before him was illusion, nothing more.

“What do you think, Master Bedlam?”

“It’s . . . nothing’s good enough, my lord. The detail is unbelievable!”

“We can focus on even smaller areas. Like so.”

The image changed. This time, it had magnified so much that Cabe could now make out individual leaves on one of the few hardy bushes that dotted the viewed region. A small creature no bigger than his hand scuttled from under a rock to the bush.

“That wasss the easy part,” his host commented. The Green Dragon’s entire body spoke of sudden uncertainty. “What we see is on the very borders of the peninsula. Now, we mussst delve deeper into Legar . . . and that will most certainly invite the interest of my brother!”

“You don’t intend to try to contact him?”

“It may be that we can learn what we need to know without resorting to that.”

The dark-haired spellcaster glanced surreptitiously at his companion. He’s afraid of the Crystal Dragon! Immediately after thinking that, Cabe felt ashamed. Not afraid. More wary than afraid. The Green Dragon knew and respected the power of his counterpart to the west. Cabe, having witnessed that power in the past, understood some of what the Master of Dagora must be thinking. No one, not even the most vicious of the Dragon Kings, wanted to invite the wrath of the Crystal Dragon down upon them.

Yet, if the lord of Legar was so great a power in the realm, what did Cabe’s visions mean? What was there that might threaten the enigmatic drake lord and the rest of the Dragonrealm as well?

How were the wolf raiders involved? By themselves could they possibly be so great a danger? He wished that he knew more about the Crystal Dragon.

He wished that someone did.

The Green Dragon touched the markings again. The image wavered, then shifted as the Dragon King sought to journey deeper into the domain of his counterpart. They saw nothing unusual at first, simply the same crystal-encrusted hills and the occasional bit of plant life. Now and then, a bird flew overhead, likely on its way to more hospitable climes. The image of the first such avian amused Cabe, who almost expected it to go flying beyond the edge of the scene and on into the chamber where he stood.

After several minutes of this, however, the warlock grew impatient. He began to wonder whether the Green Dragon might be just a little hesitant about moving toward the western shores of the peninsula. Cabe very much respected the monarch of Legar, probably at least as much as the drake lord beside him, but Green had not suffered through the visions. Cabe wanted an answer and he wanted it soon. At the present rate of progression, it would be some time before they even reached the central lands, the region where the clan caverns of the Crystal Dragon were supposed to start.

“My lord.” His determination slipped a bit as the drake turned his blazing eyes to him, but Cabe persevered. “My lord, can’t we leap from where we are now and view the western tip of Legar? If, as I believe, the answer lies out there, then we may discover it and be done with this within a matter of minutes.”

The Dragon King vacillated, then, with great reluctance, nodded agreement. “Asss you say, it might indeed speed the matter to an end. Very well, give me but a moment, warlock, and I will sssee what I can do.”

Cabe wished he could help, if only to encourage the drake to greater swiftness, but the Dragon King did not ask for his assistance and there was no way that he could offer it without the reptilian monarch taking the offer as a slight to his courage. He satisfied himself with trying to ready his own courage in the face of whatever the magical window revealed to them, especially if what it revealed was the enraged visage of the Crystal Dragon.

“Odd. Very odd.”

The warlock glanced up. “What?”

“There is . . . something . . . blocking our view. See for yourself, Cabe.”

He looked. Over the pedestal, the image that had earlier been conjured wavered and twisted, becoming more of a distorted shadow of its former self. Superimposed on that vision, however, was another. In that one, a much less distinct image than even the first had become, Cabe could make out the movement of several figures. Whether they were human or not was impossible to say, but Cabe stiffened when he realized that all of them were dark, possibly black.

“Sssomething is fighting it!” snarled the Dragon King. His unease had vanished, replaced now by annoyance that something had dared wreak havoc with his creation. He passed his taloned hands over a different arrangement of symbols. The images only became more tangled. Now it looked as if the ghostly figures were trying to walk through the hills.

“By the Dragon of the Depths!” The furious drake lord tried another arrangement, evidently hoping that some combination of forces would overcome the unknown obstacle. Both visions dwindled away, this time to be replaced by a thick, grayish cloud that sparkled as it turned slowly within itself, almost as if a legion of fireflies had gotten themselves trapped in the maelstrom. The Green Dragon stepped away, clearly taken aback by this latest result. After a moment of contemplation, though, he reached once more for the markings on the pedestal.

There was a flash. A sparkling field of light engulfed the unsuspecting drake.

As the flash died, a head filled the air above the artifact; it was the startled countenance of none other than the Crystal Dragon. There was no mistaking the other Dragon King. Only one drake had skin that gleamed like diamond.

His body quivering violently, the Green Dragon shrieked and then fell backward; the face vanished.

Cabe leapt to the side of his companion, the magical window all but forgotten in his concern. He knelt beside the drake, who still quivered, and checked his breathing. It was ragged, but strong enough that the warlock was fairly certain he would live. Taking the Dragon King’s hands, Cabe saw that the drake had been burned bad in each palm. He used a spell to ease the damage and was relieved to note that it was successful. Injuries caused by high magic were sometimes impossible to repair.

As he lowered the Dragon King’s hands, he became aware of the heavy silence that had befallen the chamber. It was the sort of silence, Cabe somehow felt, that preceded utter catastrophe.

From where he knelt, the warlock turned.

An ebony hand vast enough to engulf both Cabe and the Dragon King stretched forth from the pedestal.

Cabe knew that unleashing sheer power at the thing might result in devastation encompassing more than just the chamber, for the Seeker medallions on the shelves alone likely held enough potent force in them to do that. If his wild spell destroyed the talismans, that power would also be released. With all that the Master of the Dagora Forest’s collection held, it went without saying that the medallions would surely not be the only magical artifacts to unleash their long-imprisoned forces.

With no time to consider a counterattack, Cabe chose instead to simply defend. Moving one hand in a swift arc, he surrounded the two of them with a transparent shield. It was basic but potent, one of the earliest spells that he had learned to use by instinct alone.

The fingers of the darksome hand struck the surface of the invisible shield and stopped. Cabe could almost sense the frustration. The guiding force behind the hand was not deterred, however. Readjusting so that its fingers completely gripped the outer limits of the barrier, the malevolent extremity squeezed.

Cabe Bedlam knew that the scene above him was merely the visible representation of two spells seeking to counter each other, but it was impossible not to believe that a real hand was slowly closing upon him. His own spell was buckling already, a sign that whoever or whatever fought him was not only adept at sorcery but was able to draw together forces that would have overwhelmed even Cabe, whose own ability was not slight.

Yet, in the end, the shield accomplished its task. Given a precious moment, he now struck back. There was no need to waste further seconds seeking some elaborate solution. Cabe summoned up a spell that was as much a part of him as it had once been a part of Nathan, his grandfather. A golden bow formed before him, a golden bow that had, in the past, killed a Dragon King. It was a legacy from Nathan. The few sorcerers who had been able to create and make use of it, for the binding of the necessary powers was a time-consuming and touchy matter, had been called such things as the Sunlancers, although Sun Archers would have been more appropriate. The spell took much out of those mages and they were often not able to re-create the bow for months after, but one shot was all that was ever needed. As much as it took out of the spellcaster, it took more out of the target.

A single, gleaming shaft, a streak of blinding brilliance, shot forth from the bow. The shaft flew unimpeded through the shield, since they shared both common origin and cause, and struck the menacing hand. Barely slowed, it continued through the palm and out the other end before Cabe could even blink.

As the sunlit arrow exited, the black hand released its grip and thrashed madly in the air above the warlock. Breathing heavily, Cabe strengthened his shield as best he could, but the act proved unneeded, for the hand was already fading, its magic disrupted and, hopefully, its caster painfully regretting his assault on the two. By the time Cabe drew another breath, the magical menace was no more. Had not the Green Dragon been lying unconscious and injured by his side, he almost would not have believed that the attack had ever happened, for nothing else in the room had been touched by it, not even the pedestal.

Secure, the warlock removed the defensive barrier and hurried to the bronze doors. He took hold of one and flung it open. The anxious but ready gazes of more than two dozen guards, both human and drake, met his own. Cabe pointed behind himself. “Get in here, quick! Your master may need aid! I can’t promise that my spell of healing dealt with all the injuries he suffered!”

There was much visible apprehension. The Dragon King had never allowed more than a handful of his subjects, be they drake or men, into his sanctum. Fortunately, the health of their master outweighed their fear of disobedience. A half-dozen or so sentries darted around Cabe and seized the unconscious Dragon King by the arms and legs. With great care but also great speed, they carried their master out of the chamber. Cabe assured himself that all was now calm in the room, then followed.

He turned at the doorway and quickly commanded, “No one is to enter again without your lord’s permission. There may yet be some danger in there. Is that understood?”

The remaining guards nodded. The spellcaster wasted no more time on them. He knew that the Green Dragon would receive the best of aid from his people and that there was no real need for him to attend, but guilt forced him on after the injured monarch and his attendants. It was his fault that the Dragon King had become involved in this, his fault that the drake had pushed further than had been safe.

Now more than ever, Cabe knew he had to journey to the inhospitable land of Legar. The images and the attack had only fueled his curiosity and resolve. It was not likely, based on what he had seen, that the Crystal Dragon had been at the heart of the attack. Moreover, that Dragon King had looked truly stunned by the intrusion into his kingdom. No, the attack had come from elsewhere, and although it was hardly evidence enough, the black hand that had nearly taken the two of them seemed to speak to Cabe of the wolf raiders. Worse, it spoke of wolf raiders with power, keepers such as the Gryphon had once spoken of. Cabe had thought that the Aramite sorcerer caste was no more; at least, the lionbird had hinted as much.

Whatever it was that threatened from the domain of the Crystal Dragon, he would have to face it, but he would have to face it alone. The Green Dragon was helpless. Gwen, the warlock knew, would desire to join him once she saw that he could not be turned from this, but they had long ago made a rule, one that even she would be forced to abide by, wherein one parent would remain with the children during such times. There had to be someone to watch over them. They could not risk both of them and possibly leave Aurim and Valea, not to mention the drakes under their care, without a ready protector. Aurim was too wild to leave in control yet and Kyl . . . Kyl was not ready, either.

There was no choice. Cabe would have to journey to the Legar Peninsula on his own.

Unless . . . he hesitated in the passageway, the servants and their burden momentarily pushed from his immediate concerns. There was one other he could turn to for help, if he could only find him. The trouble there was that Cabe might search the entire Dragonrealm without success, for the one he sought was not bound by this world nor any other. The warlock could not waste the time on such a prolonged search; whatever events were unfurling in the domain of the Crystal Dragon might at any moment come to a head. At most, Cabe could spare a day, maybe two.

Still, it would be worth it if he could find Darkhorse.

“d’Rance! There you are. Rummaging through garbage again?”

The blue man, his cloak wrapped around his angular form almost like a shroud, turned to face his shorter counterpart. Unlike the others, his cloak also had a hood, which was presently pulled so far forward that it almost reached his eyes. His helm and gloves lay to the side on a makeshift table he was using for his work. One hand emerged from the obscuring cape and deposited a small, crystalline statuette onto the same table. The chamber that he had chosen for his work-and his privacy-had evidently once been the equivalent of a Quel library, but only a few loose fragments of scrollwork and crystal still remained. D’Rance was of the opinion that the rest had been spirited away by diggers that still remained at large, but he had so far not seen any reason to share his theory with his companions. “I have been here some time, Orril D’Marr, yes, and what I do is not rummaging. My lord has instructed me to inspect all questionable items of the diggers. There may be artifacts of power, talismans, yes, among what you so blindly label ‘garbage.’”

The young officer responded with an indifferent shrug. The blue man silently cursed the Quel for being unable to rid his life of the insolent little martinet. He had a knack of stepping in at the wrong times, almost as if he had a sixth sense. Steeling himself, D’Rance grated, “I must assume, D’Marr, that you have some reason for disturbing me, yes? Or is it that you have come to love my company?”

“Something happened . . . some surge from the beastmen’s thing, that magical device. Our Lord D’Farany requests your presence so that you might aid him in unraveling the mystery. He’s been requesting your presence for several minutes now and he doesn’t like being kept waiting. You and I both know that.”

The blue man turned away from D’Marr and, using the same hand as before, picked up another of the artifacts the blindly obedient soldiers under his command had gathered for him. He pretended to study it, but in reality he had been forced to turn because at that moment it had come close to being impossible to hide the truth of what he was actually doing. The strain would have shown on his face. Unlike D’Marr, Kanaan D’Rance was a creature of emotions, more so than even many of his own kind. But just this once and only in this matter, I would wish to wear a mask with the skills that you do, little man, yes!

“I will be but a moment. You need not wait, yes.”

“Lord D’Farany’s waiting. I think he has something.”

Forcing his hand not to shake, the blue man put down the second figurine. He looked over his shoulder. “As I said, I will be but a moment.”

A thin smile played fleetingly across D’Marr’s countenance. D’Rance knew that it was because one took a deadly chance when one did not leap to respond to a summons from the Pack Leader. It was something that D’Rance had never adjusted to and he knew that only his usefulness to his master had kept him from being punished for his continuous transgressions. D’Marr, he knew, was hoping that this latest might be the final straw. The blue man did not care. He needed a few more minutes before he could dare go before Lord D’Farany. Summons or not, he risked more by responding now rather than waiting until he was better able to compose himself. His secrets had to remain his secrets.

He noted how one of Orril D’Marr’s hands touched the pommel of the Aramite’s favorite toy, the magical rod he liked to use too often on others. The scepter would be the death of him if D’Rance did not kill him first.

“I’ll inform our lord of your response.”

“Do that, yes.”

With obvious anticipation, a silent D’Marr departed. The blue man watched him disappear from sight, then exhaled sharply. He thought of how his counterpart would relate his response to the Pack Leader. There would be much embellishment. D’Rance would have to speak with a silver tongue, but he had always been good at that. It had gotten him across the vast sea to the land of his goals and it would keep him in the good graces of the Pack Leader until the blue man was ready to abandon the raiders to whatever fate was in store for them. You have shown me much, yes, my Lord Ivon D’Farany, and I thank you, although you could not know just how much you truly taught me, no . . .

Allowing the cloak to fall away, he stared at the hand he had hidden from D’Marr.

Visibly, there was no sign of a wound, not even the smallest mark. Yet the pain still coursed through him as if someone had thrust a knife into his palm. The hand was twisted into a shape more the parody of a bird’s claw than a human extremity. Even the slightest movement caused the pain to increase a hundredfold, but he could wait no longer. He had to straighten it now.

Gritting his teeth, the blue man strained to bend his fingers back. Sweat poured down his forehead as he fought the pain. Slowly, the hand resumed a somewhat more normal appearance, although even achieving that resulted in yet more excruciating torture. In the end, D’Rance could not help moan under his breath. He would somehow find the one who had done this and make him regret it all.

It had been foolish, he knew, to test himself so soon, but the opportunity had presented itself like a gift and the blue man, unable to resist, had leapt in. His reward had been the agony.

But it goes better, he consoled himself. I grow more skilled, yes . . .

Forcing himself to use his injured hand, the better to begin living with the pain, D’Rance removed his hood. He began to pick up the helm, then thought better of it. Glancing around to make certain that he would not be interrupted, he pulled from one of the pouches on his belt a small looking glass. Raising it to eye level, the northerner held it so that he could see the left side of his head.

A tiny streak of silver in his hair, a streak that had only weeks ago not existed at all, greeted his gaze.

The blue man smiled. He was making definite progress, yes.