Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (25 page)

“We should leave before the sun sets,” urged Troia to her mate.

He gave her an odd look, even for his avian visage. Then, with some hesitation, he said, “You are not going with me. Not to Legar. Any other place, even the Northern Wastes, I would take you, but not
Legar.
”

“What do you
mean
?” The fine fur along the back of Troia’s head stood on end. “I will not be left behind! Not now!”

“Legar is the one place where the risk is too great for the two of you.”

Gwen glanced from one to the other.
The two of you?

“Any other time, any other
place
, I would welcome you at my side, Troia, but I will not lead you into Legar.”

“I’m far from helpless, Gryph! My stomach is not yet rounded!”

She was pregnant. The enchantress cursed her own words. If she had only known, she would have spoken to the Gryphon in private. Like Queen Erini, Gwen was not the kind to sit demurely to one side while others did the fighting, but one thing she found very precious was the creation of new life. Chasing after wolf raiders was terrible enough, but to do so now and in the domain of the unpredictable and possibly malevolent Crystal Dragon was sheer folly for an expectant mother, especially after having lost her only other child.

It was clear that they had discussed this issue several times in the past and it was clear that Troia had always won. That there should be someone capable of matching the Gryphon in stubborn determination would have been amusing under more pleasant circumstances. Now, however, it only threatened to muddle the situation further.

“Troia, you are with child?”

The cat woman spun on her, then recalled herself and settled down. She seemed more worn out than she had been before her burst of anger at her husband. “For these past eight weeks. I thought at first it was sickness from the trip; we’re not fond of the sea, either of us. It stayed with me, though, and I soon recognized the symptoms from—from Demion’s time.”

“You have grown tired quicker these past few days, too,” the lionbird reminded her. “In truth, I was beginning to worry even before we landed.” His voice was more understanding, more concerned. Both he and his mate were mercurial creatures.

The years have changed you, Gryphon, or perhaps merely opened you up more.
The sorceress studied Troia. Despite the litheness of her body, there were hints here and there of aging that had nothing to do with the years of war. How long did the cat people live? Troia had little or no sorcerous ability, which meant she, like King Melicard, would age faster than the one she loved. For that matter, it had never been clear just how long the Gryphon would live if permitted to die of old age. He was not like Cabe or Gwen; his life span might be as long as that of a Dragon King or maybe even
longer.
Likely he had thought about that, which meant his time with his wife was all the more precious to him. To know that her life span was limited in comparison to his . . . it only added to the importance of seeing that this new child was allowed to enter the world happy and whole.

And she has had only one child in all this time,
the enchantress pondered, still studying the anxious cat woman.
This may very well be her last chance.
There was no doubt, either, that Troia very much wanted this child. From what little Gwen knew of her kind, they generally had many children. Troia, however, had only had the one and among her people children were precious and well cared for. She could not afford to lose this one.

“We made a pact that we would follow this through together, Gryph!”

The Gryphon flexed his claws again, but the action was not directed at his bride. “You will be with me, Troia, I promise you that. I also promise that I will return with D’Farany’s head if need be to show you that Demion has been avenged, but I see now I must do it alone.”

“You will not be alone, Gryphon,” Gwen quickly pointed out. “My husband and Darkhorse are there ahead of you. Find them. Their quest is tied to yours.”
And see to it that Cabe comes back to me!
she silently added.

“There is that.” He took his wife in his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she took hold of him in a grip that vied with his own for pure intensity. “I know the Dragonrealm, Troia. Believe me when I say that this is one place I will not risk your health and that of our offspring. You know why Lady Bedlam remains behind; do you consider her any less than her husband because of that?”

The cat woman locked gazes with Gwen. “No. Never. I’ve known her too long in letters to believe foolishness like that. If only I could come, though! I left Demion in that place!”

“
We
left Demion in that place. There was no way either of us could have foreseen what happened.” He squawked, the equivalent of a sigh. The Gryphon had a habit of switching between his human traits and his animalistic traits without thought. “We came to hunt and we will hunt, but this time I must make the kill alone. I will, too.”

The tall sorceress shivered. Again, she was reminded that her guests were not to be completely judged by human standards, but that was not all there was to it. The war and Demion’s death had indeed changed the Gryphon the way the Turning War never had.
It’s become much too personal. Would that I could keep him from going, too.
Yet she welcomed his coming, for it meant more hope for Cabe.

“You will need food and rest, Gryphon. I will not allow you to leave until you have had a bit of both.”

He nodded his thanks, then looked back down at his wife. “If the Lady Bedlam permits it, I would prefer you stay here. There is no better place for you than with her.”

“There’s one place,” Troia corrected him. “That’s with you.”

“After Legar.”

“She is welcome to stay as long as she needs, Gryphon. You know that.”

“Then tonight I will leave for Zuu, to see if I can pick up Cabe’s trail.”

“You’ll teleport?” Troia sounded suddenly disturbed again.

The Gryphon did not appear to notice it. “I am familiar with the region and it will save days of travel. From there, I will teleport as carefully as I can into the midst of Legar.”

“Is that not dangerous?” Gwen asked. “You might materialize before a patrol of wolf raiders.”

He gave her a look almost devoid of emotion. “No one knows them as well as I do. Trust in me, my lady.”

Troia bared her sharp teeth. “I still don’t care for it. I should be with you, Gryph.”

“And you will be.” The Gryphon put one hand on his heart. “You will always be here.”

Gwen allowed them their peace while she thought of Cabe. She, like Troia, was still upset about being left behind even though both of them knew it was not because their husbands saw them as lessers. Even had the Gryphon offered to take her place and watch the children, she was aware that she would have turned the offer down. There had to be someone here for the children, especially with the Dragonrealm so volatile in other ways, and this
had
been Cabe’s mission from the very beginning. He was the one who had been contacted. It was not the choice every parent would have made, but it was her choice and she would live by it.

She consoled herself with the fact that the Gryphon’s presence would make Cabe’s safety that much more possible. Between the lionbird, her husband, and the irrepressible Darkhorse, neither the wolf raiders nor the Crystal Dragon were tasks insurmountable. It was possible that the situation was not even as terrible as they had assumed. There was even the chance that Cabe might very well return before his old friend was able to depart.

That was assuming that nothing had happened to him already.

THE BLUE MAN
stumbled through the godforsaken fog, cursing its magic-spawned ability to creep even into the most obscure passages below the earth. It was hard enough to see even with the torches lit let alone with such a thick morass enshrouding everything around him.

Yet, there was something else, something inviting about the fog. He could taste power, raw, wild forces, coursing through the mist. D’Rance had seen the proof of that, too. He had watched floors twist and turn, a man sucked into the walls as if he had never been, and fantastical figures prancing about in the fog. Mere tips of the proverbial iceberg, the northerner knew. Above, those on the surface would be facing much more. The Quel city seemed to dampen the effects of the wild power. Whether that was intentional or simply chance, he did not know. That subject could wait until later, after he had reached the surface and explored farther. As much as he disliked the fog, it offered him possibilities that even Lord D’Farany could not match. He had to find out where it had originated from.

He was nearly to the mouth of the tunnel when a dog-sized form skittered over his feet, causing him to fall against one side of the passage. From near his left, he heard it growl.

Verlok. From his time in Canisargos he knew the sound well. There was only one verlok on this side of the world.

“Kanaan. How good of you to be where I wanted you.”

“Lord D’Farany?” He could see nothing save the dim image of the verlok . . . and this with the light of day supposedly trying to cut through the murky fog.

“We were on our way down. It was not necessary to meet us.”

“Yes, my lord.” The blue man clenched both hands tight. “I must apologize, yes, for not noticing you sooner. This thrice-cursed mist wreaks havoc on the eyes, yes?”

A shape took form before him. The Pack Leader. “I suppose that could be troublesome, but it’s hardly a concern compared to other things. Fascinating, wouldn’t you say? As if entering another world.”

A world gone mad, yes!
Kanaan D’Rance wanted to study the magical forces involved, but he by no means cared for any other aspect of it. If he could find a way to manipulate it, that was all he desired. “It is unique, yes.”

“But of course something must be done about it; it disturbs the men, you see. Disturbs my work.”

And that is all it is doing?
The blue man was often fascinated by the Pack Leader’s peculiar pattern of thought.

“It’s magical, as you’ve no doubt guessed. Not like anything else. Not at all like
his
power. A shame, truly.” D’Farany reached down and picked up his vile pet. “It repels rather than attracts. I think I
must
remove it from this place and send it to wherever he unleashed it from.”

“He?”

“The Crystal Dragon, of course.” Lord D’Farany walked past him, the verlok taking the opportunity to snarl at the blue man. D’Rance quickly followed, knowing how easy it might be to lose someone in this mire.

The floor of the tunnel was shifting beneath their feet, but where the blue man struggled to keep his balance, the Pack Master simply stepped here and there, moving along as if nothing were the matter. A misshapen tentacle of rock darted out from beside them, but somehow missed D’Farany. The northerner, on the other hand, was forced to duck, not an easy act when the ground beneath his feet continued to move.

He acts as if this is the way of the normal world! Could this be what
he
sees, yes?
If so, it explained much about Ivon D’Farany.

Although nothing major impeded their blind trek, it was still with relief that the blue man entered the chamber some minutes later. Relief and curiosity, for he immediately saw that the crystalline room was not touched as the others were. There was no fog even though the tunnel just beyond was dank and impossible to navigate by sight alone. For once, the sentries posted here must have felt themselves fortunate, he thought.

The Pack Leader, oblivious to all else, leaned over the Quel device and visibly sighed. Removing his gloves, he tenderly touched the various crystals in the arrangement, finishing with his own addition.

“Where is Orril?”

“I regret, my lord, that I do not know where he is.”
He is hopefully lost forever.
D’Rance knew he could not be so fortunate. D’Marr would likely show his blank little face at the worst possible time.

“No matter.” The former keeper began to activate the magical creation.

Interest was overcoming uncertainty. He had watched closely as Lord D’Farany had become quickly adept at the use of the diggers’ tool. Watching the raider leader had been a learning experience, although soon he would not need to watch. Still, if Lord D’Farany had a plan to disperse the dank and decay-filled mist, then there were still things the blue man could learn from him. “If I may, my lord, you have a plan, yes? What will you do, please?”

He did not catch the fascinated smile on the Pack Leader’s crystal-illuminated countenance but the tone and the words were enough. “I have no plan, Kanaan. I’m simply going to
play.
”

D’Rance suddenly found himself envying the men on the surface. They only had the fog to fear.

X

IN A PLACE
where darkness was unchallenged by light, a sleeper long undisturbed stirred briefly to sluggish life . . .

THEY WERE ABLE
to move mountains, create castles from nothing. A world had been theirs to play with and they had played ever so hard, tearing that world asunder and making it into a reflection of their own, uncaring souls.

Plool gazed down on Cabe in what appeared to be expectation. At least, Cabe thought so; the wide-brimmed hat still obscured the upper part of his incredibly narrow face. Everything about the odd figure was a parody of humanity, but the warlock found no humor in the other’s physical appearance. Plool was a creature—an
inhabitant
—of dreaded Nimth. Worse, he had to be
Vraad
, one of the terrible race of sorcerers that had created the madness of Nimth in the first place.

“You are a curious creature,” the macabre figure pronounced. “In a curious world. How curious.”

He still spoke in the peculiar, singsong tone he had used earlier, but he changed his pattern of speech now and then, almost as if it were a game with him. Plool seemed of a whimsical nature in many ways, which did not necessarily mean that Cabe could relax. Whimsy had its dark side, especially where the Vraad were concerned. From his notes he had gathered that the race of sorcerers had had a dark sense of humor.