Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

“What vision?” All thought of Aurim’s recklessness vanished.

“Like the other ones. The memories of the Manor, you and Mother say. Only this one was sharper. Men in scale armor. One big one talking to others. I think . . . I think they were all his sons.”

“And you were one of them. He spoke to you about loyalty. How he demanded it from you.”

The boy looked at him, wide-eyed. “You know it?”

“I had the same vision . . . probably the same time as you, in fact.” Cabe grew uneasy. Nothing like that had ever occurred before. The visions generally only appeared to one person, usually Gwen or him. Only lately had Aurim started to sense them and he, knowing of them from his parents, had had little trouble accepting them. If the things were changing, becoming more intrusive into the world of the present, would it mean that some day they would have to abandon the Manor?

Aurim, who knew his father well, put aside his own troubles for the moment and asked seriously, “Does this mean something?”

“It might.” He no longer had the memories of Nathan Bedlam to guide him, but Gwen knew far more about the whims of sorcery than anyone now alive save the Dragon Kings and possibly the Gryphon. She might be able to shed some light on this sudden turn.

Gwen! She was still hunting down the stick men! “We need to discuss this further, but first we have to take care of a little problem still running loose.”

The tall boy’s cheeks turned crimson. “I’ve been trying to think about what to do. Couldn’t we just summon them with a spell?”

“Have you tried a summoning?”

“Yes.” The defeat in Aurim’s tone increased tenfold.

“I was afraid of that.” In the heat of the moment, the idea had not even occurred to Cabe, but he knew that at some point Gwen would have thought of it. The warlock was doubtful it would have worked, anyway. Aurim’s creations were never easy to deal with. It was a sign of his great potential. “Did you maintain your concentration?”

“I did! This time I swear it!”

“Then they probably won’t listen to anyone . . . and we have to go hunting. You go after Master Traske; he’ll need the help. I’ll find your mother.”

“Yes, Father.” Aurim paused. “I still can’t get the vision out of my mind. Are there others so vivid?”

“Only a few. We’ll have to talk about how to shield yourself from them if they bother you so much.”

“Oh, I don’t mind them; any other time, they’re interesting. Who do you suppose they were?”

Cabe knew that his son was stalling now, mostly because Aurim had little desire to face his tutor after such an abysmal display. Still, for once it was a question that the warlock wished he could answer. “I don’t know. They remind me of something I’ve read, but nothing specific comes to mind now.”

“What’s the Legar Peninsula like?”

There were questions and there were questions and Cabe, who tried to be an understanding father even though he considered nearly two decades not near enough time to learn how to be one, had had enough. “I think Master Traske would truly appreciate your help soon, Aurim. Then, when you’re done, he can give you a lecture on the geography of Legar or anywhere else.”

Frustrated, Aurim grumbled, “I only wondered if it really glitters as much as it did in the vision . . .”

“What was that?” Stepping face-to-face to his son, Cabe repeated his question and added, “You saw Legar in the vision?”

Aurim swallowed, not knowing what he had done wrong now. He nodded slowly and gasped, “In the background. It was there sometimes. I . . . I thought it was. You’ve always talked about how much it sparkles and Master Traske said once it was covered with diamonds.”

“Not diamonds. Not exactly,” Cabe halfheartedly corrected him. “Crystals, yes.” He looked away. “And it does glitter; enough to blind a person during midday if you look in the wrong direction.” And I didn’t see it. Why?

The visions of the Manor had never extended to regions so far away. They had always dealt with the ancient structure itself or the lands it occupied. If Aurim had seen Legar, and Cabe did not doubt him, then this was more than a simple time-lost memory.

He could not say why or how he knew, but somehow, standing there, Cabe Bedlam was certain that the answer to this mysterious vision had to do with three black ships.

The beast was dead. It was not often that Orril D’Marr overestimated his prey, but the blasted creature had seemed so impervious to pain that he had pushed too hard. It was a pity. Lord D’Farany would be displeased, which was always a danger, but D’Marr was certain that what little he had gained out of the creature just before the end would more than make up for his error.

The young Aramite officer scratched his chin while he watched the soldiers drag the Quel’s body away. That it had been more than a simple animal had surprised him at first, but he should have known that when the blue man said something was true it was most definitely true. D’Rance was a fountain of knowledge and had, fortunately for the expedition, studied the history of this abysmal land in great detail. It was a shame he had not been born a true Aramite rather than one of the untrustworthy, blue-skinned folk of the northern reaches of the empire. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before one of his kind turned on you. D’Marr hoped he would be the one given the order to kill the northerner. It would be interesting to see how the blue man died.

The sun was going down rapidly. That was fine with D’Marr. The weather here was beastly, fit only for creatures like the overgrown armadillo he had just killed. The sun burned all day, making the black armor seem like a fire-hot kettle. What made it worse was that no one else seemed to notice it.

D’Marr turned and started for a ridge to the west of the camp. It was a long walk, but he knew that was where he would find the Pack Leader and possibly D’Rance, too, although the blue man was supposed to be leading the hunt for the cavern entrance now. One never knew about the northerner, though. What he did often went against what a wolf raider was supposed to do. No doubt only the fact that he achieved results kept Lord D’Farany from putting a rather permanent end to the blue man’s antics.

Yes, it would be interesting to see him die.

He reached the ridge some ten minutes later. The sentries positioned near the bottom saluted him and immediately stepped out of his way. Most soldiers were quick-witted enough to know that one did not stand in Orril D’Marr’s way for very long. As he walked between them, the young officer smiled lazily at the taller of the two. The man’s eyes widened, then looked away. Once past, D’Marr dropped the smile and forgot them completely. They were nothing to him. Only one man among all those who had become part of this desperate venture had earned his respect and obedience . . . not to mention his fear.

As he neared the top, a snarling sound made him look up. A savage creature the size of a small dog but built more along the lines of a giant rat peered down at him. Its ugly face was flat, almost as if at birth someone had pushed it in, and when the jaws opened, there were jagged teeth everywhere. When D’Marr came almost within reach, it snapped at him. The mask of boredom slipped from his visage as the Aramite silently cursed the animal and swatted at it with one mailed hand. Still snarling, his furry adversary trotted back several steps. D’Marr hated verloks and would have gladly done away with this one save that it was his master’s pet. Only Lord D’Farany would ever consider such a vicious creature for a plaything.

No longer with an advantage, the verlok trotted back to its master. D’Marr took a moment to both catch his breath and organize his thoughts. He stared at the backside of the Pack Leader, who stood at the opposite edge of the cliff gazing out at the sea. The evening wind whipped Lord D’Farany’s cloak like some mad dervish, but otherwise the master raider was as still as stone.

The Aramite commander was alone, but as D’Marr strode toward him, he heard D’Farany’s voice.

“Can you feel it? So very near yet so far. The land fairly glows with power . . .”

D’Marr came within arm’s reach of his commander and knelt beside him. The verlok moved away, glaring. “My lord.”

“You killed him, D’Marr.”

He glanced around to see if somehow he had missed someone else, someone who could have informed Lord D’Farany about his mistake. There was no one. The anxious raider looked down at the ground. Time and time again he reminded himself that his master was no longer a keeper, no longer one of the