Knowing he could not allow that, Morgis pushed himself up. He braced himself as best he could, watched the creature’s back-and then leapt.
Weakness made his jump less than what he had hoped, but momentum was on his side. With a mass almost twice that of most beings his size, the drake struck the hellish beast.
They fell forward.
The skin walker hit the floor face down, driving the blade all the way through. It convulsed again, throwing Morgis aside, Choking harshly, the monster rolled to the side, colliding with one of the standing mirrors. The mirror tipped over, hitting a second… which in turn hit a third.
Glass shattered everywhere. Morgis collapsed against a cabinet.
A silence settled over the chamber.
When at last the battered drake could move, he saw by the light of the fallen torch that the monster lay dead. Driving the blade completely through had sealed its fate.
Its own mad desires had led to its destruction. Had it simply slain him early on instead of putting so much value in the pristine quality of his scaled skin, Morgis knew that his face would be hanging in a cabinet even now.
And that thought settled for him what he needed to do next.
Dragonflame would have made the keep burn well, but dragon flame was beyond him. He found what kindling and oil he could and, though it took him a full day, dragged everything-and every body-to the chamber of mirrors. Then, using a fresh torch, Morgis lit the huge bonfire.
He waited and waited while it burned, leaving the door open so that lack of air would not smother it. A being of flame, the smoke did not bother him as much as it would have most other races. That enabled the drake to make certain that everything was destroyed.
And while he watched, he pictured those who had died, especially one in particular. Likely that had indeed been her body that he had found near that of the Gnor. Had she done as the creature had described? Had Kalena run, praying that she would escape-and failing in the end?
Morgis still did not know the origin of the keep’s cursed resident, but he could guess some of it. Vanity, obsession, and yet, some strange lack of self identity. The drake really did not care. What mattered was that the evil was dead and would no longer make a mockery of its victims’ lives.
When it was done, Morgis closed the hidden chamber. He would have sealed the room or, better yet, razed the ruins to the ground if his powers had been his, but so long as D’Kairn’s spell held, hiding the secrets so was all he could do.
The animals were still waiting for him, both those of his party and the Aramites’ own dark steeds. He still found it interesting that the monstrosity had let them live, but of course they were harmless and could have been slain at any time later once they were no longer useful as bait.
That… and their skins had been worth nothing to it.
Injured as he was, Morgis could not control the small herd. He released all but four of the animals into the wild, keeping his, those of his comrades, and the one he was certain had been ridden by D’Kairn. Both D’Kairn and the captain had carried documents with them that hinted of other enclaves of Aramite resistance. The Master Guardians would appreciate those papers. They would also see to the honoring of Awrak and Leonin, fallen warriors in the struggle to free the lands. Likely the Guardians would also have the wherewithal to remove the spell on him- at least, so he hoped.
Of the keeper’s research into blood sorcery, Morgis made certain that every shred had burned with the bodies.
The day had nearly vanished by the time he rode off, the ever-present cloud cover promising an early darkness. Perhaps it might have been more prudent to stay one more night in the now-safe keep, but the drake wanted to be far away from the place.
And as he rode off, his memories drifted to a time when he had wanted to wear another’s skin, when he had wished he could have been the right one. A beautiful, feline face that he had pictured many times before formed in his mind, but this time another face, also beautiful and feline, overlapped it, blurring both.
Unable to separate them, Morgis finally dismissed both, concentrating instead on the present. There was still a war on and he had a part to play. There were foes to fight and lands to explore. Tomorrow he might find himself doing battle with an Aramite patrol or hunting another sorcerer…
Anything to keep him from ever again wishing to walk in someone else’s skin.
