Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (115 page)

“Yes, my lord.”

Aurim thought of telling the drakes that they were being manipulated, but he knew that they would never believe him. As the towering warriors surrounded them, the wizard prepared to fight them with his hands. He knew that once they were bound, they would have no hope of escape.

Ssssurak hissed in derision as Aurim prepared his futile stand. Shade, attention fixed on the onyx crystal, paid the spellcaster no mind. He seemed to be searching for something within.

The foremost warrior reached for Aurim. The wizard raised his fist.

And then a voice in Aurim’s head said,
Do nothing.

IX

THEY WERE DEAD
and their deaths verified to Gwen her suspicions. The victor had no sooner triumphed then he, in turn, had been horribly slain. True, it could have been the work of the Storm Lord, but the enchantress was instead certain that Shade had died at the hands of none other than himself.

And moments later, she had had her worst fears verified by her link to Aurim. Gwen had heard everything he had heard, felt every anxiety. They had all been fooled by this other version of the warlock, who clearly had chosen the path of darkness to follow.

Now Aurim and Yssa were prisoners and Gwen, despite the opportunity to catch her breath, hardly had the might to take on the shadowy warlock.

But she had to.

Summoning her strength, she rose. The spell used to protect her from the battle faded away. Gwen steeled herself, then tried to concentrate on her son.

Her legs gave out. She toppled over.

Hands caught her. A voice in her ears whispered, “I have you. Tell your son to do nothing.”

“But—”

“Do nothing, I said . . . if you want him to live.”

She did as she was bade, relaying the short message. When she had done so, the enchantress looked up at her rescuer.

“Now,” said Shade, his murky features possibly smiling slightly. “What would make the Storm Lord so angry that he would wake up?”

THE FEARSOME TEMPEST
spread across the entire continent, drowning the Dragonrealm. It spread west, across the Seas of Andramacus, and east, reaching the former empire of the Aramites.

And all of it was the Storm Dragon, power incarnate, a living god.

Lightning struck a thousand times in a thousand places. The puny mortal creatures inhabiting the lands scurried in fear or knelt down in prayer to him. Even the other Dragon Kings bent their massive heads low, stretched forth their necks . . . all to prove their loyalty.

The world belonged to him and rightly so. His magnificence spread over the heavens. He
was
the world . . .

But something suddenly disturbed his pleasure. It started as a tiny nagging sound in his ears, a buzzing like a fly. Gradually it became a voice, a taunting voice.

The Storm Lord! So distracted by his visions of grandeur, of omnipotence, that he fell prey to a simple spell any apprentice could have cast! I caught him slumbering, dreaming of his perfection . . . and I simply made that dream go on and on and on . . .

What feeble creature dared speak so about he who moved the skies at will? In the blink of an eye, the Storm Dragon searched the world over, but failed to find the blasphemer.

A so-clever god, wouldn’t you say? But too clever for himself, in the end.

Someone mocked him and he could not find the culprit. The Storm Dragon flew into a rage. Hurricanes swept over Irillian by the Sea, inundating the realm of the Blue Dragon. Floodwaters poured into the bowl-shaped region housing the kingdom of Zuu, sweeping away its inhabitants. Lightning ripped into Penacles, City of Knowledge, turning the kingdom of the Gryphon into one huge fire . . .

But all this brought the Dragon King no closer to discovering the heretic.

Determined to find him, the behemoth drew within him his power. Raging tempests all over the Dragonrealm dissipated instantly. The Storm Lord focused all his omnipotent will on the one task; he
would
find the knave.

Oddly, the more he withdrew into himself, the more it seemed that the cause of his fury lay in his own mind. He almost shook off the absurd notion, but again the voice taunted him.

See how he sleeps? A puppet with his own puppet world, playing the game I desire . . .

Fueled yet again by the sacrilegious words, the Dragon King confronted some barrier in his own thoughts. Whoever spoke out against their god thought to shield themselves from his wrath! With a silent roar, the Storm Lord threw his full ferocity at the invisible barrier within—

And woke up.

He no longer hovered over the world, as much a part of the heavens as the clouds or sun. Instead, he lay cramped in the back of one of his personal chambers and the worse part of it was that other, lesser creatures invaded the sanctity of his domain. The Storm Lord had every intention of punishing all of them for their audacity—until he heard again the voice he had already grown to hate.

“You may take them away, now.” It belonged to a tiny, cloth-covered figure that stirred some vague memory. The Dragon King did not bother to delve into that memory, for his entire mind suddenly fixated on the fact that, not only was this the one who mocked him, but now that very same creature pretended to
be
him.

No greater offense could there be in the history of the world.

The Storm Lord let out a roar of outrage—

THE DRAGON KING’S
fury rocked the entire cavern complex, sending bits of the ceiling dropping on those below. Yssa pulled Aurim back as one large piece struck the floor just where the wizard had been standing.

The drakes stumbled away, startled more by the monstrous, unexpected roar than the collapsing ceiling. Ssssurak looked around in open panic—and was the first to see the awakening behemoth.

“M-my lord?” he blurted, looking from the Storm Dragon to Shade and back again.

“Blasphemy!” roared the scaly tyrant, ignoring his confused servants. All that existed for him was the one who had dared the unthinkable. “You will be punished for this sacrilege, mortal!”

The onyx stone crackled with energy. A monstrous wind assailed not only Shade, but everyone near him. Huge drake warriors flew against the walls. Ssssurak clutched at Aurim, but the wind took him before he could grab hold. He struck the rock face with a harsh crack, then tumbled to the ground.

Aurim expected both him and Yssa to be tossed after the drakes, but an emerald shield surrounded them, reducing the Storm Lord’s fury to a slight breeze. He looked in surprise at Yssa, whose face was filled with strain. The wizard realized that, despite the warlock’s spell, her mixed heritage had enabled her to do what Aurim could not.

Despite the Storm Lord’s horrific assault, Shade stood untouched. The warlock’s cloak did not even ruffle in the wind.

Behind Shade, the onyx crystal flared again—and the cavern walls around the dragon melted, pouring over the leviathan like hot lava. It covered him with such swiftness that even the immense creature could not stop it.

A drake warrior who had managed to regain his footing charged the warlock from the side. With an indifferent wave of his left hand, Shade sent a burst of crimson energy toward the attacker that struck the drake full in the chest—and burnt him to ash.

With a roar, the Dragon King shook off the steaming, hardening earth. He opened his mouth and flames scorched the area where Shade stood.

But again, the attack did not even singe the warlock’s garments.

Shade drew from the crystal once more, sending a ring of fiery blades toward his adversary. The Storm Lord countered with a cloudless rain that washed the ring into oblivion.

And each time one of them cast a spell, the crystal flared more intensely.

Aurim eyed the stone. Even without the aid of magic, he could sense how the strain of both combatants actively drawing from it had begun to take a toll. The artifact could not much longer stand such abuse. At some point, the essential structure of the crystal would degrade.

When that happened, nothing would protect any of those still in the cave.

“Can you teleport us?” he asked Yssa.

She shook her head, unable to speak due to the continued effort of protecting them. The flames, the deadly rain . . . each attack spilled over on the pair. Aurim understood that if she tried to cast another spell, it would mean dropping their only defense.

Then a voice filled his head, a voice using the link with his mother—but that was not his mother’s.

You must be ready when the artifact fails. We will guide you.

He glanced at the hooded figure battling the Dragon King.

The voice had been Shade’s.

The crystal abruptly flared a deep crimson. Aurim felt the first hints of fragmentation. The stone had nearly reached its limits.

Caught up in their duel, neither Shade nor the Storm Lord seemed to notice or care. Scorch marks covered the Dragon King and the warlock’s cloak had been reduced to tatters, but otherwise they had done little to one another.

“Give in to the inevitable, mortal creature!” roared the Storm Dragon. “And we shall grant you a merciful death!”

The warlock said nothing, but when he cast his next spell, the aura surrounding the artifact turned nearly as black as the crystal itself.

The crystal cracked.

It is time!
said the unsettling voice in Aurim’s head.

Hoping he was not being played for a fool, Aurim cast his spell. He felt the presence of both his mother and the one who had spoken last.

The artifact ruptured.

A titanic force washed over the wizard. He heard Yssa scream. From far away came the roar of a dragon—a dragon in agony.

And suddenly . . . silence reigned.

An anxious gasp stirred Aurim back to reality. He discovered that he lay face down in a muddy field. As the wizard pushed himself up, a pair of hands took hold.

Aurim looked up hopefully, but it was not Yssa. Instead, his mother’s concerned, tearful face filled his view.

“Are you all right?” she gasped.

“I think . . . I think I am.” As he straightened, Aurim desperately looked around. “Yssa—”

“There, my son.”

The Green Dragon’s daughter lay face up a few yards away. Aurim stumbled over to her, kneeling by her side. With relief, he saw that she breathed steadily.

Only then did he acknowledge his surroundings. The forest of willows, the swampy earth . . . “Wenslis?”

“Yes, far to the south. We cannot even see the mountains from here.”

He paid no mind to that, more interested in something he had just noticed about their immediate surroundings. “The storm . . . it’s
stopped.
It’s not even raining.”

It
always
rained in the Storm Lord’s domain.

Gwen nodded. “Yes . . . it ceased almost immediately the moment we appeared here.” She frowned. “It might mean something . . . and then again it might not. It’s too soon to know. They both could be dead. They both could be alive. Whatever the case, only time will tell, for you and I are certainly not going back there.”

Even the clouds had begun to evaporate. Aurim gaped up at a sun rarely seen in this region.

Yssa stirred. Her eyes opened and she saw him. She reached up and kissed Aurim gratefully, only afterward noticing Gwen’s presence.

“Lady Bedlam, I—”

Pursing her lips slightly, Gwen said, “It’s all right. We’ll speak later. The important thing is that we’re safe. I doubt any of the Storm Lord’s minions are concerned about us at the moment.”

“Thank you for saving us,” the younger woman said.

“I?” The enchantress shook her head. “I did very little.”

“Was it him, Mother?” Aurim asked as he helped his love to her feet. “Shade?”

Yssa frowned. “
Another
one?”

“No,” Gwen responded. “Not another one.” She gazed north, in the direction of the Storm Lord’s stronghold. “The original one . . . I think.”

Aurim looked around. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

She continued staring north. “He vanished after he dragged me here. You appeared on your own a moment later, as he promised. I think . . . I think he’s gone back there.”

“To the lair? For what?”

“I don’t know, Aurim. I have this feeling that he knew everything that would happen, that he might have even planned all of this. Frankly, I’m too tired to care. Shade chose to save us . . . this time.”

“And next time?”

“Forget that for now, Aurim. Can you teleport us home?” She nodded toward Yssa, her eyes softening a bit. “
All
of us, I mean?”

He checked. “I think I can.”

“Then please do so at once. I need to speak to your father and the Gryphon. They have to know what happened in Wenslis.” Her expression grew grim again. “
Everything
that happened in Wenslis.”

Aurim nodded. The wizard took his mother in one hand, his beloved in the other and, with a last glance at the dour realm of the Storm Lord, concentrated . . .

HE FOUND THE
body exactly where he knew it would be. Reaching down, he dragged it out of the earth. Even in death, the face remained blurred, indistinct.

Shade eyed his dead self, then laid one gloved hand across the face.

The hand glowed gold. The aura spread over the face, the head, then the entire body of the dead Shade. Quickly the aura enveloped the corpse, absorbed it . . . and fed it back to the figure leaning over.

When the last of his twin had been consumed, leaving no trace whatsoever, the warlock straightened. Turning, he surveyed the huge rock collapse caused by the explosion of the crystal. With a wave of his hand, Shade sent tons of rock and the corpses of dead drake warriors flying away, digging through the carnage until he came upon the one he sought.

The Storm Lord lay motionless, but alive. His entire body had been seared by the powerful blast, but, thanks to his great power, the dragon would survive.

One eye opened. It slowly focused on the figure before it. Hatred began to burn in the eye as recognition took place—