Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

only incredibly smooth, but neither hot nor cold. In fact, the temperature of the chamber seemed just perfect to her and she suspected that to be no coincidence.

What is he up to? Gwen had expected much worse in the captivity of the Storm Dragon. Thus far, she had suffered more on diplomatic journeys to some of the obscure kingdoms. The pillows and sheets had a silken touch; the fare, the enchantress had to admit, would have done even Penacles or Talak well.

Running her hand along the wall, Gwen searched for some hidden doorway or window. She reached out with her higher senses, seeking to understand the nature of her prison. Where had her captor placed her? In the depths of his mountainous retreat? Amidst a raging volcano?

She let out an uncharacteristic gasp as the blank wall suddenly became a wide, distorted face that wrapped completely around her.

Atop the helm that covered much of the face, one of the most fearsome dragon heads she had ever seen peered down at her. It was flanked by massive, curved wings stretched as if in flight and under those wings clouds had been set. Both helm and crest were a deep gray with a combination of silver and blue hints.

The lower jaw of the dragon extended down to the nose guard. The helmet’s rounded eye holes revealed within two miniature red suns that burned hotter when they met the enchantress’s startled gaze.

“Our Lady of the Amber . . .” thundered the Storm Lord, using one of Gwen’s older titles. The narrow slit of a mouth opened wide in what apparently was a smile. The jagged teeth and flickering, serpentine tongue did nothing to accentuate that smile. “You are most welcome here with us.”

He spoke flawlessly, none of the oft-present sibilance of his kind noticeable. He also spoke as if to an honored guest, not one whom he had seized by terrible force.

But then, the actions of those who were mad were never predictable.

“Why am I here? I meant no threat to you, Dragon King! I had, by necessity, to travel along the edge of your domain, but surely you could sense there was no malice in my actions!”

The huge face shifted around, disconcerting her. The Storm Dragon chuckled harshly, then replied, “No, Our Lady, there was no malice in your actions! We simply saw the opportunity we had long desired to welcome you to our company . . .”

Gwen did not quite know what to make of his words, but that hardly mattered. “There is a peace between us-if not an easy one-my lord. If you’ll let me be on my way, it shall remain peace.”

“But you have only just graced us with your presence, wonderful Lady of the Amber! We would know you better first . . .” A hint of a frown escaped. “The meal was not to your liking? It was drawn from your memories . . .”

She stirred. Gwen had not even noticed that. Small wonder that she had enjoyed it so. In fact, the enchantress now recalled the wine being a rare vintage from Gordag-Ai.

“Were they not conjured to your satisfaction, Our Lady?” he asked, his dark visage giving more hint of menace.

“They were excellent,” Gwen replied quickly.

“And your bed? You slept well?”

Again she answered with swiftness so as not to allow his anger to rise. “A more perfect sleep I couldn’t have had.”

The inhuman mouth twisted into a smile again. “We are so pleased by that.”

He always speaks of himself in the plural . . . his insanity grows . . . That meant that everything she said the enchantress had to consider before the words left her mouth.

“Lord of Storms, I would be more than happy to visit officially, if that’s what you would truly desire, but I fear that other matters press most urgently at this time-”

“You speak of your son,” he interjected casually.

Gwen bit back her concern. That he knew of Aurim should not have surprised her. “Yes, my son. He may have errantly entered your domain and I wanted to make certain that you did not mistake said error for anything but what it was.”

The great head bowed once. “You may be assured, Lady of the Amber, that we understand exactly what it was.”

His words gave her some slight hope. “I can promise you that he’ll not make the same mistake again. When we leave-”

“But you are in error yourself, Our Lady, for your time to depart is not yet now.”

“But my son-”

A huge, gauntleted hand cut across the massive head as the Storm Dragon dismissed her protest without concern. “Enchantress, he is dead. We need no longer concern ourselves with his trespass.”

She gaped. He could have told her nothing more horrible-and in so uncaring a voice.

Seemingly unmindful of her horror, the dread master of Wenslis continued, “Let us instead concern ourselves with a more pleasant subject now . . . your probable role as our glorious consort.”

Gwen could barely comprehend his words, her mind still torn by the declaration that Aurim had been killed. Rage and confusion overwhelmed her. She rose atop the bed and tried to summon the power needed to shatter both the wall and the monstrous, arrogant face.

But nothing happened. She could sense no source of power upon which to draw. It was as if in this place magic did not exist.

“We have searched for those most worthy and found all lacking,” he went on, oblivious to her fury. “No drake dam wields the might we deemed appropriate for one who would be the mate of a god. But fate offered us another choice, a far better one. We need not seek merely among our own kind, but among those where a proper companion for our august personage already existed.”

The enchantress could not believe, could not imagine, that she heard right. The same monster that had so indifferently announced her son’s death-at his hands, no doubt-believed she would become his mate? In the face of all else, the idea was so absurd that Gwen almost laughed.

“You will be our consort, our mate! You shall bear us offspring like no others, Lady of the Amber,” the horrific visage declared, mouth wide and upturned. “And with you at our side, at last we shall began to spread our glory over the rest of this benighted world . . .”

“I would never-”

He vanished before she could finish, leaving in his place not the ivory wall, but something that left the enchantress frozen in shock. Perhaps the Storm Lord thought to impress upon his chosen bride the depths of his might. He certainly left the protests Gwen had been about to utter unspoken. She stood there, staring in horror, realizing that at every turn her captor stripped her of more and more hope.

Aurim was dead . . . and she . . . she now saw where her cell lay. Not in the depths of a live volcano, as Gwen had supposed, but the very opposite.

The storm raged around her, savage bolts crashing much too near. Black clouds collided violently and thick, pounding rain coursed earthward.

Coursed to a world far, far below.

The cell floated by itself amidst the clouds, amidst the terror of the unnatural storm. Pressing her face against the now invisible wall, Gwen barely made out the hazy form of a huge mountain peak flanked by two smaller but no less sinister siblings.

The lair of the Storm Lord.

Aurim lay surrounded by darkness and the odd feeling that the world had been turned upside down. He tried to push himself up, but a crushing weight kept him pinned in place.

“Shall I help him?” asked a quiet voice.

“Why?” asked a second one that sounded identical to the first.

“It might be amusing. It might be something to do.”

What Aurim took for the second voice mockingly replied, “So would letting him die horribly.”

“Yes, but that would take too long and I don’t have the patience.”

“Neither do I.”