Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

descriptions. The survivors all seemed to have been obsessed with the monstrous steed . . . no surprise, if it was what he thought it was. One of the spies from that kingdom, Zou or some such nonsense it was called, had reported trouble involving a mage on a large black horse.

The Gryphon had an ally in this realm who matched such a description, a demon called Darkhorse. D’Rance, of course, had been able to supply that tidbit of information.

Two sentries stumbled across his path and swiftly backed away. They saluted, but the young officer just waved them aside. He had no time for men doing their duties. It was the ones who were not who would feel his wrath if they were so unfortunate as to cross him. D’Marr wanted to be done with this task. Once he had the officers under control and they in turn the men, he could return to the tunnels.

His mind drifted back to the patrol’s encounter with the monster known as Darkhorse. The demon could not possibly have come across them by chance; he had to have specifically come here searching for the wolf raiders. Any notion that contradicted that was not acceptable to either Orril D’Marr or his lord. Even the blue man agreed with him on this matter.

The Gryphon had to be here. It fit. The black steed’s appearance had come too quickly after their landing. He had a rider with him. If the rider had not been the damned birdman, then it had to be one of his friends. Either way, they could only have known of the raiders’ presence through the Gryphon. It made sense to him.

Admittedly, there was some logic missing in the argument, but one other reason superseded all others in this matter. D’Marr recalled the attack on the port city. Lord D’Farany had hoped to accomplish two things there. One had been to steal a series of charts that would aid them in this venture and the other had been the hope that they would catch their greatest adversary off-guard.

They had been unable to kill the Gryphon that day, but his brat had paid for the deaths and defeats the empire had suffered. Not satisfactory, but it would do until the Gryphon’s head decorated a lance tip.

And that time is coming soon. True to form, the bird had followed them across the seas. D’Marr had predicted he would and for once he had outdone the blue devil in that respect. You’re coming to me, Gryphon, coming to join your brat!

His hand touched the pommel of the scepter. When he had finished the Gryphon, there would remain only the cat woman. She would follow after her mate, being as predictable in her way as he was when it came to revenge. Then I will have taken all three.

No one would deny his greatness then.

His course took him around the camp until he returned to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the Quel city. The camp was at last in order. The officers were now in line and they, in turn, had the men under rein. D’Marr had done as best as was possible. Now it was time to-

A tall figure emerged from the tunnel. From his walk and his manner, D’Marr had no trouble identifying the northerner. The man looked bedraggled, exhausted. The young officer smiled briefly, then once more fixed his expression into one of detachment.

D’Rance saw him and did not bother to hide his own distaste. He tried to walk past his shorter counterpart, but D’Marr was having none of that. To know that the northerner had been put through the paces made his own tedious day more palatable. “Tired already?”

“You will play no games with me, Orril D’Marr. Our lord has struggled long and I was forced to help maintain him, yes?”

“And what could you do for him, blue? Wipe his brow when he sweated?”

D’Rance sneered. “The knowledge of a scholar is a greater weapon at times than the sword of a simple soldier, yes? You would have pounded on the crystal device with that toy on your belt, I think, as you did to the walls. Such effort, but so little result.”

“You’re a scholar of magic?”

The blue man suddenly lost interest in the battle of words. “I have given my all for our effort, little man, yes, and our Lord D’Farany knows this. I have been given leave to rest and rest I shall.”

The exhausted northerner turned and stalked into the fog. D’Marr watched him disappear, then glanced at the tunnel mouth. All the blue devil’s efforts would amount to little before this night had ended. Whatever favor he had curried with Lord D’Farany would fade when D’Marr revealed the secret cavern.

He started down the tunnel, finalizing his plans. He would need four or five men, just to be on the safe side. They could plant the explosives in the proper locations and light the fuses. There would be rubble to clear away, too, which meant that five or six men would work better. The most important task D’Marr would save for himself, however. It was he who would be the first to enter the unknown, he, the discoverer. And whatever secret, whatever treasure lies behind there, I will be the first to know it.

“Sir!”

Although his expression remained bland when he turned back toward the mouth of the tunnel, inside, Orril D’Marr was seething. What do they want now? “Yes?”

An understandably nervous officer even younger than he stood at attention at the edge of the entrance. No doubt he had been volunteered by his superiors for this mission. That way, if D’Marr chose to take out his wrath on someone, it would not be them. “Sir, I have been ordered to report that there is some confusion in the eastern flank. Several men have reported a roving light. Two went out to investigate and have not returned. Another man reports . . .”

He waited, but the other officer did not go on. “Reports what?”

“Someone laughing . . . from above him.”

The corners of D’Marr’s mouth edged downward. His work was already falling apart. If this was an example of the situation being under Lord D’Farany’s control, then it was no improvement. Success was supposed to mean that the fog would either vanish or obey the commands of his master. It had, so far, done neither as far as D’Marr could see. If anything, this latest report indicated things had turned worse.

He returned to the surface and looked around. How he was supposed to keep this rabble organized was beyond him, but it was his function. That meant chasing down those incompetent officers and uncovering the truth about things that went bump in the fog. He was growing tired of this. There would have to be some changes made in the ranks.

“What’s your name?”

“Squad Leader, Base Level, R’Jerek, sir.”

The man’s superiors had picked the lowest officer they could find. He still bore the R’ caste designation. Anything above him would have the D’ like D’Marr’s name bore. His estimation of the value of R’Jerek’s superiors dropped further. “Your immediate officer?”

“Captain D’Lee, sir.”

“Lead me to him, D’Jerek.”

“Yes, sir . . .” The younger officer paused. “It’s R’Jerek, sir.”

“Not after I’m through with your superior, Captain.”

His guide said nothing more after that.

Orril D’Marr gave the tunnel one last glance. Tomorrow, he swore to himself. It’ll hold until tomorrow.

So much power! Kanaan D’Rance stumbled toward his tent, which was, not by chance, away from the rest. As much as he would have been happier to sleep among the fascinating Quel artifacts, that was not allowed. Still, he had smuggled a few of the items into his tent, where he tried to understand and make use of them. His skills were growing; he had even managed to heal his hand without anyone ever discovering the truth. The streak in his hair was becoming a problem, however. He was certain that the Aramite leader suspected.

The secrets the trinkets held paled in comparison to the struggle that had gone on tonight, a struggle in which Lord D’Farany had all but triumphed. The mysterious adversary was vanquished; now, the Aramite commander only had to bind the magical fog to his control. Lord D’Farany was already talking of making use of the deadly mist, an idea contrary to his first inclination. Despite the wrongness of the sorcery tied into the fog, or perhaps because of it, the keeper now saw great potential in it as a weapon for the raiders.

Kanaan D’Rance agreed for the most part, but he differed with his master in one respect. He wanted control