be of any value to-”
From the darkness rose the head of the lord of Legar. An inhuman rage controlled his draconian visage. Narrowed eyes with only a hint of crystal in them glared at the presumptuous little figure. “Caaan you not undersssstand? I want nothing from you, huuuman! I want only ressst! Privacy and ressst! Why did you persssissst in coming here?”
“Because of Logan Tezerenee.”
His words doused, for a time, the flames of anger. The Crystal Dragon recoiled into himself, looking much, much smaller. “I know the name . . . myyyy name . . . it isss me . . .”
“Logan,” the warlock dared use the name. “Your kingdom is in chaos and you risked yourself in the end. By no means will I forget that it was all in your own self-interest, but what you did affected the rest of the Dragonrealm, too. Your subjects will need help in rebuilding Legar. There are prisoners and wounded from the wolf raiders who might be best turned over to other humans. Perhaps my friends and allies will be willing to aid you. Instead of the wreckage you now rule, there might even be a chance of turning the peninsula into a land of life. They could meet with you and perhaps-”
Cabe could not believe what he was hearing: “You’re wrong! Listen to yourself-”
With but a terrible glance, the glittering leviathan silenced him. “Your aid wassss mosssst appreciated, Massster Bedlam, but you will leave now! My ssssubjectssss will ssssee to your needsss all the way to Esssedi! Now go! I mussst ssssleep!”
“Logan-”
Cabe teleported away before the Dragon King did something either of them would regret.
He found the Gryphon and Darkhorse waiting for him, the latter, to the warlock’s surprise, once more in his favorite form. A short distance from them, their reptilian escort waited in growing anxiety.
“What happened?” asked the Gryphon, lying atop the shadow steed. Darkhorse, the warlock would discover later, had not trusted the drakes. His obsession with Shade was at an end; now his greatest concern was for his living friends, including the Gryphon. Drawing upon his incredible will, he had not only succeeded in re-forming, but then had shaped himself so that the lionbird could rest comfortably on his backside. It was a peculiar sight, but one so welcome because of that peculiarity. Almost the mage was able to forget his meeting with the Crystal Dragon.
“We should leave. We may have just outstayed our welcome.”
“What happened?”
Cabe shook his head. “I can’t be sure . . . not yet.”
The others did not understand, but that was probably for the best because even Cabe was not certain that he understood. He only understood that more than ever the line between Logan Tezerenee and the Crystal Dragon had become blurred. Which way, if either, the lord of Legar would eventually turn was anyone’s guess. The only thing of certainty was the fact that be he drake or man, the lone inhabitant of that darkened sanctum would not leave that place no matter what happened. It went beyond the precious safeguarding of one man’s mind; the Crystal Dragon had been in seclusion for so long that he could not bear either the thought of leaving his chamber or allowing the world inside.
One of the warriors offered him a beast. Cabe took the proffered riding drake and mounted, hardly paying any attention to what he did. The warlock continued to stare at ruined Legar, picturing in his mind the Dragon King dreaming of the face he had once worn in a world that was forever barred to him . . . by himself.
The drake duke signaled for the party to commence eastward. Cabe allowed everyone to precede him, even Darkhorse and the Gryphon. Only with reluctance did he finally urge the dragon beneath him forward. Legar still haunted him. If not for the Crystal Dragon, even what little remained intact would no longer have existed. Alone, the warlock doubted that he could have succeeded.
The notion was enough to make him ride in brooding silence for the rest of the journey to Esedi . . . and for some time after.
THE DRAGON CROWN
I
The riders began to collect at the outskirts of the great Tyber Mountains. They had not gathered for such a meeting in nearly two decades, and as they joined one another at the narrow pass leading into the midst of the Tybers, it was clear that none would have come even now if necessity had not demanded it.
Clad in immense, flowing traveler’s cloaks that hid both face and form, the riders were a coven of gray specters astride mounts whose glittering eyes warned that they, too, hid secrets. There were no words of acknowledgment or, for that matter, even the simple nod of a head. Some of the band might, at times, have called one another brother, but the appellation was simply a matter of ceremony; there was little love lost among the riders.
When at last they were all gathered, there were those who would have set off for their destination, the sooner to end this unwelcome confrontation. One, however, chose that moment to begin pulling back the hood of his cloak. That led to a hiss from another and a low, painful, rasping reprimand.
“Not herrrre! Never herrrre!”
The one who had erred did not question his elder counterpart. He lowered his hand and nodded.
One of the other riders grunted, then urged his mount toward the path. The rest followed his example. Showing no sign of fatigue, the beasts snorted puffs of smoke and carried their masters swiftly among the mountains. Neither twisting and turning passages nor treacherous ravines slowed the group. Savage winds and slippery trails were obstacles also ignored. Though denizens not of man’s world hid and watched, the riders were in no way hindered. The creatures of the mountains knew who and what the intruders were, and so remained at a respectful distance, many shivering in fear. Some simply fled in open terror as the riders approached.
None of the ghostly riders took notice of the onlookers. Their concern lay only in the vast presence looming above them, a mountain so massive that those surrounding it looked like vassals paying homage to their lord. Those of the band who had never been this close were hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by the peak’s grandeur and the power they could sense radiating from within it.
Kivan Grath. The name was old and without reliable origin, but all here were aware it meant “Seeker of Gods.” No one knew the reason for the title, yet somehow it fit. The riders turned their steeds toward the peak. At this point, there was at last some hesitation from their beasts, but, unforgiving, their hooded masters prodded them on, silencing whatever protests the mounts made. The sooner the band reached its destination and completed the task before it, the sooner the riders could go their separate ways.
At the base of the vast mountain, they came at last upon that which they sought. As one, the band reined their animals to a halt, then dismounted. Their steeds secured, the hooded figures stared at the sight before them until at last one of the lead riders, known to the others for his tempestuous ways, snarled something unintelligible and stalked toward the dark cavern in the mountainside.
Buried in the side of Kivan Grath was a great gate of bronze that might have been as old as the peak itself, so ancient was its appearance. Once it had towered over onlookers, but no more. Now the gate hung awkwardly,
