Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

That’s all? What about all this?

The Dragon King’s voice began to fade away. We will ssspeak again when you have reached the ssstallion . . .

“Come back here!” the lionbird squawked. It was no use; the link the Crystal Dragon had created was no more.

The drake lord had spoken of Cabe playing a part. He feared for the human, knowing from the past how Dragon Kings toyed with their “lessers.” Still, the Crystal Dragon had helped save the land from his bone-numbing counterpart.

Whatever the case, the Gryphon had lost Cabe and pandemonium now reigned supreme over the wolf raider encampment. Freeing Darkhorse was the only path left to him. Cabe might even be there, despite the Crystal Dragon’s hints.

He knew that he would have chosen to rescue the eternal, regardless of what else happened. Not only did he owe the shadow steed much, but, astonishing as it was to sometimes believe, Darkhorse was a friend. A loyal friend. The Gryphon could not have left him behind any more than he would have left behind Cabe or his own wife.

The Gryphon began wending his way toward the area where Darkhorse was supposedly being held. In each hand he carried a blade retrieved from the corpses of mangled Aramites. The path was not an easy one. Not only was the spell cast by the warlock no longer protecting him, but a pitched battle had spread across the entire camp. The Aramites were fighting back against the Quel with lances and arrows. There were even explosions on occasion. Oddest of all the things that he heard was a series of high-pitched notes being blown on battle horns. He did not understand what purpose that served until he spotted soldiers with battle horns working in conjunction with a row of lancers. The lancers would try to pen in two or three Quel. All the while, the hornmen would take turns playing as sharp and long a note as they could. To the Gryphon’s shock, Quel within a certain range nearly fell to their knees as they tried to block the noise out. Weaponless and in aural agony, the subterraneans were easy prey for the lancers.

You see all possible things in war. The Aramites were holding their own, but it was a bloody fight. The lionbird felt no sympathy for either side as he wended his way through torn tents and twisted corpses of both human and Quel persuasion. He wondered if Lord D’Farany or the treacherous little D’Marr was among the dead. Likely not. Evil like those two seems to live on until the very last. If they escaped, he would have to hunt them down even if it meant scouring the Dragonrealm for them. Such men had a way of attracting new followers to replace those they lost. Even without an army, the keeper and his aide were dangerous to everyone.

The fighting, it soon turned out, worked in his favor. The wolf raiders and the Quel were too occupied with each other and the growing quake to pay him much mind. He was forced to do battle more than once, but none of his adversaries was equal to his skill, not even the second Quel he confronted. The latter he caught while the underdweller was still rising from the earth. It cost him one of his swords, the tip of the blade having become lodged between the natural plates in the creature’s armor, but he left the dead Quel on his back, half of the immense body still below the surface.

Then at last he came upon Darkhorse.

The black stallion struggled weakly against the harness that kept him in check, but his efforts were next to nothing. The Gryphon studied the area and saw no guards, which was as he had hoped it would be. Why, after all, guard something that was helpless while monsters from the depths of the earth were invading the camp? Nonetheless, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings as he completed the last bit of the trek. One could not be too careful.

Darkhorse looked up. “Lord . . . Gryphon. Good . . . to see you about. Where is Cabe?”

“He is safe.” What could he tell the shadow steed? That the warlock was supposedly a pawn of the Crystal Dragon? Speaking of the same, where are you, Dragon King? The lionbird would definitely need assistance with the harness. He could sense that its spell was far more complex than the ones he had seen before.

There was still no response from the Crystal Dragon. The Gryphon tried again, but still without success. All the while he tried also to follow the pattern of the spell that worked the harness.

“Can you not free me?”

“I should be able to, but it is going to take longer than I had hoped. I was supposed to have help.”

Darkhorse did not pretend to comprehend the last statement, but he dipped his head in understanding to the first part. “I will do what I can, Lord Gryphon, from within. Perhaps with the two of us striking at it . . . at it, we shall have an easier time.”

“I hope so.” The Gryphon stumbled. It was becoming more and more troublesome to maintain his footing.

The shadow steed’s eyes closed and his head slumped. Had not Darkhorse given him some warning, the lionbird would have been dismayed. Darkhorse had entered what was the equivalent of a light trance in the hope that he might be able to assist in his own release. Working with renewed confidence, the inhuman mage began retracing the lines of the spell. Somewhere he had missed the beginning thread. Somewhere . . .

He had it! The Gryphon used his magical senses to follow the thread. He saw how it wound around the collar of the harness and split off, but the new threads did not go to the bonds around Darkhorse’s legs. Rather, they returned to the beginning. He probed a bit further and found where they reconnected. The secret of the spell started to unravel before his eyes.

Then, a thousand needles turned his nerves to jelly.

The pain was almost enough to make him black out, but the Gryphon had fought against pain in the past. He fell to his knees, then would allow himself to fall no farther.

From behind him, the lionbird finally heard the sound of boots on rock. This time, he was able to roll away before the weapon could strike him in the back. The roll became a crouch, albeit an unsteady one. Only then did the Gryphon realize that his sword was not with him. It now lay at the feet of his attacker, who he had not heard because of his intense study of the harness.

I am getting old, he thought. But it looks as if I may not be getting much older!

“I knew I’d find you around here. Even in the midst of all this chaos and danger, you’d come to aid a friend. How sweet.”

Orril D’Marr drew circles in the air with his magical scepter, circles or perhaps bull’s-eyes, for the design centered around the Gryphon’s chest.

“You can’t leave now. Time to finish things, birdman. Time to die. After all, your son is waiting for you.”

XVII

Cabe recalled being thrown aside when the Quel had burst from the ground. What he could not recall were the several seconds after that. Cabe only knew that he opened his eyes to the sight of a squalid whiteness. It took him several seconds more to discover that he had become entangled in a tent. The befuddled mage fought his way out of the canvas, then hurriedly looked all around him to see if he was in immediate danger.

He was not. The battle had been carried away from where he was. The Quel who had surprised the duo was nowhere in sight.

Neither was the Gryphon.

Cabe began to suspect that he had been unconscious for more than a minute. He reached back behind his head, which proved to be a painful mistake, for the warlock made use of his injured arm. That led to another few seconds while he struggled to fight the new agony.

I can do nothing about the arm, but I have dealt with your head injury.

“Wha-?” Cabe started, then clamped his mouth shut. Why did you do it?