Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

different.”

Different? “I’m simply who I am, Great Plool.”

“And that is why you are so different! You are so much what you seem, so . . . constant. Constant you are, never changing. Yet, how long will you last, Bedlam?” Plool’s head shifted under the vast hat. He appeared to be observing the shrouded landscape around him for the first time. “This is a new place; I’ve not seen its like formed before. Not ever, ever not. Will it stay long?”

Cabe had no idea what the other was referring to and so kept silent.

“All so . . . still. Quite a different little variation, with all you ephemerals running around and the land so unchanging. Like you . . . a novel thing.”

Unchanging? The wary spellcaster tried to recall what else he had gleaned from his research on the Vraad and the ancestral world of Nimth. There was very little, but one other thing that had been hinted at was that in the violent, magic-tossed realm, everything, including the creatures who lived there, faced dismal and horrific existences in which they were twisted and reshaped almost continuously. Nimth was supposed to be a world ever decaying, ever collapsing. Yet, it still existed even now.

The ground beneath his feet suddenly burst upward.

Cabe barely had time to stumble and readjust his balance before he found himself on a column of earth nearly the height of Plool’s rocky seat. The column then began to twist and turn, drawing the warlock closer and closer to the madcap creature. Girding himself, Cabe did nothing to prevent or even slow his journey. If Plool had wanted to cause him harm, he would have done so. It was more likely that he simply wanted to better study the young warlock.

The column came to a halt just before the Vraad. Cabe noted that Plool had worked it so that even at full height the warlock would be a head shorter than the seated Nimthian.

“You are a most peculiar-looking piece of work,” Plool commented. How he saw anything from under that hat was a miracle. “Everything’s so orderly. Would you like me to change that? It must be awful for you. Awful it must be.”

“Thank you, but I’m happy with the way I am.” The words flew from Cabe’s lips. The dark-haired sorcerer tried to hide his anxiety. He did not even want to imagine what the Vraad might have in mind. A form like his? Never!

“Are you certain?” As he spoke, Plool at last lifted his head enough for the warlock to view the rest of his narrow face.

Cabe almost gasped aloud. It was only with the best of efforts that he prevented himself from stepping back in shock and possibly falling from his perch.

Only in Nimth could Plool have become possible. The lower half of his countenance, while peculiar, was not overly unusual. Even the nose, long, narrow, and pointed now, was within the realm of reason.

But the eyes . . .

Both were set on the left side of his face.

They were positioned one right atop the other, like some madman’s portrait. On the right side of the face, there was a blank area of skin where the one eye should have been. Had he been born that way or was it a later legacy of Nimth?

The eyes blinked. Once over the sight of the lids closing and opening in unison, Cabe discovered another peculiarity about them. Around the pupil, they looked almost crystalline, so crystalline, in fact, that they probably glittered in sunlight.

The disconcerting eyes were fixated on him. “You and yours are a strange sight; a strange sight you are. So much is strange this day. When I saw the hole, I could not be but curious, yes, curious I could not help but be. Where did it lead? Where had it come from? There are so many things of wonder in my world, but this . . . I think this is not Nimth.”

Cabe remained silent.

The eyes blinked again. “The hole. It pulled me in and I found myself here. Then it was gone. Why is that, do you think?”

The warlock shook his head. He had ideas, all involving wolf raiders and Dragon Kings, but he was not about to relay any of them to Plool. The less the bizarre mage knew, the better.

Plool rose, at the same time extending the height of the earthen column so that Cabe was still a head shorter. The odd-looking figure stood atop the formation and once more gazed around at the mist-covered land. It was still impossible to see beyond a few yards, yet the Vraad studied his surroundings as if the fog did not even exist.

“And so where am I, Bedlam? Where has the great Plool, Plool the Great, found himself? What do you call this little place?”

“This is Legar.” The answer was safe enough. It told Cabe’s companion nothing, which was all he wanted Plool to ever know. Somehow, there had to be a way to return him to Nimth.

“Legarrrrr . . .” The spiderlike figure mulled over the word. His crystalline eyes closed for a time. When he opened them again, they were even brighter and livelier than before. “An amusing name.”

“Great Plool, if I may ask you a question?”

He almost preened himself. “You may do so.”

“Where was this hole you came through?”

Plool looked sly. “Trying to rid yourself of my presence?”

Cabe actually was, but he was not going to admit that to the Vraad. “I share your curiosity about things, about your world.”

The answer satisfied Plool. He nodded, thankfully obscuring his unnerving eyes, and responded, “I like you, Bedlam. Would you like to see the hole?”

“If it is safe.”

The Vraad shrugged, chuckling all the while. “What is safe, Bedlam?”

Cabe blinked. They now stood atop the peak of one of Legar’s taller hills. The warlock looked down and saw nothing but the dire mist; he was on the edge of a precipice. Cabe quickly backed away, only to bump into Plool, who floated, legs crossed in a sitting position, just high enough to gaze down at the young mage.

“Sweet, sweet Nimth,” the spiderlike Vraad nearly sang. “Your loveliness envelops all . . . and chokes it to death.”

He doesn’t sound very eager to return. I hope there’s no trouble. Somehow I have to convince him to leave. “I don’t see the hole, Great Plool. Where was it?”

“The hole is closed, but the door remains.”

“And the door?”

“Below us.”

Cabe turned his gaze downward once more and saw only murk. He could not even see the rest of the hill, merely a few feet of earth below them. Fog obscured the rest. “Down there?”

“Yes, here.”

Every muscle in the warlock’s body grew painfully taut as he once again found himself transported to another location. Plool had a habit of teleporting others from one spot to another without warning, something that Shade had often done and even Darkhorse still did without thinking. Cabe had never liked being pulled along in the past and he certainly did not like it now.

They were down in the murky soup he had just been observing from above. From where he stood now, Cabe could not see the top of the hill. How high did the fog go? All the way to the sun?

He reminded himself that it was not the fog that mattered. For now, he needed to concentrate on the magical doorway that had allowed all of this, including his erstwhile Vraad companion, to enter unchecked.

The object of his desire lay between them. A sphere. At first, Cabe studied it with some confusion. He had expected a portal or a tear in reality. Certainly not a glass ball. It looked more like a container than a doorway.

“Can I touch it?”

“If you like.”

He did. A mild shock made him pluck his hand back. Plool chuckled. Cabe steeled himself and reached out again. The same mild shock coursed through him, but it was only momentary. Slowly he ran his hands over the