Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (8 page)

There was one peculiarity that would forever forbid anyone from thinking that humans had built this place, for while with great effort it would have been possible for men to carve out part of the city in the cavern walls, no human would have been able to live in places turned at such haphazard angles as these. Hundreds of gaps and outcroppings had been turned into tunnels and quite obvious living quarters, but to utilize them, the inhabitants would have had to virtually hang by their feet and hands at all times at heights that would have meant instant death to even the hardiest. Only creatures with long claws that could dig into rock would be able to make use of so peculiar a design. Only something like a Quel could call this home.

That the invaders could see all of this was the result of yet another marvel. Even despite the fact that they were likely hundreds of feet below the surface, the vast cave glowed as if the sun itself shone above the city. Instead of a burning orb, however, a fantastic array of crystals somehow gave off enough light to fill the chamber with day. Gazing up at them, Orril D’Marr knew that they were somehow linked to the outside, that, in a sense, the sun
did
shine on this subterranean spectacle.

“It appears to be a little larger than we expected,” D’Marr muttered to no one in particular. He was beginning to appreciate the Quel and what they had accomplished. He was also beginning to appreciate what he had been sent to face by Lord D’Farany.

Granting him command of the assault forces had not been so much a reward for the information he had recovered from the captive, but rather a punishment for killing the beast before all his knowledge could have been squeezed from him.

Somewhere, he was certain, the blue man was laughing.

As the wonder of the place faded, the reality of what he saw finally sank into D’Marr’s mind.
Where are they? Where are the cursed little beasts?

“D’Roch.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell me what you see.”

The other raider frowned, not certain whether he was the focus of some game his superior was playing. He studied the city for a moment, hesitated, and then replied, “I see a vast underground city, the home of those abominations. It seems to be empty, but that shouldn’t be surprising since we’ve broken through their defenses.”

All in all, it was not a bad summation; the only one that could be given. Yet, it did not wholly describe what D’Marr saw and felt when he stared at the city of the Quel. “Nothing more?”

“Nothing.”

“And how long ago would you say that it had been abandoned? Minutes? An hour?”

D’Roch squinted as he studied the sight before him again. With great trepidation, the older raider answered, “It seems . . . it seems longer, sir. It seems . . .
much
longer.”

Slowly Orril D’Marr walked along the edge of the path. He tapped the head of the scepter lightly against the rock wall. After he had surveyed all he had desired to, the Aramite commander turned his bland visage back to his men. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Much longer, indeed. Look carefully at the dust, at the wear and tear that even a place buried so deep in the earth cannot escape. Think in terms of years. Try, perhaps, even
centuries.
”

There was confusion among the ranks. Word began to filter back. D’Roch and the other officers looked at one another, then at D’Marr.

He laughed then. It was not a pleasant sound, even to his ears, but he could not resist. When D’Marr realized that the others did not understand, he pointed at the city. “You unmitigated oafs! Look at our enemy! There he is! A city of the dead where maybe a handful of survivors still play with the power of their race! We are an army fighting the skeleton of a race!”

They still did not understand, he saw. D’Marr shook his head. He suspected now that there were probably no more than a dozen or so of the Quel, maybe even less. It would explain why only four had attacked them in the cramped quarters of the tunnel when a dozen, a hundred, could possibly have even eradicated them. He thought he understood why they had not collapsed the tunnel; they did not have the strength.

It was possible his suppositions were off the mark, but he was certain he was close. There was only one way to find out. The wolf raider glanced at each of the branch tunnels breaking off from the path circling the city. Most of them were exceedingly ordinary, but one to the right was wider and higher and D’Marr almost thought he saw some light source within.

“Re-form line. Single file,” he called back. Then, without waiting to see if they had obeyed his command, D’Marr started toward the other branch. “Follow me.”

There
was
a light source at the other end of the tunnel. The passage itself was not a long one, not after the first one, and it was wide enough to let four men pass side by side without being cramped. He had the officers redivide the ranks to accommodate, then pressed on. The glow teased him, taunted him. He was near to the truth, of that he was certain.

As if to add credence to his belief, the Quel renewed their attack.

The ceiling collapsed in the center of the tunnel, crushing several men and battering a number of others. From the hole dropped three of the armored leviathans, long, wicked battle-axes in their paws. Even as their feet touched ground, the Quel were swinging their weapons, taking full advantage of the wider and higher dimensions of this passage.

D’Marr cursed as the nearest ranks were decimated by the horrendous onslaught of the trio. With their tremendous reach and long weapons, the Quel had an advantage that not even the spears could overcome.

There are only three
, he scolded himself.
Only three.

Three they might be, but they were worth three times their number even without the advantages of their weapons. Two of the creatures were pushing back the men advancing into the tunnel while the third dealt with those, like D’Marr, who had been in front of the attempted cave-in.

Still, Orril D’Marr had planned for even worse than this. It was annoying that the creatures had already wreaked such havoc, but it had not been entirely unexpected. Having hunted one Quel, he had devised ways of dealing with them . . . if his men were still capable of following commands.

“D’Roch!” He searched for the other officer and found his battered corpse half buried under the rock from the collapse. D’Roch had probably not even seen his end coming. The loss was more of an annoyance than anything else; it meant that he would have to do the work himself.

Scepter in hand, he moved closer to the battle and shouted, “Keep the lines steady! Get the nets up front!”

A quick glance at the lancers showed that they had already spread out as best they could along the length of the tunnel. His own side was in a much worse position. He had only a few lancers and one of those died, his breastplate and chest sliced open like a piece of fruit, even as D’Marr looked on. His side also had none of the nets, for the men carrying those had perished with D’Roch in the tunnel collapse. There were, however, men with torches. Most of them were using the flames much the way D’Marr planned to, but with far less results than he hoped to have. The frustrated officer grabbed one of the men in the back and pulled him close.

“You’ll die wasting your time and mine like that, you lackhead! There’s a better way! Give me that!” He hooked the rod back onto his belt and stripped the blazing torch from the soldier’s hand. With his other hand, he reached into one of the small pouches that most raiders wore on their belts. From it, D’Marr removed a tiny leather bag with a single, thin string attached to the top. It was something he had been toying with just prior to Lord D’Farany’s decision to take the three ships and flee to the western edge of the Dragonrealm. He had experimented with three just like it only recently . . . and they had performed with perfection, enabling him to scuttle the vast raider ships virtually on his own.

As he adjusted the string, he calmly told the soldier, “Tell them to retreat three steps. Quickly if you please.”

D’Marr gave the man the count of five to warn his fellows, then lit the string. It sizzled and began burning down, the flame edging closer and closer to the bag and its contents. When he was satisfied that the string had burned low enough, the Aramite let the small pouch fly.

His aim, of course, was flawless. The bag struck the Quel in the chest, then fell to the ground. D’Marr was pleased to note that the beast’s reaction was what he would have expected from a human. The armored creature paused to glance down at the insignificant object, likely both puzzled and amused by the harmless assault.

The bag promptly
exploded.

It was a much smaller amount than he had used on each of the ships, but it was still enough to tear the Quel to pieces. D’Marr brought his cloak up to avoid the majority of bits that he and his men were showered with. He smiled as he saw that he had been correct; the blast had not been strong enough to further weaken the ceiling. It would have been a bit embarrassing.

To his surprise, however, there was a second benefit to his attack of genius. The remaining Quel were on their knees, their weapons forgotten and their heads almost buried in the tunnel floor. They were hooting madly and rocking back and forth, clawing at the ground.

D’Marr was not one too slow to act when good fortune came his way. “Get the nets in fast while they’re stunned. Do hurry.”

The agonized creatures were still trouble despite their present state and for a short time he was tempted to take the scepter to each one in order to hurry things. Finally, when it became apparent that the injured Quel would indeed soon be nicely bound and out of the way, the wolf raider turned his attention to the haunting glow mere yards from him. Without hesitation, D’Marr started toward it, his sub-officers quickly following after, albeit with much more trepidation.

We’ve stepped into the heart of a diamond
, was his first thought as he froze at the entrance to the chamber. Nothing else he had seen in the glittering realm of Legar, or anywhere else, for that matter, could have prepared him for this.
Is there no end to your surprises, Dragonrealm? First, a glittering land, then a city beneath the surface, and now . . . this.

The walls were covered almost entirely in crystal, save where three other tunnels led off to other parts of the Quel domain. It was obvious that nature had not created this marvel. There were too many patterns, too many intricate designs, for it to be pure chance. The gemstones also came in a variety of colors that could never have formed together. Staring at it, D’Marr was reminded of the empty city and its light source. The crystals there had been arranged so that the subterranean dwellers could bring the sun to their world. Who was to say that this was not similar?

All this passed through the Aramite’s mind in the space of a breath. It was during the second that he noticed the Quel.

The hulking creature leaned across a platform of sorts upon which had been placed a large gem that was in turn surrounded by an array of smaller crystals. The Quel, a male, D’Marr judged, was waving his clawed hands above the arrangement in what was most definitely a desperate manner. Inhuman eyes glared back at the intruders, specifically the young officer. The creature was saying something, his hooting rising and falling with a rhythm that made it impossible not to listen. D’Marr was struck by the nagging thought that the Quel was working to keep their attention.

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” he quietly informed the armored underdweller. He knew that the Quel understood him by the narrowing of his black orbs. “Your power has been smothered by my Lord D’Farany’s might.” The raider commander inclined his head toward the officers to his left side. “Take him. Kill him if need be.”

As the wolf raiders rushed toward him, the Quel made one last pass over the crystal.

It glimmered. Only for a second, but it glimmered. The spell cast by Lord D’Farany still held, but D’Marr knew it must be weakening badly for something to happen this soon. It was fortunate, he thought, that they had not met any more resistance than they had. The power the beasts controlled was even greater than he had assumed.

The Quel hooted in satisfaction, then stepped away as he was surrounded. Unlike his fellows, he made no move to resist. At another time, Orril D’Marr would have been amused by the absurd sight of the creature calmly holding out his huge arms to be bound, but the Quel’s note of triumph disturbed his sensibilities. He studied the chamber carefully, seeking what clue he could not say.

Then it came to him that there were only two other tunnel entrances besides his own. When he had scanned the chamber earlier, D’Marr had been certain that there had been
three
. He turned to the nearest man and asked, “How many ways out of here were there when you came in?”

Looking puzzled and nervous, the soldier glanced around and answered, “I see two, my lord. Besides the one we entered by.”

“That’s not what I asked.” It was futile to explain, the young raider decided. Instead, he stalked over to the area where he recalled the missing entrance being and placed a hand against the wall. It was very solid. D’Marr ran his hand along the crystal, searching for anything that seemed not quite right. As far as he could discover, however, it was very, very real.

Taking the rod, he tapped lightly on the wall. A quiet but solid thud argued against there being a thin, false partition before him. This was a barrier of rock and crystal and a very thick one at that.

He was tempted to test its strength against one of his exploding bags, but knew that the Pack Leader would never forgive him if the chamber was damaged.

“You have my congratulations, Orril.”

His round visage carefully banal, D’Marr turned and saluted his master. He nearly grimaced when he saw that the blue man was with the Pack Leader. “I thank you, Lord D’Farany.”

The Aramite leader walked slowly into the room, his unnerving features fairly aglow with delight. “Yesss, this is it! This is what I felt!” He put a hand on the platform that the Quel had vacated. “A bit of study . . . and then we shall put it to use.”