Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade (14 page)

He paused atop a mountain peak and sought out some trace of the enchantress. What he sensed instead was movement near Kivan Grath. The magical stench of drake was strong, more so than Darkhorse would have imagined.

The shadowy stallion leapt to another peak that brought him nearer to Kivan Grath. He studied the landscape below, finding the stark emptiness even starker than usual. Darkhorse snorted. With magic born far beyond this realm, the eternal probed the rocky tableau.

Despite his searching, the landscape remained still and deserted. Yet, Darkhorse thought that somehow the region insisted
too much
that it was empty.

He raised a hoof with the intention of charging down to investigate when ever so briefly he sensed a faint trace of Valea Bedlam’s recent presence. With it, there also came the hint of her trail.

Darkhorse wheeled and charged in that direction. He was certain that there would be time to report whatever mystery surrounded Kivan Grath to Cabe once Valea was recovered. The wizard would certainly see his daughter’s safety as the greater priority.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Darkhorse raced from the Tyber Mountains. The new trail led south, likely beyond Talak. The eternal felt some guilt at abandoning the northern kingdom and his promise, but assured himself that he would return to the king before Melicard had led his army very far from home.

The eternal’s pace swiftly led him south in a direction that ran along the western edge of the Hell Plains. Darkhorse could sense the movement of the Red Dragon’s army toward Penacles, movement that grew nearer as he progressed. The Red Dragon was pushing toward a route that would take him into part of Wenslis, the rain-drenched domain of the Storm Dragon. While the lord of Wenslis would not slow the march, the marshy realm itself would. That would surely buy both Penacles and King Melicard valuable time.

Once, it would have been tempting to Darkhorse to harass the drakes, wreak havoc on their ranks in order to slow them further. To do so now might risk Valea, though.

Even as he thought of her, the eternal again sensed traces of her trail. Darkhorse veered southwest and felt the trace strengthen.

Mito Pica loomed ahead, but Darkhorse found the path turning east of the ruins. The ebony stallion gratefully left the razed city and its haunting memories. In private moments, Cabe had admitted that he often dreamed of Mito Pica’s destruction, even though he himself had been kept from that night of terror. Yet, the wizard could describe those dreams so graphically that both believed that Cabe was somehow tied to the spirit—for lack of a better word—of Mito Pica. The city both lived and suffered through its last remaining inhabitant.

The wizard’s nightmares were forgotten as Valea’s magical trace grew stronger and stronger. Darkhorse sensed her anxiety, her growing fear.

Yet, just before he would have reached what should have been her location, the eternal hesitated. Darkhorse heard Cabe’s voice saying,
Don’t leap into things! Beware traps!

The shadowy horse probed ahead. Suddenly, all hint of Valea Bedlam
vanished. Instead, Darkhorse felt a sudden swelling of energies that swept in his direction with obvious purpose.

Darkhorse moved backward with as much ease as forward, his head shrinking into his body as his tail formed into a new head. Now facing the direction in which he had traveled, he galloped faster, easily leaving the foul energies behind.

And, thus, running full into the true trap.

Streams of silver energy cut through the eternal from every angle. Darkhorse was severed a hundred times over, each fragment of him then drawn toward the ground. He shrieked as he felt the pieces of his very being sealed in one tiny faceted prison after another. Literally disjointed, the ebony stallion could sense nothing around him but his own intense agony.

The crystal rose from where it had lain hidden under a veneer of dirt and grass. Its thousands of facets glistened like the sun—save for the hundred or so scattered far apart that were as black as pitch and shook with the rage of the captured eternal.

The crystal, no more than the size of an apple, hovered a yard in the air, then darted west.

Its flight ended abruptly as a powerful gauntleted hand easily snatched it. The hand glittered more than the artifact as it brought the latter to its master’s gaze.

The tall, black-bearded man—built and dressed more like a warrior than a sorcerer despite his clear ability—eyed his snare with immense satisfaction, then simply vanished.

SHADE DOWNED
the last of the ale. He had not interacted with anyone other than the serving woman, but the sights, sounds, and smells around him—some of the last rather rank, to be sure, but welcome nonetheless—touched the sorcerer in a manner that they had not since . . . since . . .

A part of him wanted to stay a little longer, but night had finally come and his knowledge of the Gryphon’s ways reminded him that now was the best time to strike. He passed his hand over the table and three coins of varying value materialized. The serving woman had done her duty adequately, leaving him to his private musings and not trying to pry into his identity.

No one noticed the sorcerer’s departure. It would be several minutes before anyone would realize that the table was empty. By then, Shade would be far from Penacles.

One hand grazed the hidden medallion. Gaining more confidence from its presence, Shade strode among the dwindling crowds, eyeing the looming palace out of the corner of his eye. He sighted a particular window high above—

And appeared inside that particular room in the next breath.

Time was now of the essence. If the Gryphon’s safeguards had not warned the lionbird of his intrusion, they soon would. Shade concentrated on another chamber, one he had not visited in several lives.

With the image to guide him, the hooded spellcaster transported himself. He eagerly looked around . . . and if there had been a mirror before him Shade would have easily read the great frustration suddenly spreading across his face.

“The tapestry—” he blurted, unable to at first accept what he saw—or did not see. The Gryphon had kept the key to the libraries in this particular room for decades; Shade had assumed that it would still be here.

The palace was far too vast for him to decide from past experience just where the tapestry now hung. Shade could make some assumptions, but even repeating his mistake once risked much greater chance of the Gryphon discovering him.

Muttering a curse that would have made his father proud, Shade drew an emerald triangle in the air. The triangle spun about, then hesitated. Within its frame there formed the image of another chamber.

Shade seized the triangle, which dissipated. As that happened, the sorcerer vanished from the first room to the one revealed by the spell.

The tapestry filled the wall before him. Shade reached for it.

The slight grating of metal was his only warning. Shade disappeared again, immediately re-forming behind his would-be attackers.

The golems reacted with impressive swiftness but were still too slow. Shade pointed at the nearest of the golems.

Swerving, the construct fell upon its companion. The second golem tried to continue on to Shade but could not.

Shade brought his hands together. Invisible forces crushed the golems into one grotesque mass. An iron hand continued to grasp futilely for Shade.

The warlock had scarcely dealt with the guardians when he sensed a new threat. He fell against the nearest wall and pulled his voluminous cloak over all but his eyes.

Thunder roiled and lightning filled the chamber. Only Shade’s quick thinking enabled him to shield himself in time from the harsh assault on the room. Even the fearsome golems were ravaged by the blinding bolts, the iron figures reduced to slag in seconds.

And in the midst of the storm the Gryphon, crouched and ready for combat, materialized untouched. Eyes both avian and human peered around the chamber, seeking the intruder.

Shade shoved a hand at the lionbird’s back.

A shock wave sent the Gryphon flying forward. Despite his predicament, the lord of Penacles managed to twist in the air and face his attacker. At the same time, his own power enabled the Gryphon to safely slow.

As he landed, the lionbird began casting.

Unseen by the Gryphon, the great tapestry tore free. It fell upon the Gryphon.

Shade sent a fragment from the devastated golems at where his foe’s head could be seen under the tapestry. The iron chunk struck hard.

The Gryphon slumped.

The hooded sorcerer sent the tapestry fluttering to the wall, where it reattached. He glanced suspiciously at the Gryphon’s still form, then looked to the artifact.

It was simple to spot the symbol representing the libraries. Shade floated up and touched the mark. He rubbed it and waited.

Nothing happened.

Frowning deeply, Shade repeated the necessary step. Still he was not transported to the libraries.

Shade’s eyes briefly refocused. He now saw the complex patterns surrounding the tapestry, patterns of recent origin and powerful spellwork. The sorcerer recognized the Gryphon’s devious effort. Even stunned, the lord of Penacles confounded his ally of old. Only the Gryphon would know the key to removing protective spells Shade knew were designed specifically for
him
.

Another survey of the lionbird’s handiwork confirmed Shade’s worst fears. It was possible that he might be able to unlock the spells, but there was not enough time to even make the attempt.

Shade spun to stare at the Gryphon again.

With rising hope, he went down on one knee next to the unconscious figure. Only you know the key, my friend. Let us see if as you are now you might be willing to give it up . . .

Placing his palms on either side of the Gryphon’s head, the sorcerer focused. He imagined himself literally inside the lionbird’s head, seeking entrance to the secrets there.

There was some hesitation, the Gryphon’s natural instincts strong even now. Shade pushed carefully. The hesitation vanished. Fragmented memories from the City of Knowledge’s unique ruler raced through the warlock’s mind.

Shipwrecked on the Dragonrealm’s shore two-hundred-plus years ago . . . part man, part avian, and part feline . . . an origin lost even to himself . . .

With the memories came images. One in particular Shade recognized.
There came rank upon rank of harsh, armored soldiers whose officers bore the sign of the wolf on their helms and breastplates. They were known specifically as the Aramites, colloquially as the dreaded Wolf Raiders. Once, they had ruled the major continent across the sea, their lives sworn to a creature called the Ravager. Shade knew something of their origins and that what they had served had been no god, but a powerful entity who itself had been created to obey other masters. The same masters who had supposedly built the very tower for which Shade searched.

Among the Wolf Raiders, he saw a few specific faces, no doubt personal enemies of the Gryphon. Shade paid them little mind as he delved deeper.

The Gryphon’s mate and queen appeared more than once, as did several young who surely were their offspring. Shade felt some bitterness that even a being as different and overall inhuman as the prone form below him had been able to find such happiness in his otherwise violent life. There had been a time—a time before time began, so Shade thought of it—when he had dreamed of a possible future with the one woman whom he had believed understood him.

But you loved another, Sharissa,
the sorcerer suddenly thought.
And perhaps that is when I first cursed myself . . .

Shaking off the darkness, Shade investigated further. He concentrated on the tapestry, hoping that by doing so he would stir the Gryphon’s subconscious in that direction.

More images of war flashed by. The Gryphon, only a lance in hand, standing against a gargantuan dragon of a dark mauve hue. Around them, the previous incarnation of Penacles lay ravaged not by the effects of the Turning War but the folly of its own drake lord.

This goes too slowly!
Shade pressed harder yet. He could ill afford to stay here for hours sifting through one war-torn memory after another. He needed the key
now
.

The images flew by faster, so fast, in fact, that they were little more than blurs. Shade felt the Gryphon’s defenses giving way and grew hopeful.

But suddenly the sorcerer discovered himself descending too far too swiftly. He plunged into the blackness surrounding the most ancient and well-protected secrets of the stunned monarch.

Shade struggled to extract himself. There was a risk of losing his own mind within the Gryphon’s. How ironic that his millennia-spanning quest might end with him a drooling idiot discovered kneeling before Penacles’s king.

The descent slowed, then stopped.

Memories so old and well buried that even the Gryphon surely did not recall them struck Shade from all sides. He began to dismiss them—and then confronted a revelation as astounding as his own foul existence.

So shocked was Shade that he almost severed the link between the Gryphon and himself. That, however, almost lost him a key far more important than the one to the tapestry’s protective spells.

The Gryphon was bound in his own way to the
tower
.

Show me more!
the sorcerer demanded.
Show me more!

Revelation followed revelation, each more unbelievable than the previous. Shade felt the secrets for which he had been hunting so many lifetimes just beyond his reach . . . but only for a moment more.

Shade made one last push.

Someone seized his hands, both physically and mentally ripping Shade from the Gryphon. The separation wracked both the sorcerer and the lord of Penacles.

The world momentarily came back into focus. Shade discovered the face of a young woman—not his long-lost Sharissa—staring back at him in horror equal to his own.

An old and all-too-familiar pain tore through Shade. Through tearing eyes, he caught a glimpse of his hand—and the floor visible through it.