Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

rhythm that made it impossible not to listen. D’Marr was struck by the nagging thought that the Quel was working to keep their attention.

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” he quietly informed the armored underdweller. He knew that the Quel understood him by the narrowing of his black orbs. “Your power has been smothered by my Lord D’Farany’s might.” The raider commander inclined his head toward the officers to his left side. “Take him. Kill him if need be.”

As the wolf raiders rushed toward him, the Quel made one last pass over the crystal.

It glimmered. Only for a second, but it glimmered. The spell cast by Lord D’Farany still held, but D’Marr knew it must be weakening badly for something to happen this soon. It was fortunate, he thought, that they had not met any more resistance than they had. The power the beasts controlled was even greater than he had assumed.

The Quel hooted in satisfaction, then stepped away as he was surrounded. Unlike his fellows, he made no move to resist. At another time, Orril D’Marr would have been amused by the absurd sight of the creature calmly holding out his huge arms to be bound, but the Quel’s note of triumph disturbed his sensibilities. He studied the chamber carefully, seeking what clue he could not say.

Then it came to him that there were only two other tunnel entrances besides his own. When he had scanned the chamber earlier, D’Marr had been certain that there had been three. He turned to the nearest man and asked, “How many ways out of here were there when you came in?”

Looking puzzled and nervous, the soldier glanced around and answered, “I see two, my lord. Besides the one we entered by.”

“That’s not what I asked.” It was futile to explain, the young raider decided. Instead, he stalked over to the area where he recalled the missing entrance being and placed a hand against the wall. It was very solid. D’Marr ran his hand along the crystal, searching for anything that seemed not quite right. As far as he could discover, however, it was very, very real.

Taking the rod, he tapped lightly on the wall. A quiet but solid thud argued against there being a thin, false partition before him. This was a barrier of rock and crystal and a very thick one at that.

He was tempted to test its strength against one of his exploding bags, but knew that the Pack Leader would never forgive him if the chamber was damaged.

“You have my congratulations, Orril.”

His round visage carefully banal, D’Marr turned and saluted his master. He nearly grimaced when he saw that the blue man was with the Pack Leader. “I thank you, Lord D’Farany.”

The Aramite leader walked slowly into the room, his unnerving features fairly aglow with delight. “Yesss, this is it! This is what I felt!” He put a hand on the platform that the Quel had vacated. “A bit of study . . . and then we shall put it to use.”

D’Marr glanced at the Quel as Lord D’Farany finished speaking. If it was possible for one of the monsters to look almost smug, then this creature was exactly that. You have a secret, my little beast, and it’s yours for now. Enjoy that time. When the opportunity arises, I’ll take that secret of yours and everything else your mind holds.

He would be more careful than with the last one. This time, D’Marr would not let death rescue his prisoner. This time, he would squeeze every bit of knowledge from the beast no matter how long it took and how much pain it meant.

As his eyes returned to the glittering wall, he met his own gaze. The multifaceted crystals made the face behind the gaze a twisted, distorted thing, a creature almost as inhuman in appearance as the Quel . . . and far, far darker within.

IV

Two days passed while Cabe sought news that might confirm his fears. There was, in that period, no reoccurrence of the vision and as evening of the second day came and aged, he began to have small doubts. Not about what both he and Aurim had seen, but how he had interpreted it.

That very night, those doubts were erased as he slept.

He was among them again. One of them. Clad in the green dragon-scale armor, they mounted their flying drakes and took to the air. The wind was hot against his face. There was something horribly wrong with the heavens, for there was no blue, but rather a sickly green vying with a bloody red. Clouds swirled like whirlpools and wild, free magic was rampant.

The lead rider-his father-turned to him and, in a voice that demanded obedience, called, “Don’t dawdle back there! We’ve far to go!”

Suddenly his father’s face stretched beyond belief. His body hunched over and his arms and legs became twisted. Wings burst forth from his backside . . .

A dragon loomed over him. He tried to turn his drake, but now he lay sprawled on a rocky plain, the animal nowhere to be found. The dragon, huge and terrible, lowered his head and hissed, “You cannot essscape what isss inevitable . . . you cannot escape . . .”

Then he, Cabe, found himself in the Legar Peninsula. He had barely time to register it when a shadow covered the land. The warlock raised his head and saw a vast sailing ship, black as pitch, slowly sinking toward him from the very sky. He tried to move, but pain suddenly jolted him. His head was on fire. It felt as if he were being torn apart.

Cabe glanced down at his hands, which tingled, and saw with horror that they were stretching, becoming more beastlike than human. Frantic, the spellcaster tried to reverse the effect, but it was as if his magic were no more. He could not even perceive the lines of force from which he drew his power.

The looming shape of the black vessel grew larger and larger. The ground beneath his feet trembled. Cabe was certain that he saw movement around him, as if large creatures lurked just below the surface.

The ship was almost upon him now. Cabe raised his hands in hopeless defense, then could not help stare at them despite the oncoming leviathan.

His hands were reptilian, the clawed paws of a dragon, but that was not what held his gaze so. It was the skin, a dragon hide that fairly glittered even in the shadow of the ebony ship.

He had become the Crystal Dragon.

Cabe woke sitting bolt upright, raw magical energy dancing and crackling at his fingertips. He shivered uncontrollably, not so much because of fear, but because the vision had looked and felt so very real.

Slim arms took hold of him in the dark and a concerned, caring voice whispered, “It’s all right, Cabe. Nothing was real. Nothing in the dream. You are in the Manor. You’re home.”

The quivering slowed, then finally ceased. He looked down at his upturned fingers and watched with vague satisfaction and relief as the glow about them dwindled to nothing.

“Cabe?”

“Gwen?” Blinking, the warlock turned toward the voice. His eyes adjusted to the dark, allowing him to make out the dim image of his wife. He conjured a small light instead of using his abilities to adjust his eyesight further. Changing any part of one’s form, even temporarily, was a task that required precise concentration for all but a few human mages. It was one area where the drakes would always be superior in the arts of sorcery. He was surprised that he was even able to create the light, considering how turbulent his mind presently was.

She pulled him close and kissed him, more from relief than anything else. They held each other tight for several moments, then Cabe finally broke the embrace. He looked into her eyes. “I had another vision.”

“I suspected as much. It’s not a memory of the Manor, is it?”

“Hardly.” Wiping his hand across his face, he related to her the various images and events he had suffered through. Describing them, however, brought them back to life for him and by tale’s end he was shaking again, albeit not near as much as the first time.

Gwen took his hands and held them until long after the shaking had ended. “Something has to be