Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade (10 page)

The land, the Dragonrealm and likely all realms beyond its shores, did indeed
live
.

“I tried to make you understand, Father . . . ,” he could not help
muttering to one of the greatest ghosts in his past. Then, recalling himself, Shade turned on the Dragon King. “What do you seek from me? What do you want from all this?”

“I thought I wasss clear,” the scaled figure replied, the hint of sibilance belying his confident aspect. “The same as you. The land is alive and the land hasss a purpossse. We—all of usss, every sssingle living creature—are pawnsss played to sssee to the culmination of that purpossse . . .”

If he expected another look of shock from Shade’s recently resurrected face, the Crystal Dragon was surely disappointed. The hooded sorcerer’s brief nod was the only initial response. The drake lord finally dismissed the images, secretly a welcome relief to his guest.

“The tower is but a legend, and one scarcely known even to those wielding magic,” Shade at last remarked. “Certainly, I search for the tower, just as I search for any other thing, however obscure, that might end my curse.”

The Dragon King said nothing, but Shade sensed that the drake lord did not believe him. Before the sorcerer could remark further, his reptilian host stretched forth a clawed hand.

The facets of the wall glittered and something new took shape in them. At first, it stood as tall as the ceiling and stretched as wide as the chamber, but then it rapidly shrank, becoming a form perhaps a foot tall and more than twice that wide.

Shade took a step toward it, unwilling to believe what he saw.

It was a statuette, a bird made of gold and some other unidentifiable metals of silver and green hues. The sorcerer moved to the wall and reached a hand to it even though it was only a vision and not the true thing.

But then Shade found himself in another gleaming chamber, the statuette now floating before him. A crystalline sphere surrounded it. This time, however, Shade was wise enough not to reach for the artifact.

He sensed the ancient power still radiating within the statuette. The spellcaster also noted telling details. He saw the stylized flames rising up around the magnificent avian, which itself bore a fiery crest and cried to
the sky through a long, sharp beak. He read the fearsome intelligence in those watchful eyes.

It was a statuette of a phoenix, and unlike with the artifact in Irillian, Shade knew this to be no fake.

The Dragon King once more stood beside him, even though there had been no sound of movement. Once again, he spoke carefully, without sibilance. “Found in the Northern Wastes after the death of the Ice Dragon.”

“‘Found’?” Even with the death of its macabre master, the Northern Wastes was not somewhere even the hardiest of creatures willingly traversed. Its tempests rivaled those of the Storm Dragon himself and had the added touch of biting cold.

“Found.” The tone indicated that there would be no more explanation in regard to that subject.

Already angry at his reaction to the revelation of the statuette, Shade commented, “This could be anything. A simple piece of art, designed only to please the eye.”

The Dragon King hissed. The crystalline barrier surrounding the statuette fractured and the pieces flew from the phoenix. However, they did not fall to the floor but rather hovered around the artifact several inches away.

The phoenix moved, but what initially appeared to be life stirring proved merely to be the statuette turning so that the back was displayed to the onlookers.

And amidst the plumage there, a series of arcing symbols crossed diagonally from the upper right to the lower left.

It was the script of a race dead long before the Dragon Kings, long before the Seekers, the Quel, and any other known race.

It was the script of a people known only to the few versed in the truths of history as the “founding race.” Even Shade, who had made them the study of a thousand lifetimes and more, had never discovered any evidence as to what they had called themselves. Of course, there was one great impediment, as he knew all too well as he studied the script.

“Have you been able to translate it?”

There was a telling moment of silence, then, “The meaning continuesss to elude me.”

The brief surge of hope that Shade had experienced upon seeing the markings faded. The hooded sorcerer glared. “Then you offer nothing new and no reason for me to remain here.”

He braced himself for whatever attack the Dragon King might attempt, but the drake lord merely shook his head. That, in some ways, disturbed Shade more than a spell against him would have.

“I have been unable to discover the meaning, but I would not show thisss to you if it did not supply sssome clue.” The Dragon King pointed at the statuette. “Look closely, sssee it as well as try to comprehend it.”

Despite being unable to understand what his reptilian host might mean, Shade obeyed. He eyed the script, wondering if the Crystal Dragon was merely seeking to make a fool of him.

But then something stirred among the curved markings. They twisted and turned as if a living thing. Shade nearly looked to the Dragon King but then recalled himself.

Images abruptly flashed before his eyes, somehow mingling with the markings. The sorcerer blinked, then leaned closer. He now saw that the images were associated with certain markings.

A mountain flashed in and out of existence around a symbol that resembled a serpent winding to the west. What looked like a candle drifted through a sign that looked like an arch. Some images Shade could not even comprehend.

But two especially caught his attention. One was a vision of another mountain, a tall, savage peak that Shade knew well. The second was a brief glimpse of a blue glow that coalesced into the selfsame bird before him, yet appeared alive.

The images repeated and after viewing them several times, Shade realized that he would learn nothing new. Rubbing his eyes, the sorcerer returned his attention to the Dragon King.

“Thisss was new to you. You have not seen their true writing.”

“I’ve seen the markings, but not these visions.” Shade thought it over, finally marveling at what he had witnessed. “I’ve only seen
half
their writing . . .”

“Yesss . . . the ancients’ full script is both written and magical. Only with both together can there be any chance of deciphering the true meaning.”

Shade unleashed a favored epithet of his unlamented father as it came to him how many of his incarnations had utterly wasted their efforts. None of the artifacts that he had uncovered had retained this particular spellwork and Shade had had no reason to know that.
I’ve been working blind so long!

The Dragon King had “found” this item in the Northern Wastes. For it to be so well preserved, there was no doubt he had done so in the ruined sanctum of the Ice Dragon.

Had the dead Dragon King learned anything from the artifact? Darkhorse had exiled himself and Shade prior to the Ice Dragon’s bid to destroy
everything
and so the spellcaster had only secondary knowledge of the incident, but some of what he had gleaned had hinted that perhaps the insidious power of the chilling drake had been augmented by some other source of magic.

Shade pulled his thoughts together. “I know one of the mountains. Kivan Grath. Lair of your emperor.”

“Indeed. We may not take advantage of that information . . . jussst yet.”

The sorcerer did not bother to ask why. He doubted that the Dragon King would have answered, anyway. “I saw another image, an odd one, that seemed to have some significance—”

“The phoenix,” the Crystal Dragon remarked with an uncaring shrug. “Obviousssly—”

“No . . .” Shade pictured the particular vision again, trying to recall more detail. “No . . . the candle.”

The orbs within the false helm burned stronger, the drake lord no doubt wondering if Shade had lost what sanity he had left. Shade
had some questions concerning that himself but pressed on. “The candle . . . it represents something I came across once before on another artifact centuries ago. The ancients had etched its symbol between two others on a rectangular icon that I believe represented a location.” He grimaced. “But there wasn’t enough magic left in the piece for the other aspect of their writing to show itself.”

“Do you ssstill have access to it?”

Shade laughed harshly. “It was lost—along with myself—when the wizard Naran Bedlam managed to send me hurtling into a maelstrom. To be fair . . . I’d just slain his best friend and set the city of Mora Gar ablaze.”

That it had been another of his darker incarnations did not absolve the current Shade of guilt, especially in his own eyes. Still, at the moment, he dearly wished that his previous self had taken the time to secret the artifact somewhere. Even Shade could not hunt for it at the bottom of the Sea of Andramacus, a place with deep, deep trenches.

“A pity,” the drake lord replied. “A dead end, then . . .”

“No.” Shade thought about the image as he had now seen it. There was an aspect to it that he had never known. “No . . . I recall the symbols with it . . . and with the vision I’ve seen here, some things now make sense . . .”

For the first time, Shade heard actual anticipation in the Crystal Dragon’s tone. “
What
makesss sense? You understand what isss inscribed on thisss statuette?”

“I do not understand
it,
” the hooded sorcerer immediately answered, growing grimmer. “But I do understand that it represents something to do with magic . . .”

“And ssso?”

Shade stared at the artifact but in his mind saw another vision. A place. “And so, since it is a thing of magic . . . it may be that the Libraries of Penacles hold the answer to divining its true meaning.”

THE ARMY OF LOCHIVAR
spread out as the border neared. Under the dark helms, the fanatic eyes of the human warriors burned with eagerness to be unleashed upon their neighbor. Yet, not one attempted to push ahead; that meant certain execution. Their master had a plan in motion and they were to play their part at the proper moment, no sooner.

The mist circulated through the ranks as if a thinking creature, swirling around the nostrils and mouths of the fighters and thus making itself easier to inhale. The drake officers riding among the humans glanced here and there at various men, noting their breathing and their stance. The mist seemed to veer from the drakes themselves.

Farther back, other servants of the Black Dragon followed the march to the border of Penacles. Burly trolls represented those with the most in common with the humans. They wielded axes and long blades designed to chop through bone. As it did to the humans, the mist shrouded the trolls like lovers. The same sinister fire burned in the brown-skinned giants’ piggish eyes as the bestial warriors constantly breathed in the fog.

Behind them strode, crawled, or slithered a myriad group of beasts and more, vicious things gathered slowly over the generations by the current lord of Lochivar. Some had intelligence at least as cunning as the
men and trolls, while others were simply weapons of destruction. Drake warriors rode among these, urging them forward with hissed commands and sharp whips.

Duke Ravos reined his riding drake to a halt. The Black Dragon’s heir sat taller than any of the others of his kind and his helm was adorned with a high, intricate crest perfectly resembling the roaring visage of a sly dragon. That visage was Ravos’s true face, one that even displayed so could make many look away in unease.

The riding drake hissed. Ravos silenced the animal, then gazed to his left. Despite the fact that nothing was visible, the duke steered his beast in that direction.

The army became shadows slipping behind him as he headed toward a faintly visible copse of skeletal trees. The drake lord’s forked tongue darted out as he approached, the only sign possibly belying his calm demeanor. One mailed hand slowly clenched, ready to unleash whatever power might be necessary.

As the wickedly barbed trees became a little clearer, so, too, did a shape just within the copse. It was tall, though not as tall as Ravos, and although cloaked, it was still clearly feminine.

Your Royal Highness . . . ,
said the voice in his head, its tone both respectful and yet, underneath, hinting of mockery.

“Leave my mind,” growled Ravos. “I warned you of that last time!”

“As you wish,” the silhouette replied in a low, throaty voice. “I merely thought here you might prefer our discussion to be more private.”

Ravos sneered. “The ears of a few soldiers or beasts mean nothing to me, especially when those ears can be easily removed.”

The duke spoke with a crispness and lack of sibilance more remarkable due to his crimson, forked tongue. Ravos was considered a throwback even among his own kind. More of the younger drakes had qualities that, for lack of a better word, were more
human
.

In the duke’s eyes, more human meant weaker.

The shadow coalesced more, becoming the necromancer Kadaria. That she bore great resemblance to something human did not make
her
weaker in Ravos’s eyes. He knew that she was something far more ancient, more versed in the arts, than even the Dragon Kings.

“The bargain is kept,” she stated with a smile that made the three crimson bands on each side of Ravos’s throat pulsate. Those bands were a perfect match for the markings that had once denoted the egg from which he had hatched as containing a potential heir. All other drake eggs were unmarked and eggs such as Ravos’s were rare and prized. Even more rare was that he also bore those markings, for most hatchlings did not.

It was just one of several reasons the drake felt certain that destiny was on his side.

His fist loosened as he digested the good news. “The last obstruction is removed, then. The fools are in place.”

“And the secrets of the libraries will soon be open to us. Assuming all goes well for you.”

“Have no fear of that,” Ravos hissed. “Penacles shall again have a drake for a ruler and the lionbird’s head will decorate a pole.” He gestured at the misty landscape. “Upon my signal, my sire will allow the vapors to spread beyond Lochivar as they have never before.”