Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade (32 page)

The bodies, created by his erstwhile cousins for the Clan Tezerenee, now housed spirits of the founders. The land once more had hands with which to act.

He had seen visions of this in the Gryphon’s deeper memories. The faceless figures worked their desires across the sea, manipulating matters to serve their grand plan. The Gryphon had seen them as allies then, because he shared a bond with them. What the lionbird did not understand, at least in Shade’s opinion, was that they had only helped the Gryphon because it served them.

And now it served them to seize Valea and him for some unknown purpose.

He jerked to a halt, causing the figures behind to walk into him. They pressed Shade forward, toward what was to all appearances a blank wall.

It was not the blank wall that bothered the warlock, though. He was not at all surprised when a blink hole opened just before the foremost of their captors would have walked into the wall. Had he designed the tower, Shade would have made a similar entrance.

No, what bothered Shade was that it had just dawned on him why he was being led so easily into the very tower he had spent almost all his lives pursuing.

Once, the land had tried to change him. Once, it had tried and failed. At the very least, his miscast spell had saved him from that.

But now he had walked right into the heart of their sanctum. Now the land could finally accomplish what it had so long wanted. It could finally finish
transforming
him.

It could finally make Shade as it had so long ago desired to.

An unreasoning panic overtook him. He imagined himself becoming something even more awful than the dragons his brothers had become. Even more awful than whatever had happened to his father, who, his will broken by the death of his wife and fall from power, had completely
vanished
.

Shade raised his fist.

The solid air he sent flying in every direction threw their captors as if they were nothing. Interestingly, Valea was unaffected; Shade protected her without thinking.

As the faceless ones scattered, Shade tried to grab hold of the enchantress. Instead, his hand went through her.

He looked around but could not see the stone. Shade steeled his will and managed to solidify himself, at least momentarily. Valea’s widening eyes informed him that his face was once more indistinct.

“Nothing can be done! Come!”

He who had so long desired to find the tower and use its magic now only thought of flight. Not only for his own sake, but for that of the
woman next to him as well. They would not stop with the sorcerer. Who knew what they might do to Valea?

Shade attempted a short teleport toward the direction of the wall and found to his relief that it worked. He and Valea appeared at a point midway between the tower and the barrier.

Focusing on an area just before the wall, Shade cast again. Once more, he and the enchantress materialized where he had desired.

There was hope. If he could just transport them over the wall . . .

Familiar with only part of the landscape of this pocket world, Shade concentrated on one of the nearby peaks. He hoped that he was guessing correctly as to where they would land.

The icy wind cut through him as they appeared. Shade held Valea tight in order to keep her from falling over the edge of a narrow outcropping with a flat surface. The place he had chosen was smaller than he had thought and only his skill had prevented them from ending up too far in one direction or another.

And above the tower, the phoenix once more did battle against the Crystal Dragon. There was no repeat of the tail entwining the drake lord, and Shade wondered if that was something that the guardian could not repeat often.

The dragon twisted and caught the light of the unmoving sun perfectly. A blinding brilliance enveloped the phoenix.

With a cry, the guardian disintegrated.

The Dragon King let out a triumphant roar and dove toward the tower.

But behind him, the phoenix exploded back into being. Fiery tendrils accompanied its rebirth, tendrils that reached out and seized the unsuspecting dragon. They pulled the Crystal Dragon back toward the guardian.

Despite there being some distance between Shade and Valea and the two battling titans, the hooded sorcerer could not help putting Valea behind him. Only as he finished did Shade realize that once more his concern for the enchantress had given him back some balance. Darkening
thoughts that had just started to arise on the tower grounds had faded almost immediately at the thought of danger to her. Even concern for his own existence had not been enough to accomplish that miracle.

Still, Shade now had no idea what to do. If he abandoned this place for the Dragonrealm, then his last hope to save himself was lost; if he tried to reenter and seize control of the tower, then it was possible an even greater disaster might await him.

Behind him, Valea made a shocked sound.

The warlock turned, but only in time to see two of the faceless beings take hold of the enchantress’s arms. Shade made a grab for Valea.

She and her captors vanished.

“No!” His hand touched empty air. Worse, it seemed the moment that Valea disappeared, his instability returned. Shade felt his insides ripping apart, and briefly there came thoughts that
she
was to blame and that it served her right to be dragged off to the tower.

Shade struggled to pull himself together. He had only one hope of rescuing her, no matter what it cost him. If he leapt into the tower, using her as his focus, he might be able to cast her completely out of the pocket world. He would probably not be able to escape, but she certainly did not deserve to share his fate.

How brave you’ve become,
he thought, mocking himself.
If you had shown such spine back then, maybe Sharissa would have chosen you instead of her elf!

Yet, to his surprise, that did not bother him as it once might have. What did was the reason why he was no longer concerned with the lost Sharissa’s good opinion.

Fighting away the troublesome direction of his thoughts, Shade fixed on Valea.

He arrived facing her. The enchantress stood as still as Darkhorse, causing Shade to fear that she had suffered the same fate as the eternal. Then the sorcerer saw that she breathed.

The two faceless creatures made no move to stop him as he reached for her. Too late, Shade understood why.

His hand went through Valea. As he jerked the hand away, it also went through one of her captors.

The illusion faded, revealing a vaster scene beyond. There stood Valea and her two undesired companions. To their right, the other macabre beings stood waiting, ever patient.

But worse, far worse, was the five-sided, onyx platform rising high behind Valea, a huge arcane device radiating power. On its sides were carved in burning crimson and brilliant gold script words in the founders’ language, words Shade knew to be part of the spellwork for utilizing the tower.

Words that
he
had once known and only now recalled knowing.

A stunning flash of red, orange, and gold light arose behind him. He looked back to see the phoenix standing tall, the great guardian’s wings spread wide and the inhuman eyes watching the foolhardy sorcerer with interest.

Welcome back,
the phoenix declared, as if nothing had ever happened outside.
It is time to begin what was left undone so long ago . . .

THE LAIR OF
the Black Dragon was a deep, barely illuminated cavern in which slight tendrils of the Grey Mists still drifted. A creature with eyes that could penetrate both the mists and the gloom would have noticed that the ceiling was sealed tight even where it was evident there had once been gaps and passages.

The cavern had not been sealed so without reason. Years earlier, the Gryphon had made use of one of those passages to spy upon the Dragon King. That had subsequently led to the Black Dragon’s current affliction.

The raven-black behemoth paused in his efforts. The mists he had just exhaled dissipated. The burning red orbs of the dragon peered into the shadows.

“I sssmell carrion,” he growled. “Show yourssself, necromancer.”

Kadaria separated from the other shadows. She bowed her head to the Dragon King.
Greetings, lord of Lochivar . . .

“Ssspare me greetings and empty wordsss! Isss it the very moment?”

Your heir is beyond the portal. You would do well to strengthen the link.

“At lassst!” The Black Dragon reared up, his head nearly touching the ceiling.

I must be away,
Kadaria said.
In addition to maintaining the shell guiding your son, I must prepare for the spell.

“Yesss! Yesss! Go!”

Kadaria returned to the shadows without another word. The Dragon King shut his eyes.

Ravosss, my ssson . . .
he called.

IT TOOK MUCH
to impress Ravos, but this other world did. He had already noted that the sun did not move and he sensed the incredible age of the land around him. More important, he understood that all of this existed just beyond the senses of the creatures of the Dragonrealm.

I will use this knowledge somehow to crush the old ones and the weakling on the throne! I will be emperor . . .

Barely had he completed the thought when he felt his sire’s presence. Ravos again buried his thoughts of conquest and betrayal.

Ravosss, my ssson . . .

Yes, Father?

It isss time we ssstayed linked . . .

As the Black Dragon said that, the shambling corpse turned around and gave one of Kadaria’s smiles. It both encouraged and disconcerted the duke, but he hid that as he hid so much else from his father’s presence.

As you command, Father.

Do you sssee it yet?
The avarice in the Black Dragon’s voice impressed even his heir.
Do you sssee it?

Not yet.

His sire’s disappointment was immense. Ravos could appreciate that. He, too, wanted this to finish, if not the way the elder drake desired.

The corpse put a finger to its lips and pretended to make a hushing sound.

An uneasiness filled Ravos. His left hand slid toward a small pouch he kept with him, one intended for the proper time.

But his hand never made it there. Suddenly, he could do nothing but watch and listen.

And in his head, he heard Kadaria’s voice directed to his sire.

This is the point, great one. It is time to ready your new vessel.

The duke struggled to reach the pouch, where he had a tiny fragment from an ancient talisman that he knew could have bested all the necromancers and his father. Now, though, it availed him nothing.

As if reading his desperate mind—and she probably was—Kadaria guided the undead to the pouch. To Ravos’s horror, the pale hand pulled free the pouch, then simply tossed it aside.

“Convenient to find such a useful trinket, don’t you think?” asked the body in the necromancer’s voice.

Only then did Ravos understand that what he had believed his perfect weapon had only been a bauble purposely left for him to “discover.” It had no power against the Lords of the Dead.

And neither did he.

The corpse stepped back in front of the duke’s surprisingly docile beast. Kadaria already had the riding drake under her command.

Then, as Ravos stared, a greater horror shimmered into view before him: shadows without anything to cast them. Almost a dozen. The shadows rose from the ground like blades of grass standing after a dying wind. They took on somewhat more form, although never enough to be entirely distinct.

The rest of the Lords of the Dead gathered in front of the hapless drake. One of them stepped forth, joining the undead guide.

All is in preparation,
said a male voice that Ravos had heard once before. The name “Zorane” came to mind.

The soldier’s corpse shook violently. The head snapped back.

A shadow walked free of the body. As the soldier’s remains crumpled in a monstrous heap, Kadaria coalesced.

“Let’s not be impolite to our guest,” she commented with a sly glance at Ravos. “The least we could do for him is speak out loud for the remaining few minutes.”

“As you wish,” Zorane muttered. “And the tower?”

“Will be open to us soon.”

At lassst!
hissed the duke’s insane sire.

Kadaria chuckled. Although she looked at Ravos, it was the Black Dragon to whom she spoke. “Be patient, my lord. We must all be patient.”

As one, the Lords of the Dead turned to face the direction in which Ravos and his now-defunct guide had been journeying. The docile mount moved forward. The necromancers did not move nor even look back when the beast reached them. The riding drake stepped
through
the murky forms as if they did not exist.

Or,
Ravos corrected himself,
as if they were but ghosts. Dead things.

As he, evidently, would also soon be.

AND IN PENACLES,
the battle raged on. General Marner prayed that none of his men would find out the truth about the Gryphon and so was the happiest of men when none other than his liege materialized nearby just as the general sent off one of his aides with revised battle positions.

“Be not entirely pleased,” the Gryphon murmured. “I am here by the Lady of the Amber’s ability, not my own.”

“But you are alive and conscious, Your Majesty. That in itself sets many things right!”

The Gryphon suddenly stretched a feathered and furred hand to the general. Marner felt the full weight of the lionbird against his shoulder. He was all but keeping the lord of Penacles from falling.

“Your Majesty,” the commander whispered, adjusting his stance so that it looked as if the Gryphon was merely leaning close to speak confidentially. “You should return to the palace immediately!”