Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

“Just your head.”

D’Marr tapped the side of the weapon against his palm. He stared thoughtfully at the captive, then politely asked, “And how long do you think before we might be graced with the presence of your cat? I’m looking forward to completing the set.”

This time, the Gryphon did not respond. D’Marr was working hard to keep his mind in turmoil and he was achieving that goal all too well. As desperate as his situation was, the only hope that the Gryphon had was in retaining his calm.

“Well, I suspect she’ll be here soon enough. I will be certain to greet her with open, loving arms.” His countenance once more a bland mask, the young officer gave the tangled lionbird a mock salute and departed.

Watching him walk off, the Gryphon knew that he had to somehow free himself despite the odds. If he did not, then Troia would follow, as D’Marr had predicted. The thought of her in the hands of someone like the sadistic Aramite made him shiver.

I’m looking forward to completing the set, D’Marr had mocked. If the Gryphon did not find some way to escape his fate, without the aid of Darkhorse, apparently, it was all too possible that the deadly raider would do just that.

XIV

“Rise, Cabe Bedlam.”

The voice sounded familiar, yet it also did not. Cabe, his body responding as if it had long ago given way to rigor mortis, managed to rise to a sitting position. He found himself staring at the blurred images of one countenance, a countenance that every facet of every reflective crystal repeated. It was the face of a man much like the one the warlock had seen in the visions, but despite the blurriness, he could see that this one was a younger, varied copy. A son, perhaps. Until the detail became much more focused, he could guess no more.

“You are resilient, warlock.”

He turned to the source of the voice and only then discovered that it was not the images that were blurred, but rather his own vision. Not really a shock, considering what had happened.

Dragon Kings will be the death of me yet . . . even when they are not purposely trying to achieve that result.

“Your-Your Majesty?” He blinked several times, but to no discernible effect.

“Wait a moment. Your vision should clear. You were not, fortunately for you, struck in the eyes. I did what I could for you otherwise.”

What did that mean? Cabe started to reach up with his left hand and was wracked by dagger strikes of pain. He quickly lowered the arm and clutched it with his other hand, which thankfully did not hurt. “What-what happened?”

“You deflected most of the fragments, but a few stronger ones broke through your shields. Only a few pierced you; it was the force of the explosion, which I fought to contain, that left you unconscious.”

“The fragments. The sphere. One of the pieces struck me in the arm?”

He knew it was the Crystal Dragon who spoke to him, but still the voice sounded so different from anything he had heard before. What new change had the explosion wrought upon the Dragon King’s personality? “It did not strike your arm. It pierced it, warlock. The wound goes completely through your upper arm. I did what I could, but it will not heal for me. It may never heal, you understand, not completely.”

Never heal. Much the way King Melicard’s face and arm had never healed after the burst of magic that had maimed him. Cabe was aware that his own wound did not even approach the severity of Melicard’s, but he could not help but be more upset by it.

“There are also small scars on your neck. You were very fortunate, warlock. Your skills are impressive.”

Skills? More like pure luck! Cabe pulled his robe askew so that he could study the wound. A jagged, green scar surrounded by red, swollen skin marked the fragment’s passage. With great trepidation, he touched it. The soft touch was still enough to make him grunt in intense pain. Bracing himself, the wounded mage touched the back of the same arm. Again, the pain struck him.

Never heal?

He was still staring at the wound when the Crystal Dragon spoke again. “We are both fortunate, Cabe Bedlam. When the sphere was shattered, the doorway to Nimth was closed, not opened. That was how the device was designed, but there was no true way of testing it except by an occurrence much like this explosion.”

Cabe looked up. His vision had cleared enough so that he could now clearly see the Crystal Dragon. The drake lord looked unmarred, but that did not mean he had not been wounded. More important now was his state of mind. He seemed sane enough . . .

“What happened?”

“I underestimated the wolf raider leader. I underestimated so much. He has wrested control of the mist from me. Before long, he will understand something of how to utilize it. Things go from bad to worse.” The glittering leviathan closed his eyes.

The warlock’s gaze darted back and forth between the massive dragon and the face that stared at him from all directions, but his attention remained on the subject at hand. “What will you do now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I must do nothing!” The Dragon King’s long, narrowed eyes opened again . . . and was this the first time that Cabe had noticed how crystalline they appeared? They were almost like the insane orbs of Plool. “I dare not! I will not lose myself!”

Cabe’s gaze again drifted to the multiplied countenance covering the walls. This time, however, he studied them closer. Not lose myself, the leviathan had just said. Did that mean what Cabe thought it did?

“Who are you?”

The Crystal Dragon settled back. He seemed almost to welcome the strange question. The huge head turned and indicated the faces. “Once . . . I was him.”

Him. The faces in the visions. The eyes of Plool. The obsession with the foulness of Nimth. It all began to make sense to the warlock.

“You’re a Vraad.” He found he was really not that astonished by the revelation. So much had pointed to it. Yet, if the knowledge that the Crystal Dragon had once worn a human form was not shocking, then the fact that he still lived was. How long had it been since the coming of the Dragon Kings?

“How did it happen? When?”

The dragon’s laugh was harsh and humorless. “By the banner, I no longer even know, warlock! Centuries, yes. Millennia, yes. How many it has been I have forgotten! I have watched generations come and go, live and die! I have seen the rise of the Dragon Kings and I have watched their pitiful decline! The others passed on, but I lived! Ha! Lived? I am fortunate that I have not gone insane!”

The last word echoed throughout the chamber. Cabe stood, careful to avoid stress to his arm. He had to hear. “Tell me.”

“Tell you?” The Crystal Dragon contemplated that. His expression was weary. “Tell you of Logan of the Tezerenee? The dutiful son, one of many sons, to Lord Barakas Tezerenee, he was. Not like Gerrod or Rendel or Lochivan, he was. Logan obeyed blindly as was proper. When the Vraad fled Nimth, he was there to aid his father. When Barakas claimed this land under the dragon banner, Logan was there to enforce that claim.”

Cabe Bedlam listened transfixed as the history of the first Dragon Kings began to unfold before him. The wound was all but forgotten as the time-worn leviathan spoke of the fatal error that had led to his present existence.

“It was the bodies, the bodies his father and Master Zeree and his brothers Gerrod and Rendel had created,