Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

D’Roch squinted as he studied the sight before him again. With great trepidation, the older raider answered, “It seems . . . it seems longer, sir. It seems . . . much longer.”

Slowly Orril D’Marr walked along the edge of the path. He tapped the head of the scepter lightly against the rock wall. After he had surveyed all he had desired to, the Aramite commander turned his bland visage back to his men. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Much longer, indeed. Look carefully at the dust, at the wear and tear that even a place buried so deep in the earth cannot escape. Think in terms of years. Try, perhaps, even centuries.”

There was confusion among the ranks. Word began to filter back. D’Roch and the other officers looked at one another, then at D’Marr.

He laughed then. It was not a pleasant sound, even to his ears, but he could not resist. When D’Marr realized that the others did not understand, he pointed at the city. “You unmitigated oafs! Look at our enemy! There he is! A city of the dead where maybe a handful of survivors still play with the power of their race! We are an army fighting the skeleton of a race!”

They still did not understand, he saw. D’Marr shook his head. He suspected now that there were probably no more than a dozen or so of the Quel, maybe even less. It would explain why only four had attacked them in the cramped quarters of the tunnel when a dozen, a hundred, could possibly have even eradicated them. He thought he understood why they had not collapsed the tunnel; they did not have the strength.

It was possible his suppositions were off the mark, but he was certain he was close. There was only one way to find out. The wolf raider glanced at each of the branch tunnels breaking off from the path circling the city. Most of them were exceedingly ordinary, but one to the right was wider and higher and D’Marr almost thought he saw some light source within.

“Re-form line. Single file,” he called back. Then, without waiting to see if they had obeyed his command, D’Marr started toward the other branch. “Follow me.”

There was a light source at the other end of the tunnel. The passage itself was not a long one, not after the first one, and it was wide enough to let four men pass side by side without being cramped. He had the officers redivide the ranks to accommodate, then pressed on. The glow teased him, taunted him. He was near to the truth, of that he was certain.

As if to add credence to his belief, the Quel renewed their attack.

The ceiling collapsed in the center of the tunnel, crushing several men and battering a number of others. From the hole dropped three of the armored leviathans, long, wicked battle-axes in their paws. Even as their feet touched ground, the Quel were swinging their weapons, taking full advantage of the wider and higher dimensions of this passage.

D’Marr cursed as the nearest ranks were decimated by the horrendous onslaught of the trio. With their tremendous reach and long weapons, the Quel had an advantage that not even the spears could overcome.

There are only three, he scolded himself. Only three.

Three they might be, but they were worth three times their number even without the advantages of their weapons. Two of the creatures were pushing back the men advancing into the tunnel while the third dealt with those, like D’Marr, who had been in front of the attempted cave-in.

Still, Orril D’Marr had planned for even worse than this. It was annoying that the creatures had already wreaked such havoc, but it had not been entirely unexpected. Having hunted one Quel, he had devised ways of dealing with them . . . if his men were still capable of following commands.

“D’Roch!” He searched for the other officer and found his battered corpse half buried under the rock from the collapse. D’Roch had probably not even seen his end coming. The loss was more of an annoyance than anything else; it meant that he would have to do the work himself.

Scepter in hand, he moved closer to the battle and shouted, “Keep the lines steady! Get the nets up front!”

A quick glance at the lancers showed that they had already spread out as best they could along the length of the tunnel. His own side was in a much worse position. He had only a few lancers and one of those died, his breastplate and chest sliced open like a piece of fruit, even as D’Marr looked on. His side also had none of the nets, for the men carrying those had perished with D’Roch in the tunnel collapse. There were, however, men with torches. Most of them were using the flames much the way D’Marr planned to, but with far less results than he hoped to have. The frustrated officer grabbed one of the men in the back and pulled him close.

“You’ll die wasting your time and mine like that, you lackhead! There’s a better way! Give me that!” He hooked the rod back onto his belt and stripped the blazing torch from the soldier’s hand. With his other hand, he reached into one of the small pouches that most raiders wore on their belts. From it, D’Marr removed a tiny leather bag with a single, thin string attached to the top. It was something he had been toying with just prior to Lord D’Farany’s decision to take the three ships and flee to the western edge of the Dragonrealm. He had experimented with three just like it only recently . . . and they had performed with perfection, enabling him to scuttle the vast raider ships virtually on his own.

As he adjusted the string, he calmly told the soldier, “Tell them to retreat three steps. Quickly if you please.”

D’Marr gave the man the count of five to warn his fellows, then lit the string. It sizzled and began burning down, the flame edging closer and closer to the bag and its contents. When he was satisfied that the string had burned low enough, the Aramite let the small pouch fly.

His aim, of course, was flawless. The bag struck the Quel in the chest, then fell to the ground. D’Marr was pleased to note that the beast’s reaction was what he would have expected from a human. The armored creature paused to glance down at the insignificant object, likely both puzzled and amused by the harmless assault.

The bag promptly exploded.

It was a much smaller amount than he had used on each of the ships, but it was still enough to tear the Quel to pieces. D’Marr brought his cloak up to avoid the majority of bits that he and his men were showered with. He smiled as he saw that he had been correct; the blast had not been strong enough to further weaken the ceiling. It would have been a bit embarrassing.

To his surprise, however, there was a second benefit to his attack of genius. The remaining Quel were on their knees, their weapons forgotten and their heads almost buried in the tunnel floor. They were hooting madly and rocking back and forth, clawing at the ground.

D’Marr was not one too slow to act when good fortune came his way. “Get the nets in fast while they’re stunned. Do hurry.”

The agonized creatures were still trouble despite their present state and for a short time he was tempted to take the scepter to each one in order to hurry things. Finally, when it became apparent that the injured Quel would indeed soon be nicely bound and out of the way, the wolf raider turned his attention to the haunting glow mere yards from him. Without hesitation, D’Marr started toward it, his sub-officers quickly following after, albeit with much more trepidation.

We’ve stepped into the heart of a diamond, was his first thought as he froze at the entrance to the chamber. Nothing else he had seen in the glittering realm of Legar, or anywhere else, for that matter, could have prepared him for this. Is there no end to your surprises, Dragonrealm? First, a glittering land, then a city beneath the surface, and now . . . this.

The walls were covered almost entirely in crystal, save where three other tunnels led off to other parts of the Quel domain. It was obvious that nature had not created this marvel. There were too many patterns, too many intricate designs, for it to be pure chance. The gemstones also came in a variety of colors that could never have formed together. Staring at it, D’Marr was reminded of the empty city and its light source. The crystals there had been arranged so that the subterranean dwellers could bring the sun to their world. Who was to say that this was not similar?

All this passed through the Aramite’s mind in the space of a breath. It was during the second that he noticed the Quel.

The hulking creature leaned across a platform of sorts upon which had been placed a large gem that was in turn surrounded by an array of smaller crystals. The Quel, a male, D’Marr judged, was waving his clawed hands above the arrangement in what was most definitely a desperate manner. Inhuman eyes glared back at the intruders, specifically the young officer. The creature was saying something, his hooting rising and falling with a