Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

And just like that, the sound receded past her.

She glanced after it, refusing to believe that it could be possible. The sound continued on, growing fainter and fainter until it ceased to be audible. The dust on the floor remained undisturbed save where Valea’s own prints were.

As she looked back the way she had been heading, the enchantress again saw her unsettling doppelganger. The figure pointed on, her face all urgency.

Again biting her lip, Valea followed the specter. The corridor finally came to an end several yards later at a narrow, winding stairway leading up. The stone passage had no rails, but Valea leaned against one wall as she ascended.

And at the top of the stairs, an iron door confronted her. The symbol of the dragon had been cast upon it and even through the dust Valea could see its malevolent eyes peering back. The style reminded her of the Dragon Kings and she wondered if there was some connection.

The ghost stood before the door, imploring her to enter. She vanished as her mortal counterpart neared. Valea touched the ringed handle, but it would not budge. There was no keyhole.

Concentrating, Valea let her higher senses show her what her eyes could not see. Draped over the door was a series of spells that kept the path sealed. The enchantress probed one and found it easily yielding to her power. After testing another and finding that as readily undone, Valea could come to only one conclusion. The peculiar earmarks of the spells indicated that they served one very specific purpose. They had been designed to work against a particular magical signature and one that she had come to know so very well.

Shade’s.

So he was here and he was a prisoner of the Lords. That was what Galani had tried to impart to her and what this other phantom, this other incarnation of herself, had also sought to say. A peculiar sense of relief touched Valea. She had come fully expecting to confront and vanquish the legendary warlock in order to prevent his evil from ever erupting again. Yet, a good part of her had battled against that notion. Valea could not deny that she felt something for Shade. It was not merely some residue of the time that she had spent bound together with Galani. It went far deeper. To Valea, it was as if her soul, in whatever form it existed throughout time, had always been intertwined with his. Had she lived other lives that had crossed the warlock’s path? Surely the second ghost indicated that.

Valea shook her head, clearing her thoughts of any foolish romantic feelings. Her brother would have mocked her and her parents would have looked down at her in pity. She risked more than her life coming here and to let her be distracted by such prattle endangered her further.

Still, she had come here to find Shade and she had done so. All that barred her from confronting him were some simple spells.

With an inherent skill that only a Bedlam could wield, Valea quickly and efficiently removed the remaining spells. There were no hints of alarms among them, which surprised her until she recalled just where she was. The confidence of the Lords in their own dread domain could hardly be surprising. Their only mistake had been not knowing that Valea would have unearthly help to guide her to this point.

As the last spell dissipated, the anxious enchantress tugged on the ring.

The door swung open with an utter silence that both relieved and astounded her. She quickly stepped inside.

The familiar gray cloak completely draped his back, making him look more like a monk than the fearsome figure he was. His face was to the barred and magically sealed window, the only feature of the small chamber. A long, stone bench enabled him to sit there. It was the only piece of furniture in sight. If Shade slept, then he did so on the floor and wrapped in his own garments. Her sympathy for the imprisoned spellcaster grew, but Valea kept it in check, aware that Shade might still prove a danger.

Still facing the window, he slowly rose. At the same time, the ghost, her arms at her side, formed before Valea. She faced not the enchantress, however, but rather Shade. Valea did not move, instead staring straight through the transparent figure.

And as he finished turning toward her, the enchantress came at last face-to-face with the one to whom she had been led.

Valea gaped-for there was indeed a face where there should have been none.

The aristocratic features were more handsome than those of her father, with the nose slightly aquiline. Dark hair hung loosely down over the forehead and the chin was narrow. It was a youthful yet ancient countenance, outwardly little older in appearance than hers. The eyes, however, were what made the true difference. They were, like the ghost’s, crystalline, albeit of a deeper shade than the female’s.

Vraad.

An expression of intense sorrow colored the startling face. In a voice that Valea knew all too well, the hooded figure muttered, “Sharissa . . . I am so very sorry.”

And the door behind Valea abruptly shut tight.

IV

“Shade,” Cabe remarked with much more calm than he truly felt. “How long have you been waiting for us?”

“All my existence,” the warlock responded with utter nonchalance.

“I saw you die!” roared Darkhorse, taking none of the situation as cautiously as Cabe. “You ceased to be! Even you were certain of that!”

“And so I was . . .”

The sudden shift in Shade’s tone to deep bitterness silenced the shadow steed. The warlock slowly strode toward his old comrades and enemies. Even when he stood directly in front of Cabe and Darkhorse and peered up at them from under his hood, his features remained indistinct.

“Gwen told us of her encounter with you . . . and your other selves,” said the wizard. “She also told us what you said to her.”

“A shortened story, I promise, young Cabe. Perhaps one day we can discuss it in more detail . . .”

The wizard shifted uneasily. “You still haven’t told us what we should call you.”

Shade chuckled darkly. He performed a sweeping bow and answered, “You may call me . . . Shade.”

“Nothing else? Not Simon, not Rork, not Joab, nor any of the countless other names you’ve had over the centuries?”

“No . . . that part of the game is at an end. I tire of this facade or that. Call me Shade, for I am, always have, and always will be, it seems . . . the shadow of a true man.”

Darkhorse snorted. “And will you now tell us that we no longer need fear if you are friend or foe? Is that a facade also past?”

The slim form pulled the cloak tight around him, making him look even more an appropriate denizen of this plane. “No, my eternal friend, that is not. But for now . . . there is little to fear.”

“He says in this of all places!” rumbled the ebony stallion.

“We may bicker until the sun shines over this dismal landscape or we may accept what is,” Shade returned without the slightest impatience. “Ephraim has spent much time planning this and we would not wish to disappoint him.”

Cabe frowned. “Ephraim?”

“It would be him. He was always the guide through which the others worked.”

This brought a mocking laugh from Darkhorse. “The Lords have fought us before, Shade, and regretted it!”

“True, but they learn.” The warlock suddenly tilted his hooded head skyward. “And he always has a twofold purpose to any plot-”

The sound of heavy flapping suddenly filled Cabe’s ears. “What is that?”