Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

Crystal Dragon were tasks insurmountable. It was possible that the situation was not even as terrible as they had assumed. There was even the chance that Cabe might very well return before his old friend was able to depart.

That was assuming that nothing had happened to him already.

The blue man stumbled through the godforsaken fog, cursing its magic-spawned ability to creep even into the most obscure passages below the earth. It was hard enough to see even with the torches lit let alone with such a thick morass enshrouding everything around him.

Yet, there was something else, something inviting about the fog. He could taste power, raw, wild forces, coursing through the mist. D’Rance had seen the proof of that, too. He had watched floors twist and turn, a man sucked into the walls as if he had never been, and fantastical figures prancing about in the fog. Mere tips of the proverbial iceberg, the northerner knew. Above, those on the surface would be facing much more. The Quel city seemed to dampen the effects of the wild power. Whether that was intentional or simply chance, he did not know. That subject could wait until later, after he had reached the surface and explored farther. As much as he disliked the fog, it offered him possibilities that even Lord D’Farany could not match. He had to find out where it had originated from.

He was nearly to the mouth of the tunnel when a dog-sized form skittered over his feet, causing him to fall against one side of the passage. From near his left, he heard it growl.

Verlok. From his time in Canisargos he knew the sound well. There was only one verlok on this side of the world.

“Kanaan. How good of you to be where I wanted you.”

“Lord D’Farany?” He could see nothing save the dim image of the verlok . . . and this with the light of day supposedly trying to cut through the murky fog.

“We were on our way down. It was not necessary to meet us.”

“Yes, my lord.” The blue man clenched both hands tight. “I must apologize, yes, for not noticing you sooner. This thrice-cursed mist wreaks havoc on the eyes, yes?”

A shape took form before him. The Pack Leader. “I suppose that could be troublesome, but it’s hardly a concern compared to other things. Fascinating, wouldn’t you say? As if entering another world.”

A world gone mad, yes! Kanaan D’Rance wanted to study the magical forces involved, but he by no means cared for any other aspect of it. If he could find a way to manipulate it, that was all he desired. “It is unique, yes.”

“But of course something must be done about it; it disturbs the men, you see. Disturbs my work.”

And that is all it is doing? The blue man was often fascinated by the Pack Leader’s peculiar pattern of thought.

“It’s magical, as you’ve no doubt guessed. Not like anything else. Not at all like his power. A shame, truly.” D’Farany reached down and picked up his vile pet. “It repels rather than attracts. I think I must remove it from this place and send it to wherever he unleashed it from.”

“He?”

“The Crystal Dragon, of course.” Lord D’Farany walked past him, the verlok taking the opportunity to snarl at the blue man. D’Rance quickly followed, knowing how easy it might be to lose someone in this mire.

The floor of the tunnel was shifting beneath their feet, but where the blue man struggled to keep his balance, the Pack Master simply stepped here and there, moving along as if nothing were the matter. A misshapen tentacle of rock darted out from beside them, but somehow missed D’Farany. The northerner, on the other hand, was forced to duck, not an easy act when the ground beneath his feet continued to move.

He acts as if this is the way of the normal world! Could this be what he sees, yes? If so, it explained much about Ivon D’Farany.

Although nothing major impeded their blind trek, it was still with relief that the blue man entered the chamber some minutes later. Relief and curiosity, for he immediately saw that the crystalline room was not touched as the others were. There was no fog even though the tunnel just beyond was dank and impossible to navigate by sight alone. For once, the sentries posted here must have felt themselves fortunate, he thought.

The Pack Leader, oblivious to all else, leaned over the Quel device and visibly sighed. Removing his gloves, he tenderly touched the various crystals in the arrangement, finishing with his own addition.

“Where is Orril?”

“I regret, my lord, that I do not know where he is.” He is hopefully lost forever. D’Rance knew he could not be so fortunate. D’Marr would likely show his blank little face at the worst possible time.

“No matter.” The former keeper began to activate the magical creation.

Interest was overcoming uncertainty. He had watched closely as Lord D’Farany had become quickly adept at the use of the diggers’ tool. Watching the raider leader had been a learning experience, although soon he would not need to watch. Still, if Lord D’Farany had a plan to disperse the dank and decay-filled mist, then there were still things the blue man could learn from him. “If I may, my lord, you have a plan, yes? What will you do, please?”

He did not catch the fascinated smile on the Pack Leader’s crystal-illuminated countenance but the tone and the words were enough. “I have no plan, Kanaan. I’m simply going to play.”

D’Rance suddenly found himself envying the men on the surface. They only had the fog to fear.

X

In a place where darkness was unchallenged by light, a sleeper long undisturbed stirred briefly to sluggish life . . .

They were able to move mountains, create castles from nothing. A world had been theirs to play with and they had played ever so hard, tearing that world asunder and making it into a reflection of their own, uncaring souls.

Plool gazed down on Cabe in what appeared to be expectation. At least, Cabe thought so; the wide- brimmed hat still obscured the upper part of his incredibly narrow face. Everything about the odd figure was a parody of humanity, but the warlock found no humor in the other’s physical appearance. Plool was a creature-an inhabitant-of dreaded Nimth. Worse, he had to be Vraad, one of the terrible race of sorcerers that had created the madness of Nimth in the first place.

“You are a curious creature,” the macabre figure pronounced. “In a curious world. How curious.”

He still spoke in the peculiar, singsong tone he had used earlier, but he changed his pattern of speech now and then, almost as if it were a game with him. Plool seemed of a whimsical nature in many ways, which did not necessarily mean that Cabe could relax. Whimsy had its dark side, especially where the Vraad were concerned. From his notes he had gathered that the race of sorcerers had had a dark sense of humor.

“Tell me, curious creature, your name?”

“Cabe. Cabe Bedlam.”

“Bedlam. I like that. I am Plool.”

The warlock nodded a cautious greeting, deciding that it would be better not to mention to Plool that he had already introduced himself. So far, the Vraad was acting quite civilized with him, but he was not about to forget that Plool had slowly and quite casually burned a hole through the Aramite officer’s chest using a medallion that should have been resistant to most sorcery. The nightmarish mage was of a highly capricious nature and anything Cabe said might be enough to set him off. As long as the foul mist of Nimth surrounded him, it behooved the warlock to stay on the madcap figure’s good side.

If that was possible.

“Where is Darkhorse?”

“The black beast? Following my imagination, the black beast is. Following my imagination the better so that we may speak. He, I understand. A thing of chaos, a thing that is not what he seems. You . . . you are