Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade (16 page)

“Do—nothing,” Shade hissed with much effort.

Despite her misgivings, she did as he bade. Seconds later, something prodded her in the side.

“Yer not knocked senseless, lass. Don’t let it still happen.”

Cautiously rising, Valea found herself surrounded by four squat but muscular figures who came no higher than her shoulder. What they lacked in height, though, they made up for in width; they were nearly twice as wide as the enchantress. They were clad in leather armor with fur at the shoulders—at least she thought it was fur; it could have been a continuation of their thick grey beards or braided hair.

Valea had never seen a dwarf before, nor did she recall her parents
ever speaking of having done so, either. Legend had always said that the dwarves dwelled in these hills, but they had done so under the literally iron rule of the drake lord here. The Iron Dragon had made the mistake of allying with Bronze during the early days in the hunt for her father and seeking to overrun their weakened emperor. They had perished for their folly, but freedom from their overlord had not enticed the dwarves to enter the world. No one to her knowledge had sought them out, either. There were enough legends as to what happened to those who intruded in the hills . . .

“What be yer names?” the lead dwarf asked.

“Valea. Valea Bedlam.” She ignored Shade’s cautioning glance. Her family had no quarrels with the dwarves, and in fact, her father’s presence had inadvertently led to the Iron Dragon’s misguided and fatal insurrection.

“Bedlam . . .” The dwarf licked his lips in thought. His companions looked to one another. It was obvious that their people kept wise enough about the world beyond to know the name. “You’d be
his
child, then?”

“If you mean am I the daughter of Cabe Bedlam, then yes.”

Murmuring arose among the rest of the dwarves. The leader silenced them with a wave of his weapon, which was an oddly curved axe topped by a foot-long point that gleamed like a diamond. “Interestin’.” He looked to Shade, who was being pulled to his feet by two of the other dwarves. “And this one? Who be you?”

The hooded spellcaster said nothing and kept his eyes lowered. The dwarf could not have helped but notice Shade’s unique eyes, but Valea believed that if they knew anything of his legend, then they would not identify this youthful figure with the ever-faceless spellcaster.

“We’ve nothing to hide, Gerrod,” she abruptly said. “You should’ve answered him.”

Shade managed to keep his surprise in check at her choice of names. To the lead dwarf, he responded, “My apologies.”

“Hmmph! Best listen to your woman next time.”

“We have done nothing,” Shade remarked, his arms still bound. “And only just arrived. The dwarven people are very alert.”

The leader ignored his comment, instead saying to his comrades, “We’ll head back. Edrin will decide.”

“What about—?” one of the others began, only to be cut off by a sharp glance from the first dwarf.

No one else spoke as the party led the two spellcasters off. Valea considered using her power against the dwarves, but her parents had taught her to not wield it recklessly against possible innocents. To her, they appeared more wary than dangerous. Besides, Shade remained bound and she was not certain that she could keep him from harm if she did attack.

The dwarves led them into a shallow, wooded valley. Throughout the journey, Shade did not look at her, but instead seemed intent on the leader’s back. Valea could find no reason for his odd behavior save that with his long history, the warlock had perhaps had dealings with this race. If so, she could not help but feel that those dealings had ended particularly badly.

“Heard much about your father,” the leader suddenly remarked as they entered a thicker patch of forest. “They say he’s slain dragons single-handed.”

“That’s true.”

The dwarf hesitated in his tracks and, with wider eyes, studied Valea. “I do believe ye mean it!”

“He faced Toma, son of the Dragon Emperor.”

“That’s a name known to us,” growled the leader. The other dwarves muttered agreement. “Few fouler beasts than he. Heard he was slain, but that were too much to hope to be true.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Same as all our great masters did: slaved us to death for what we could dig out for ’em. Took our freedom from us just when we got it back for the first time since afore the damned drakes showed up here.”

“I’m sorry . . .” The enchantress ended with a questioning tone indicating her wish to call him by name.

He shrugged. “Magron Sym, my lady.”

“‘Sym’?”

Magron chuckled. “You probably expected it to be ‘Stonecutter’ or ‘Ironhammer,’ eh? Fool names! Don’t know where you other races got such notions from. Sym’s me father’s name and so it’s me second name, of course! His was Sym Arnoth ’cause his father was Arnoth. What’s more logical than that, eh?”

“What is?” she said in agreement, musing on just what else about the dwarves outsiders might have gotten wrong.

Magron suddenly raised his axe. Valea had no idea what was happening, but Shade simply looked expectant.

The two trees nearest them shimmered . . . and a hole in reality opened up. Valea was well familiar with blink holes, as these larger portals were known, but the fact that she had not sensed any magical activity when the blink hole had opened again emphasized the mysteries of this ancient race.

“’Tis likely Edrin’ll speak with you and then send you on your way, so don’t you worry. Just with things the way they are, couldn’t take no chances but to bring you to him, especially being magic folk and all.”

“What
is
going on?” Shade asked.

Magron’s brow rose at the sorcerer’s unexpected entrance into the conversation. “That’s for Edrin to say.” He squinted. “Mighty fancy eyes you made yourself. Makes me wonder what they do.”

“Will we see Edrin right away?” Valea interrupted, fearing that the dwarf might make some link between “Gerrod” and Shade.

“Depends, but pretty likely. Now, follow us and don’t be stepping away at any moment. Lots of safeguards below.”

Traps, he means,
the enchantress thought. And with the dwarves, those traps were probably mainly of the fatal variety.

Two at a time they stepped into the hole. There was no sensation of transporting from one place to another. It was as if they had merely walked through a door.

However, that “door” led into a chamber worthy of the Dragon
Emperor, so immense and lengthy it was. Valea wondered if the drake lords of this region had made use of this place when they had ruled here.

That made her think of a question that had always troubled her about this land. No one ever called it by a name. It had always been “the realm of the Iron Dragon” or “the land of the hill dwarves.” It was almost as if no one
wanted
to name it.

“What is this place called? This land, I mean?”

Magron did not seem to mind her question. “In the old tongue, afore the drake lords imposed the Common speech upon us, it was called Gwanar’estu’Hariak. We call it Hariak, these days.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Somethin’ about a bird, me father’s father once told me. No one speaks the old tongue anymore. Besides, who cares about birds down here, ’less they’re for eatin’.”

As they spoke, it seemed to her that the cavern grew more illuminated than any adjustment by her eyes warranted. Slowly she realized that before them strands of light had begun to seep from the walls and ceilings.

No, not lights . . . worms!
Each was no longer than half a foot, but there were hundreds, then thousands. They crawled out of small holes pock-marking the walls and aligned themselves nearly perfectly on the rock for some distance down the path.

And in doing so, revealed an even more astounding sight.

Gargantuan effigies. Effigies of beings from many races, some of them familiar, such as the Seekers and the Quel. Others she had heard of from her father’s research and still more she recognized from another place.

They were akin to the statues in the sanctum of the Dragon Emperor and clearly carved by the same hands.

“Quite a view, ain’t they?” Magron asked with pride. “My people, we were even better skilled far back, afore the damned drakes. ’Tis a lost art, sadly.”

The scope of things before her left Valea dumbfounded. The dwarves had carved the effigies deep in Kivan Grath, effigies predating the drakes, predating the Seekers, the Quels, and other races.

Effigies her father believed had existed since the founder race had ruled the world with power even the Vraad and the Dragon Kings could not imagine.

“‘Gwanar’estu’Hariak’ refers to more than merely a bird,” Shade murmured in her ear. “Literally . . . it means ‘Nest of the Phoenix.’”

FAR BEYOND
the rear ranks of Penacles’s defenders, near the city walls—but not too near—a shadow detached itself from one darkened area. Kadaria came into partial focus, her covetous eyes shifting from the city to the direction of Lochivar and back again.

She was joined a moment later by a second shadow. This one resembled the other male with whom she had spoken last time but was yet another of the necromancers.

The two armies are within half a day of confrontation,
he informed her. Now and then, there was hint of a broad, bearded face within a dragon-crest helm. Outsiders unfortunate enough to confront one of the necromancers would have noticed that this one bore a scar across his nose. In truth, it was the
memory
of a scar, since, as with Kadaria, there was nothing mortal remaining of him.

“And the Child of the Void has been directed to his doom,” she quietly replied, much satisfaction in her tone.

He shifted in surprise.
You waste precious energy projecting when there are no fools around who cannot cope with our words in their heads. You know since our last encounter with our dear cousin that all energy must be preserved until we are returned to our glory . . .

“And that will be soon enough.” Her lips twisted upward. “I see no reason not to get a little practice. It
has
been quite a while since we walked this plain in the flesh.”

You cannot entice him, Kadaria,
the male remarked with what might have been a hint of jealousy in his otherwise cold tone.
Flesh or spirit, he desires another . . .

She was put off by neither his comment nor this trace of his ancient lust for her. Kadaria had long ago chosen for herself one she felt was more worthy of her, even if she had to use blood and death to bend him to her will. “He shall have her. I shall have him. Then . . . we shall have him. That was what we agreed.”

He was the least of us once . . .

“Once. Is there anything more you wish to report, Hirac?”

He has sent him to the dwarves.

Kadaria’s smile grew. It was both beautiful and dreadful and even the other necromancer shivered at its sight. “How perfect! Perhaps this time our dear cousin will unlock the secret.”

She is with him.

The smile reversed, then all expression faded from her pale countenance. In its way, it was a sight even more unsettling, for it best hinted at her deathless nature. “She will goad him on. She will make him see what he could not before. It only enhances his chance of success, which was already greatly in our favor.”

As you say. What would you have of me now?

“Take your brother and keep witness as to Ravos’s trustworthiness. Until he reaches the point we need of him, he must not deviate from the path we’ve set him on.”

He will not.
Hirac bowed his head, then faded into the shadows again.

Kadaria drifted a bit farther back from the shadow of the wall. As she did, a sentry came into view. The sentry marched up to the necromancer without seeing her, then walked
through
her.

She almost let him pass on untouched, then thought of something. With a casual turn, Kadaria touched the soldier on the cheek.

The man let out a barely audible choking sound. He stumbled, then looked ready to fall forward.

The necromancer raised her index finger. The guard snapped back up as if a marionette whose strings had been pulled taut.

She vanished, reappearing before the guard. His eyes stared ahead without seeing.

Kadaria thrust her hand into the man’s chest. Her entrance did no physical damage, the necromancer now like the ghosts she commanded. The guard did not react. He had died the moment she had first touched him. An empty shell was all that remained, a shell that would serve the Lords of the Dead.

“Watch. Wait,” she commanded. “The moment he steps from these walls.”

The guard slowly nodded.

She sent her puppet on his way. He would have a surprise for the wizard Bedlam the moment that the impudent spellcaster needed to leave the safety of Penacles to confront Lochivar’s army.

All was going perfectly. This latest puppet was but the least of many serving the necromancers . . . and her, in particular. To Kadaria, what she desired was what the Lords of the Dead desired.

And with Shade in mind, she vanished again.

CABE REAPPEARED
in the palace, his expression grave. He had just returned from observing the advance of the Red Dragon’s army and had calculated that the other drake lord had managed to reach farther into Wenslis than the wizard or the Gryphon had thought possible. It could not have been done with the Storm Dragon’s consent—unless there had been some very recent change in that Dragon King’s lengthy comatose condition—but one of his dukes and potential heirs must have harnessed enough power to counteract the fearsome storms the army should have faced.

That meant that Melicard would not have his own force in place to cut off the crimson drake.

He expected to find the Gryphon awaiting him, but evidently something had called the lord of Penacles elsewhere. A pair of aides rushed past. The wizard was about to call one of them back when Troia suddenly appeared.