Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

I

The wind howled like a hundred hungry wolves. The rain poured down in such torrents that it seemed the world’s oceans sought to drown the land. Crisp crackles of lightning flashed from the sky, some of them darting precariously near to where he rode. His brown steed struggled to maintain its footing as it raced over the slippery hills constantly rising ahead, but he paid no attention. All that mattered was the rendezvous.

The chill night air forced him to bundle his long, gray travel cloak over his head. He could have used magic to protect him from the elements, but that would have risked discovery. In this benighted realm, absolute power rested in the hands of a ruler gone mad.

And there was nothing more dangerous than an insane Dragon King.

The hood barely covered his chiseled chin, his high cheek bones, clipped nose, and brooding, brilliantly blue eyes. Other than the eyes, which he had altered to fit another’s tastes, his facial features were those with which he had been born. He had inherited most of his looks from his beautiful mother, but his reckless traits and skill with magic were more those of his father, the bravest, most powerful wizard he knew. With his golden hair-pure save for the wide, silver streak that marked him as a wizard-he looked like a prince out of a fairy tale, his pale shirt, forest green pants, and knee-high leather boots adding to that valiant image.

His mount stumbled, momentarily throwing him off-balance. He reacted instinctively, using just a touch of power to right himself before the wet saddle could make him fall. A whispered curse escaped him immediately after; even such a spell dared too much.

Then he forgot the risk he had just taken, for, at that moment, through the downpour he saw his destination. The old hut lay nearly obscured by the thickly wooded hillside. The tendrils from the huge willows draped over the crooked, black structure like grasping fingers seeking to crush what remained. The dilapidated structure looked like the last place where anyone would dare to meet, especially in the midst of such violent weather.

And that was just as the two of them had planned.

He brought the horse to a natural alcove in the hill. Another, darker mount whose reins had already been bound to an outcropping within snorted as they approached. The rider whispered soothing words to the second beast, then tied the reins of his own steed to the same outcropping.

The hut quaked as he cautiously pushed open the creaking, rotting door. The darkness within did not disturb him, for he knew the danger of any illumination being noticed here.

Lightning crashed, revealing briefly the lack of any ornamentation or furniture in the old structure. He had long concluded that it had served only as a way station for messengers or perhaps an old guard outpost. When the occupants had abandoned it, they had taken with them everything of value.

Another bolt filled the lone room with white light-and in the far corner, he saw her waiting for him.

“Aurim . . .” The voice was low, melodious, and sent his heart racing.

Her features were slightly elfin, but overall more full, more human. Her long, flowing hair was nearly as golden as his own. The deep brown riding outfit she wore-blouse, shin-length skirt, and tapering boots-accented her curvaceous figure perfectly. Over her shoulders the young woman wore a green travel cloak similar to Aurim’s own.

Despite the darkness, he could readily make out her eyes. They seemed to flare with life whenever she reacted to something-yet they were not always the same. Sometimes they were bright emerald, other times gold. On a rare occasion, Aurim had seen them become as bloodred and inhuman as those of a reptilian Dragon King.

Not a surprise, truly, considering that she was the daughter of one.

“Yssa . . .”

They fell into one another’s arms with a passion built up by the two weeks since last they had dared sneak out of their respective domains. He was the son of the most prominent line of wizards, the Bedlams, and both his father, Cabe, and his mother, Gwen, had saved the Dragonrealm more than once from threats within and without. Yssa, on the other hand, was the half-human daughter of the Green Dragon, the Master of the Dagora Forest, and one-time ally of the Bedlams. But something had come between the wizards and the Dragon King and now the Bedlams treated both the father and the daughter with mistrust.

Which made Aurim’s and Yssa’s growing love for one another a terrible trial for both.

“Did you have trouble slipping out?” she asked.

“No, Father was away with Darkhorse and Mother had her own obligations. They think I’m visiting elsewhere, anyway. What about you?”

Yssa looked down. “My sire’s illness makes his heir more watchful . . .” The Dragon King had become weakened in the eyes of his kind, especially his son, Yssa’s half-sibling and a full drake.

“I’m sorry . . .” Aurim had, for a time, been part of that invading force, his will controlled by the malignant demon Yureel, the true power behind Zuu’s monarch, the Horse King. He still felt some responsibility for the terrible wounds Yssa’s father had suffered even though he had not had been directly at fault.

“All will work out . . . even for us . . .”

They held one another close, forgetting for the moment the terrible complications in their lives. Now, the world consisted only of the two of them.

Outside the storm raged, shaking not only the hut, but the hills surrounding it. The black clouds shook and twisted as if alive. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed over and over again. The rain poured down with more malevolence, threatening to wash away everything. Yet, ensconced in the hut, their minds only on one another, Aurim and Yssa paid scant attention to the violent storm.

But had they looked out at it, they might have found much to interest them-for if either had stared at the furious clouds, looked deep into the tempest itself, they would have noticed that the storm stared back at them.