Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol IV is a Webnovel created by Richard A. Knaak.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
This is a dragon? Wellen was both befuddled and bemused. He felt more at ease. However great and ferocious a leviathan this drake lord was, he had interests so very much akin to the scholar’s that it almost might have been enjoyable to forget all else and just compare findings.
Benton Lore, perhaps used to this type of behavior, cleared his throat. Green blinked, looked the black man’s way, then nodded. “Perhaps later.” A puff of smoke escaped the flaring nostrils. “Tell me now, Master Wellen Bedlam, of the gnome, his citadel, and your part in this.”
Wellen did, omitting nothing. It might have been an elaborate ploy, but he was tempted to trust the Dragon King more than he had most other beings he had met since the ma.s.sacre. That the great beast shared his interests in the far past had much to do with it, but Wellen tried not to think that such a reason alone had swayed him. It was also that he sensed almost no danger at all from the emerald monarch. Considering the premonitions he had felt, prior to this during various other encounters, a dragon who was little or no threat was something quite easily noticed.
As he spoke, Wellen grew more and more relaxed. He felt again in charge of himself. True, his future was still in the talons of the Dragon King, but the interest with which everyone listened to what he had to say was near enough to make him feel it was so. By the time he was through, Wellen was feeling more like his old self than he had since he had made the terrible mistake of boarding the Heron’s Wing back home.
The Dragonrealm is my home now, such as it is, he reminded himself. I have to make it a place I can live or else I’m lost! There was no doubt in his mind that the remainder of the expedition had either lifted anchor and headed east or had been decimated by one threat or another, most likely by the clans of the Dragon King Purple.
When the scholar was finished, Green addressed Shade again. “And you?”
“I find his account as accurate as any I could give. There is nothing I can add, save that I believe this was the gnome’s masterful work. Master Bedlam merely fell prey to his somewhat peculiar sense of humor. The gnome has simply come up with a new way to confound us all.”
“It would sssseem strange if he did not. My predecessor was of the belief that the gnome finds this all some ssssort of game. I am inclined to believe that. He acts too precisely, introduces us to his tricks at too perfect a moment, to be doing this haphazardly.”
“He was the greatest of his kind,” Shade remarked somewhat distantly. For a breath or two, Wellen feared that the warlock’s mind was slipping away. The ancient warlock visibly pulled himself together and retreated in the security of his enveloping cloak.
“I must consider all you have told me,” the Dragon King declared. “I must also consider what to do about your predicament, Master Shade. It issss humorous that you have been laid low by so untrained a warlock, though.”
“It is only my ability to teleport anything to anywhere. My talents for all else are still exceptional.”
“I will do what I can for you. I think there is something in one of the tomes I have gathered. This will require much more than simple blink-of-an-eye sorcery.” The reptilian monarch raised his head and summoned Commander Lore. “Thesssse three will be my guestssss . . . guests! You will guide Master Shade and the dam to appropriate quarters. Master Bedlam, however, issss to remain with me.”
“Wellen!” Xabene refused to budge from his side, seeing in him her only ally. Both of them knew that Lore and the others were fully aware of who her masters had been.
“I a.s.sure you, Mistress Xabene, you are in no danger whatsoever.” Benton Lore smiled at her discomfort. “We will treat you as you deserve.”
Now it was Wellen who did not trust the commander. He stood ready to fight the soldier, if necessary, even though Lore outweighed him by a good sixty pounds or so, and all of it well-honed muscle.
“Rest easy, Master Wellen Bedlam.” The Dragon King tried to look pleasant, not something he had been born to achieve. Instead, the leviathan looked hungry. “Your female will be treated as an honored guest.” He eyed the enchantress. “Sssso long a.s.sss she recallssss who issss ssssovereign of thissss realm!”
Bowing to the inevitable, the sultry enchantress took a moment to urgently whisper in Wellen’s ear. “See me when you can!”
Taking her arm, Benton Lore led Xabene away. Shade followed behind them. Most of the officer’s men formed a very secure “honor guard” around the visitors. The hint was not lost. Xabene went meekly.
When they were alone, save for a few solitary human guards who could only be there for show’s sake, the ma.s.sive head tilted down toward Wellen. “Tell me about your life, human.”
More relaxed then before, Bedlam gave him a brief discourse, skipping quickly through his young years, save when his interest in the legends had first arisen, and then concentrating on his time spent in research and studying. He told of his dream, of the actual voyage, the storms, and the pleasure of the expedition when it had at last sighted land. With bitterness, he told of the ill-fated column and its fate.
That part of the tale made the Dragon King hiss in anger. Although Wellen had never met the Green Dragon’s counterpart, he felt certain that they were as far apart as could be. What were the others like?
He finished with the attack by the ghoulish, batlike terrors. The drake lord’s eyes widened as he spoke of the monsters and the ferocity with which they had slaughtered the avians. It was clear even before he was very far into the tale that the leviathan knew of the creatures.
“The infernal onessss who think themselves G.o.dssss sent thosssse monstrossssities after you! The creaturessss are not natural beings! The Necri are like golems of flesh! They only exist because of the foul necromancy of the Lords of the Dead!” The Dragon King hesitated, then, in a calmer voice added, “You know that your female followed their path of decay. I could smell their tainted touch upon her.”
“I know she did. She does not any longer.”
“That is ssssomething time will tell.”
“Meaning?” Was there something Wellen did not know about Xabene that the drake lord did?
“Meaning many things or nothing at all. Htnmmph! I sound like Shade now! I will not detain you much longer, human. You are in need of sustenance and rest. Besides, there are things I must do myself.”
“I haven’t minded.”
The head c.o.c.ked to one side. “I am not what you expected, am I?”
Wellen had no trouble with the truth. “You are what I hoped for, Your Majesty. What I expected . . . I perhaps discovered all too much of.”
“Well said! I find, as the dark one has probably told you, that I have an affinity for your short-lived kind. More so than any of my brethren.”
“Are they all so . . . so different from each other, your . . . brothers?”
That brought a laugh. “They are . . . and we are not actual brothers, if that is what confuses you. We call one another brethren because we are equals, just as the ancient covenant of the first of our forebears declared. Equal, save that the Emperor has final say on all things.” At the sight of the confusion spreading over the scholar’s visage, the Dragon King shook his head. “Never mind our ways for now, human. Just know that most will tolerate your kind, you being so adaptable to our needs, but only a few actually care. I have worked so that my successor . . . the eldest of my own get . . . will likewise care.”
“If I may ask, why?”
The dragon grew serious. “Because one before me foresaw a time when it might be humans who control the destiny of the realm . . . and I would have our races live together rather than watch my kind fade away as sssso many racesss did before ussss. So I will impress upon my get and so he who follows me will impress upon his.”
Benton Lore rejoined them. Instead of armor, he wore an elegant, forest-green tunic that ended in a kilt much like that once worn by Prentiss Asaalk. A short sword hung at his side and a cape similar to the one he had worn earlier covered his shoulders and back. “Your Majesty needed me? I thought I felt your summons.”
“I did, my loyal sssservant. It is time that Master Wellen Bedlam wa.s.sss returned to hissss companions.” The drake lord’s sibilance seemed to grow more p.r.o.nounced every time he became distracted or emotional, Wellen thought. If not for that, it would have actually been possible for the scholar to forget that he talked to a gigantic, winged beast.
“We will talk again, human. The matter of the gnome and Brother Purple is a priority and we can certainly not forget about the most irritating Lords of the Dead! They have surely not played their last hand!”
There was no gesture of dismissal, but Commander Lore suddenly bowed, indicating with his hand that Wellen should follow suit. When the weary explorer had, Lore turned to him and said, “If you will come with me, sirrah, there are fine quarters awaiting.” His voice dropping to a whisper and his face breaking into a smile, the dark-skinned warrior added, “You will also find a volatile but glorious visitor waiting there, too. She has refused to leave until she has seen you again.”
Certain that Xabene’s concern was more for herself than for him, Wellen did not respond to the latter statements. Instead, he turned back to the Dragon King, who watched them with veiled amus.e.m.e.nt, and said, “Your Majesty, I look forward to our next discussion.”
“As do I,” the reptilian monarch rumbled.
With Lore leading, the two humans departed the cavern of the Green Dragon.
Xabene fairly flung herself on him when he entered his new quarters. Benton Lore stayed only long enough to give fl.u.s.tered Wellen a look of barely concealed mirth, then departed.
As soon as he was gone, the enchantress released her hold. She looked at the scholar with a calculating expression. “What did you talk about with the monster?”
“We talked of many things,” Bedlam replied, a bit disgusted with her behavior. “I told him about myself. We discussed this land a bit.”
“All nicely civil, I suppose.”
His anger stirred. “As a matter of fact, it was. More civil than this conversation, in fact.”
She looked chastised, but he knew better by now. “I was worried about you, you know.”
“Because I might be all that stands between you and the Green Dragon,” he retorted. Wellen studied the room. It had been purposely carved out of the wall, as much of the cavern system had. He wondered whether the drakes or an earlier race was responsible. The chamber was actually rather roomy, almost as much so as the one in Xabene’s tree. Emerald and blue drapery covering most of the walls nearly gave the place the illusion of being other than a cave. Cavern plant life, mostly mosses or fungi of a sort, added to the decor. Someone with an eye had sculpted them into astonishing shapes and patterns, further enhancing the wonderland appearance of Wellen’s quarters.
Almost mundane by comparison were the desk and bed, despite the fact that an artisan had obviously carved the wooden parts. Wine of some sort sat waiting on a table next to the bed. A rich, bright green carpet, which turned out to be gra.s.s when the intrigued scholar inspected it closer, covered all but the entranceway of the chamber.
Xabene had remained silent and brooding after his comment. When she saw that he had run out of things to inspect, however, she reinstigated the conversation.
“We’re no safer here than we were in the field, you know.” “I am; you might not be.”
“Wellen.” The seductress was back. “I would never harm you.”
“I know.” He said it with such conviction that she stepped back to stare at him.
“You do know!” she blurted. “I can see it in your face! But . ..”
How could he know when she herself did not? Wellen knew too little about his ability to answer that question. He also knew too much about Xabene. She was not the sort of person who liked being predictable to others.
Best, he thought, to turn to another, albeit sensitive, subject than this one. “What do you think the Lords of the Dead will do?”
She was wary. “Do you think I know?”
“No, but you’re far more familiar with them than I am. I hoped you might be able to guess.”
His response was acceptable to her. “I don’t know! If what that walking corpse of yours says is true, they will not tolerate his presence! Lords! He looked more like one of their servants than I ever did! How old do you think he is?”
“As old as they are and don’t try to turn from the question I asked, Xabene. Please.”
The enchantress was genuinely worried. Whenever the subject of her former masters arose, Wellen caught a glimpse of the hidden Xabene. How the offer of power must have appealed to her! She must have been so afraid before that! Someday, he would ask her about her early past.
Someday? That was a.s.suming that they were still together and, more important, had survived this chaos.
“I think . . . I think they will strike after we leave here. They must know where we are; that would require the least of their power. Maybe they’ll wait until we’ve left the safety of the Dagora Forest.”
“But they will strike?”
The look on her otherwise beautiful face told him all he needed to know, but the sorceress added, “Oh, they will. When they do, we’ll be lucky if any of us survive!” Her hands shook. She clasped them together. “I won’t talk of them any more. Talking draws their attention.” The wine attracted her. “If you can withstand my presence a little longer, Wellen, I think I need some of that.”
Xabene sat down on the bed and waited in silence while he poured wine for both of them. He handed a goblet to her, and sat down beside. The sorceress sipped the clear, golden elixir.
When he saw that she had calmed somewhat, Wellen dared ask, “How did you come to be one of their servants?”
She looked at first as if he had taken his knife and cut her throat. Then, the look faded into an expression of resignation. “You want some tragic tale, don’t you, Wellen Bedlam? You want to hear how I turned to them in desperation? How they were my last chance? Not at all! I was a minor witch, someone destined to life in a small village where I would do little things for little people but be shunned otherwise! I turned to the Lords of the Dead because I saw that my life would be a wasted nothing, that I’d grow old, live uselessly, and die to be buried and forgotten! Forgotten like so many before me and so many after me.”
“Xabene-“
“They gave me power to do what I wanted! I could go anywhere and look down upon those who would have looked down on me! I was power!” She turned away from him, swallowed a large portion of wine, and finished, “So much for your idealistic imagination! Not what you thought, was it?”
Rising, the bitter enchantress tossed the goblet to the floor. The remainder of her wine slowly sank into the gra.s.sy surface.
“If you’ll excuse me, Wellen Bedlam, I think it’s time I rested. I’d like to leave in the morn if you can persuade our host to let me. There doesn’t seem to be much need for me here . . . and I think I’d only attract more trouble, isn’t that so?”
He could not respond, still overwhelmed as he was by her initial outburst. Xabene seemed ready to take the slightest thing as a provocation. His question perhaps had pushed too much at something she no longer cared to recall, but he had done it with their safety in mind. It was his own attempt in trying to understand the ivory-skinned enchantress.
Xabene stared at him for several seconds, waiting for what he could not say. Then, frustrated, the proud G.o.ddess stalked out of the chamber.
The exhausted scholar fell back on the bed, all too aware that he had missed something that he should not have. Under better circ.u.mstances, it would likely have been very obvious. Now, though, his mind churned so much that Wellen found it a wonder that he had been able to keep as much straight as he had.
He fell asleep still trying to make sense of it all.
In her own chamber, nearly identical to Wellen’s, Xabene fell onto her bed and tried to bury her turmoil in one of the pillows. What she felt was unfamiliar to her and, because of that, frightening. The enchantress also hated losing control, a thing that had not happened since before her pact with the Lords of the Dead.
Some of what she had shown the outsider Wellen Bedlam had been playacting. It was so much a part of her nature now that she found she could not avoid using that ability, even when events might have warranted otherwise. He, especially, encouraged her playacting, although he did not know that. There was something about him that made her afraid to reveal too much of herself, yet desire to.
He would be gone after this was over, one way or another. They might die, but, if they were fortunate enough to escape with their lives, he would find his way back to his home. Why would he desire to remain in a land that had tried to kill him almost before he had even set foot upon its sh.o.r.es?
The thought that he would leave tore at her. The enchantress grimaced, recognizing the unfamiliar feeling. Not me! It could never happen to me! I’m stronger. It would serve me no purpose to care for him! It would make no sense!
Part of her mind argued that those she had seen under that selfsame spell never cared about whether it made sense. They just succ.u.mbed.
“Not with him,” she muttered. Certainly not so swiftly, either!
Xabene closed her eyes and began to drift away from the true world, never actually falling asleep but sinking into a state where she sensed things around her but only from a great distance. It was a pleasant sensation, for her fears and anxieties became tiny, insignificant creatures of no concern to her. Once more she was the powerful enchantress. Men fell prey to her form while her spells wreaked havoc with their plots.
All except one man.
He can be yours . . . if that is your desire . . .
Her dreams took on a different twist. A horribly familiar darkness slowly crept through her mind.
You are deserving of a second chance . . .
Xabene’s nose twitched as she relived the memory of a chamber filled with the smell of sulfur and decay. She saw the mult.i.tude of scavengers crawl over and through things that had been rotting since, it seemed, time itself began. A pool lay before her, one covered with a thick layer of fetid slime. The pool bubbled, as if something lurked beneath it.
Let your power be yours again . . . all that is asked is this one . . .
A distorted, monstrous image of Shade loomed over her dream self. He laughed at her insignificance, his crystalline eyes gleaming. She would not be sorry when Wellen and she parted company from the mad warlock.
Your power . . . and the man . . . yours . . . for so small a price . . . What was the price? Her brow wrinkled as she struggled to understand. What price?
A doorway formed in her thoughts. Not anything that she had ever imagined. The rest of the scene around her, the pool and Shade, faded as the doorway strengthened. There was no actual door, but the sorceress knew somehow that something still barred whatever waited on the other side. Some sort of barrier.
The power to be respected . . . more power than ever before . . . to make yourself feared by those who would otherwise make you fear them . . .
It was tempting . . . and the power would also give her back the self-control that she had been losing.
Open the door . . . that is all that must be done . . .
Open it? How? Her image reached out and touched the darkness in the center. There was nothing before her, yet her hand would not go through.
The barrier exists only in you . . . but you are also the key . . . The barrier and the key. To power. She wanted that power. Slowly, her image pushed at the invisible barrier. This time, it began to give where her hand was. Xabene knew that she did not have to destroy the entire barrier. All she had to do was make a hole . . . then the Lords of the Dead could act.
So close to attaining her desires. The barrier struggled, but it was already straining to her limits. She had no qualms about betraying Shade. In her eyes, he was deadly, a mad creature that would bring only death to her and Wellen and then depart, laughing at their foolishness in believing in him.
The barrier gave. One finger burst through its membrane. She felt a tug on the other side, as if they were trying to help pull her completely through. Only a little more . . .