Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

The images projected by the one Quel, a female, if the warlock was correct, shifted almost the instant he formulated the question. Although the question had merely been for his own contemplation, the Quel answered as best she could.

Black shells . . . defenders . . . the hungry magic . . . defeat . . . the city lost . . . statement.

Statement. The manner by which the creatures communicated made the reply sound almost matter-of-fact until one stared into the dark, inhuman eyes of the Quel and saw the loss there. Her city, the Quel city, was in the hands of the Aramites, who had used some sort of magic spell to nullify the defenses. She and a few like her had escaped capture, he imagined. There were only a few Quel at any time and so they had not had the resources to completely combat a foe as determined as the wolf raiders. If they had, he suspected that the raiders would have found themselves in the midst of one of the worst hand-to-hand struggles they had ever come across. One Quel was worth more than a few human soldiers any day, no matter how well trained the latter were.

Black shells . . . hunt . . . too few . . . statement.

He saw them hunting down a lone guard every now and then, but such attacks were not enough. One by one, the secrets of their cities fell into the hands of the invaders.

Cabe stiffened. “What about-”

The response was swift. Sacrifice . . . hidden . . . suspicious but unable to find . . . safe . . . for now . . . danger in thought . . . statement.

Their greatest secret was safe, but the Aramites were thorough. They might at any time find it. The Quel did not even wish to think about that, for fear that doing so might somehow bring the discovery to pass. Cabe received a swift, curt look from the female who told him there would be no more questions on that matter.

He had no delusions that the underdwellers saw him as anything more than a means to an end. Their concern was for their own kind; they saw in him only someone who shared an obvious interest in seeing the black shells, as they called the raiders, gone from the Dragonrealm.

“You don’t make cooperation very enticing,” he bluntly informed his captor. “What difference would it make for me to help you?”

A single image of a tall, opaque sphere flashed into his mind.

For the first time, Cabe recalled Plool. The Quel still had the Vraad hidden away and were attempting to use him as a bargaining chip. It almost made the warlock want to laugh. In one respect, there was a temptation to leave the Vraad where he was, for it would be the best way to ensure that he caused no further chaos with his Nimth-spawned magic.

Cabe knew he could do no such thing, though. Even Plool deserved a chance. Also, the Aramites were a deadlier threat to the continent, at least now. The Dragonrealm had survived centuries of Quel, confined as they were to only a few wandering above and below the surface of Legar. The raiders would never settle for that. They would seek to rebuild their power base. He was certain that other ships sailed the sea, other ships seeking a new port. The longer the wolf raiders had, the deeper they would be entrenched.

He would work with the Quel for as long as it was safe, but he knew better than to trust them. “What about the one who was with me? What about your prisoner?”

The answer was short, succinct, and proof that this was meant to be no partnership but rather a situation demanding his complete obedience to their cause. Cabe lost whatever little sympathy he might have ever had for his captors. Memories of his past experiences with the Quel returned to him. They were vivid and sometimes painful memories.

The warlock wished it were possible for him to just forget Plool, but he was not that sort of person . . . and the underdwellers certainly had to be aware of that.

His inquisitor rose and indicated he should follow suit. Rising stiffly, the wary mage followed the Quel to the tunnel mouth. The other creature, taller and definitely a male, waited until the two had passed before joining. The male moved with some stiffness, as if working with muscles long unused. The Quel were careful to keep him sandwiched in between, he noted. A brief touch with his mind also indicated that they were doing what they could to stifle his magical abilities, but their strength was not enough to completely disable him. His mind already shielded so that the gemstone he still had to carry would not betray him, Cabe pondered his possible options. Down here, his sorcery appeared to work, but what would happen if he tried to teleport to the surface? Could he do it safely? More to the point, did he have the concentration and strength to even perform the spell? He doubted it. Still, he was fairly certain he would be able to defend himself when it came time for the Quel to turn upon him.

The warlock wondered what he would do about Plool when that happened.

As they walked, Cabe, with growing curiosity, carefully studied the tunnel. It was a claustrophobic thing, not at all like the larger passages he recalled from his earlier encounters. There was barely room enough for one of the diggers to pass. More important, after the first few steps, the only sources of illumination became the occasional crystal embedded in the walls. They were of the same type as those in the vast tunnels, but so scattered and so few, it was as if they had been added only recently and with great haste.

This is a new tunnel. Very new. “Where are we going?”

He received no response from his companions. The more he thought about it, the more they seemed to be growing increasingly anxious. The warlock did not find that comforting. Anything that worried the Quel surely had to be fearsome.

There was only one thing he could think of that would put such uneasiness into the minds of his captors. One creature.

Only the Crystal Dragon.

They wouldn’t! That would be suicidal!

Unfortunately, he could think of no other explanation. Cabe had intended on seeking out the lord of Legar, but now that he was possibly on his way to do just that, the idea had turned sour. Who was to say that the Crystal Dragon might not find his intrusion just as irritating as that of the wolf raiders? What had he been thinking? One could not just walk up and ask to see the Dragon King!

But that was what the Quel intended him to do. He knew that the moment they came to the end of the tunnel. Before him was a vast cavern that glittered so great that he had to shield his eyes for several seconds before they finally became accustomed to the brilliance. Gemlike stalactites and stalagmites, looking much like the jagged teeth of some great beast, dotted the cavern. The faceted walls reflected themselves again and again and again, an infinity of cold, gleaming beauty. Cabe began to sweat heavily, but not because of fear. The heat in the cavern was ghastly and when he stared at the floor, which was also of crystal, he knew why. Some subterranean source of heat buried deep beneath was what turned the chamber into an oven. It even gave the floor a reddish tinge. It was not enough to make travel across impossible, but the warlock did not intend to stand on any one spot too long.

What he saw beyond the chamber made him forget the heat. Carved into the far wall was a temple that, in many ways, resembled the Manor, a place that Cabe wished he had never left. Columns rose high, at least two stories. There were three doorways. Symbols that the warlock did not recognize formed an arc over each of them. Cabe knew that the work was very, very old, but it was still in immaculate condition. A sense of ancient power radiated from the temple.

He was on the threshold of the Dragon King’s inner sanctum.

The Quel in front of him shifted to the side. Journey . . . the crystal lord . . . (fear) . . . seeking an audience . . . statement!

So this was to be his role. They wanted him to do what they could not, namely face the Dragon King and seek his aid. The warlock found himself amused. He was expected to go where they refused to tread and seek aid on their behalf. It almost made him laugh aloud. Their capture of him must have been a lucky but desperate venture. It said something for their ability to plot under dire circumstances but little for their bravery.

The male took hold of his shoulders and shook him. New images danced in Cabe Bedlam’s head. Audience . . . the crystal lord in his sanctum . . . dispersing the floating death . . . driving the black shells back into the sea . . . statement!/question?