Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

One thing he pondered about was why his bizarre ally could not work the Quel device himself. Plool refused to enter the chamber, not because he did not want to, no, but because he could not do so without endangering himself somehow. That, at least, was Kanaan D’Rance’s humble opinion, yes. The creature needed D’Rance for that reason alone and that reason alone was why the blue man knew that the advantage was his. He was familiar enough with the magical device to know some of the things he could do with it, enough that he would be prepared when his ally turned on him.

Plool was still an enigma to him in most other ways and D’Rance was willing to admit that he had perhaps been a bit too hasty in joining forces with the ghastly, deformed mage. Yet, when Plool had spoken of the power to be obtained by working together, it had been too enticing. More than enough power, horrid Plool had hinted, to make the dangers negligible.

He was a part of the mist, that much the blue man had gathered despite his ally’s confusing manner of speech. Plool had come from somewhere, drawn to this place at the same time as the fog had been. Plool had originally wanted to go home, but he could not. To open that doorway would require more effort than both he and D’Rance combined could summon. Searching for such power had brought the sorcerer to the camp and the caverns, where he had observed enough to know that somewhere below the surface there was a thing of great potential. Yet, it was a creation of a foreign sorcery. Plool did not understand that sorcery and so had sought out someone who might. Someone who also would have an interest in aiding him. In return, he could show that someone how to manipulate the magic of his world. Then, his part of the bargain kept, he would return to that other place-Nimth, was it?-and leave the spoils to his temporary ally.

The skill and knowledge to control two very different types of magic. The blue man had taken the bait . . . but was careful only to hold the hook, not bite it. From studying the efforts of Lord D’Farany and devising a few secret theories of his own, he was certain that he knew more than enough to ensure that this partnership would end in his favor. D’Rance even suspected he knew almost all he needed to know about Plool’s magic. In his own grand opinion, he certainly knew enough about the Quel’s creation to guarantee that whatever else happened Plool would not be able to betray him.

Still none of the scattered sentries questioned his presence in the passages. Likewise, he crossed the abandoned city of the diggers without any trouble, save that the damnable mist, which somehow remained strong even down here, made walking a matter of stumbling every few yards. At least it was thin enough here that he could see the men just ahead of him. It would not do to walk into one of the guards. Some of them might be tempted to attack first and question afterward.

Each time, the sentries straightened as he passed, strictly because of his position as aide to their leader, D’Rance understood, and did nothing to slow him. He nodded to each man. With luck, this would be the last time he saw their ugly, pink faces.

Then, almost before he realized it, the blue man was at his destination. The entrance to the chamber stood before him. He saw two guards standing there, seemingly oblivious to him. That, D’Rance was certain, would change with a few more steps. He was puzzled, though, that nothing looked different. Where are you, my misshapen friend? Something should have happened by now, yes?

“Enter you may, whenever you like,” a familiar voice whispered from his right. “You may enter whenever you like.”

Although it took all his will, D’Rance neither jumped at the sudden sound nor did he turn in the direction it had originated from. The northerner already knew that there was no one to see. If Plool had been visible, the sentries would have been able to see him from this distance, if only as a strange shadow demanding investigation.

“The sentries are dealt with, yes?”

“Will be bothering you not; you will not be bothered.”

The blue man grimaced. If the Aramites thought his manner of speech was strange, they should listen to this clownish figure.

Standing straighter, Kanaan D’Rance walked toward the two silent guards. Even with the mist, his identity should have become apparent to them, yet they did not move to bar his way. At the very least, they should have been calling out, asking what business he had here alone.

It was only when he stood face-to-face with one of them that he saw that the man looked somehow different. His eyes had a glassy, blank look and his skin was smooth and bright pink, almost as if it had been carved from wood and painted over.

The mouth . . . was it actually cut like-

The sentry suddenly bent over in a comic bow, one arm flopping loosely, and said in a familiar singsong voice, “Enter, O seeker of knowledge!”

D’Rance nearly choked. He stepped back from the horrific monstrosity. The guard straightened again. D’Rance could almost imagine strings holding the dead figure up and making it move.

The lower jaw of the macabre puppet slid down and Plool’s chuckle filled the tunnel.

He cannot enter the chamber! Remember that, yes! A bit more shaken than he would have cared to admit, the would-be sorcerer walked toward the entrance. To the opposite side, the second guard slowly turned his head so that he was staring at the newcomer. D’Rance shivered as the man’s head continued to turn beyond normal limitations. The sentry’s countenance was a monstrous copy of the first man.

What of the guards inside? Had they heard nothing? Had Plool somehow dealt with them, too? How?

There was only one way to find out, of course. He stepped into the chamber.

Gods! What sort of creature had he aligned himself with? The blue man surveyed the carnage with growing horror. He had braced himself for the worst once he had seen what had become of the two guards outside, but it was Plool’s playfulness that daunted him. The two sentries had been twisted into marionettes, puppets. Here, where the madcap monster could not physically go, Plool had chosen a different but still effective manner of mayhem.

As with the sentries outside, each soldier appeared to be standing ready. They would stand ready forever, or until someone had the nerve to remove them, for from head to toe they had been pierced by long, thin needlelike projectiles of metal. So great had been the velocity of the deadly needles that the guards must have barely had time to realize what was happening, for several still held their weapons. Glazed eyes stared ahead, eyes that might have barely acknowledged the flying death before it struck. Strangely enough, there was hardly any blood, which only served to make the scene that much more frightening for it gave the tableau an unreal quality. Recalling what little damage Orril D’Marr’s scepter had done to this place, D’Rance swore under his breath. Plool’s lances had penetrated armor and rock with little effort.

Plool himself might not be able to enter, but his power reached easily enough. D’Rance steadied his nerves. He would have to be on guard.

“Admiration later,” whispered the peculiar voice from behind him. The blue man could feel those terrible, lopsided eyes on his backside.

“You should not have done this, yes? By damaging the walls, you may have ruined everything!”

“It will function; function it will. To your task.”

Avoiding the accusing eyes around him, the blue man made his way to the Quel’s great toy. Here was where he had the malformed spellcaster at a disadvantage, the blue man reminded himself again. Plool might be able to kill a dozen or so men with a single strike, but he dared not use his sorcery on the magical construct. Without the understanding of how it worked, Plool was more likely to destroy it. This was a thing requiring careful, physical manipulation of the patterns and crystals.

Thinking of crystals, D’Rance glanced quickly around the array. The Aramite talisman was still there, ready to be used as his key to unlocking the secrets of sorcery. He had been mildly worried that the Pack Leader might have decided to take it with him when he retired, but D’Farany had apparently assumed it was secure here. Kanaan D’Rance smiled at such egotistical naivete.

As he bent over the platform, the blue man shifted so as to obscure one side of the array from his companion’s sight. There were some adjustments to be made that he did not want Plool to know of. They would be of value when the time of betrayal came.

It took several minutes to organize the crystals to the pattern he wanted. So far, he had not had to summon