gasp, Kalena rushed inside. Guilt that she had chosen the Gnor before Brom washed over her, but the cat woman knew that in this case Brom would understand.
But barely within the chamber, Kalena screamed.
The Gnor-or what remained of him-lay sprawled in the middle of the chamber. She knew it to be the Gnor only because of the general shape and the ax that lay nearby. The blood-soaked body itself was almost unrecognizable, for something had, with utter precision, completely skinned the giant.
“Not possible…” she muttered. “Not possible…”
She backed out of the chamber… and into a pair of arms.
Before Kalena could speak, she heard a voice whisper, “Don’t scream. It’s only me.”
Although neither held a torch, her superior vision enabled her to make out Brom’s welcome face. The bearded human gazed solemnly at his companion.
“Brom! Brom… the Gnor! He’s… he’s…”
“It’s all right. I’m here.”
She felt some comfort in his arms, but still the image of the goliath’s corpse remained burnt in her memory. “Brom, let’s get away from here! Whatever killed the Gnor must still be here! We can’t stay!”
Despite his cool demeanor, he must have been almost as worried as her, for his body was covered in sweat, so much so that Kalena’s hands came away wet and sticky where she had touched him near the throat and shoulders.
A sound from the direction of the room where the Gnor had perished made them both pause. Kalena could not be certain, but she thought it a faint moan. Could it be possible that after suffering such horror their companion might still be alive? Gnor were said to be hard to kill, but still…
Disengaging himself from her, Brom headed toward the other room. “Stay here,” he ordered, drawing his sword. “I’ll see to it.”
As he vanished inside, the cat woman wiped her brow. As she did, for the first time Kalena noted a lingering scent. It smelled of Brom, but of something else. She sniffed her hands where she had touched him, then anxiously touched her tongue to one palm.
Blood. She knew the taste well. Her kind practically ate their meals raw.
Staring at her open hands, Kalena shook. What she had taken for sweat was instead blood… so much of it that her hands were covered. Her panic had made her not notice it earlier.
Brom’s had been covered in blood… but with such a wound, he could hardly have stood, much less be so calm.
Then Kalena thought of the Gnor and what she had discovered upstairs.
“By the Dream Lands!” she gasped.
Whirling, she fled out of the keep and into the starless night. The branches of the trees nearby seemed to clutch at her, hold her. From her fingers erupted sharp claws, which she used to slash her way through. The region was silent save her own frantic breathing. Kalena did not look back, fearful that what had taken the Gnor was right behind her.
Fearful that it would still wear the face of Brom.
II
“This place gives me a chill,” Leonin grumbled. The wiry human rubbed his runny nose on his sleeve. “The battlefield was more inviting.”
“Always complaints, complaints always,” returned the red-feathered avian warrior riding beside him. Wide, pupilless eyes took in the dour landscape. “But this time agree.”
Ahead of them, Morgis hissed, his forked tongue darting in and out between sharp teeth. “You both had the chance to turn back. I told you I’d go alone.”
“And miss the reward for a live keeper?” sniffed Leonin.
Morgis hissed again, this time under his breath. He did not like being reminded of their quarry, one he felt responsible for letting pass. The Gryphon would have never made such an error. The Gryphon had been more than just a warrior… he had been a tactician and leader, the reason for the downfall of the Aramites.
And Morgis had ever been by his side. They had journeyed to this subjugated continent in secret, one a creature of myth-part man, part lion, part bird-and the other a drake warrior of the Blue clan, the son of the Dragon King who ruled from Irillian By the Sea. They had come as wary allies on a mission of discovery for the Gryphon and had become, through crisis and battle, comrades and friends.
But the Gryphon, his task nearly complete, had returned home to deal with other matters. Morgis, on the other hand, had found a purpose here among people and creatures who saw him as a savior.
To all appearances, he resembled a towering knight in green scale armor tinted with sea blue. The armor covered him from toe to shoulder, even down to gauntlets. Upon his head he wore a huge helm atop which a very lifelike dragon’s visage acted as crest. Through the curved opening of the helm a visage both reptilian and human could be glimpsed. Like his armor, Morgis’s skin was green in scale with hints of blue. His eyes were fiery red orbs and for a nose he had two meager slits.
Yet, all this was illusion, magic. The armor, the face, everything was false. What passed for mail was in truth skin, the skin of a dragon. The terrifying visage atop the helm was the true face of Morgis in his birth form. As a drake warrior, he wore two shapes. One was the almost-but-not-quite human one he now used… the other that of an immense, fire-breathing dragon.
The inherent magic of the drake race enabled them to go through such transformations almost from birth on. But despite the obvious impressiveness of a dragon’s size, most of Morgis’s kind not only preferred the smaller, more versatile humanoid form, but rarely ever changed back once they reached adulthood. Morgis himself had only transformed five times in the years since his arrival and only because of dire need. Ever he preferred good steel in his hand. It had reached the point that even the thought of resuming his birth shape proved painful.
Against the renegade keeper-the Aramite sorcerer-Morgis was aware that he might have to become a dragon. However, that would only happen if and when they confronted the wolf raider. Even when hunting such quarry, the drake found his present body more suitable. True, a dragon could see much from the sky, but the ground also presented many hiding places and minute clues. The sight of a dragon soaring among the clouds would also give the keeper much more warning.
Sniffing the foul air, Morgis did not wonder that the wolf raider had chosen this sorry path for escape. His power much diminished by the loss of the talisman that had bound him to his god, the lupine Ravager, the sorcerer was fortunate to have any spellwork available to him. Many of the keepers had perished from madness when the Gryphon had helped cut off their link. The few survivors had adapted in whatever way they could, but their resources were meager. Better to lose oneself in a blighted land such as this until some other magical source could be discovered.
They could not allow the sorcerer that time. Even one powerful keeper could mean the deaths of many innocents.
“It’ll be nightfall in an hour,” Leonin pointed out. “And with this overcast we can barely see as it is. Why don’t we stop?”
The avian-who reminded Morgis of the hawklike Seeker race of his own native land-nodded agreement. “Night is falling, falling it is. Better to face the quarry in light.”
“See? Even Awrak agrees.”
Morgis shook his head. “If the two of you can agree on something twice in one day, truly it mussst be a portent.” He gazed ahead, saw in the distance a structure atop a hill. “Perhaps we can find shelter there.”
“Looks abandoned.”
“A likely idea, consssidering our location.”
Leonin tugged on his short beard. “Maybe there’s some treasure left over.”
“We have come in search of the Aramite, not fool’s gold.”
“No harm in looking, looking is no harm,” commented Awrak with a tilt of his head. “We sleep there, anyway, yes?”
