Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (113 page)

The enchantress’s body moved. Gwen felt the summoning of power even though she herself had attempted no such thing. Across from her, Yssa radiated raw magical energy, but her eyes still held the same anxiety.

“Memory will serve,” the Storm Dragon informed the two unwilling combatants. He almost seemed distracted, as if he had other, more significant matters to which to attend. “Memory will guide. Your bodies will recall what they must, when they must. They will determine your fates.”

Gwen’s hands suddenly clapped together.

From them came a swarm of black, buzzing insects that immediately encircled Yssa. They bit into her flesh, tore the skin free.

But despite the ordeal, Yssa quickly countered. A fearsome wind tossed the swarm about, then fiercely slapped them against one wall of the immense cavern. As the dead insects dropped in clusters, the same wind tore free a part of that wall and sent it hurtling at the enchantress.

Gwen’s left hand made a cutting motion. As if tossed into some vast invisible grinder, the huge chunk of stone vaporized bit by bit as it neared her. In seconds, all that remained was a sizable pile of dust.

But Gwen leaned forward and, borrowing from Yssa, pursed her lips and blew. The dust poured over the younger spellcaster, choking her.

This must stop! I’m sure to kill her!
Yssa might have her own astonishing skills, but Gwen had the experience of two centuries, in which time she had been trained by both the Green Dragon and Nathan Bedlam, Aurim’s great-grandfather, and done battle alongside the Dragon Masters. Yssa had not lived long enough to experience all she had and that, in the end, would surely be the deciding factor.

She fought against the Storm Lord’s will, refusing to become his tool of death. Gwen felt his control over her slip ever so slightly. The spell her body had been about to cast dissipated before it could harm Yssa. The enchantress managed a slight smile of triumph—

But in battling the Dragon King, she left herself open to the other sorceress. A chilling cold swept over Gwen. Her movements slowed to a halt and even the blood in her veins felt as if it had begun to freeze. She opened her mouth to scream—and it remained caught in that agonizing position.

Yssa blinked as if waking, then dropped to her knees in exhaustion. Eyes wide, she stared into Gwen’s own. Unable to move, the cold sapping her will further, Gwen could say nothing to assuage the horrendous guilt she read in the other’s gaze. Yssa had only done what she had because the Storm Dragon had forced her to, but it made the outcome no less monstrous. With each passing second it proved more of a strain for Gwen to remain conscious. She was well aware, though, of what would happen when the cold finally took her. There would be no waking, no life. Yssa’s spell would turn her literally to ice.

“How interesting,” remarked the Storm Lord, approaching Gwen. “An unexpected outcome. We thought surely that the Lady of the Amber would prevail . . .” He touched Gwen on the chin, the arm. “Interesting.”

Even despite her mental struggles, the enchantress could not help meeting his fiery gaze—and in that moment she had the odd sense that she stared at someone other than the Storm Lord.

But the Dragon King turned away before she could discover more. At his unspoken command, Yssa rose and went to his side. Yssa took his arm in her own, holding him as one would hold the arm of a mate.

Her eyes continued to radiate horror over what she had accomplished.

The Dragon King stared again at Gwen. “Now we shall see what the bait draws . . .”

And with that peculiar comment, he led Yssa away, leaving the enchantress standing helpless, her thoughts growing hazier . . . and her death growing nearer.

VII

THREE PEAKS STOOD
shrouded in the stormy sky. Aurim did not have to ask if he and Shade closed in on their destination, for he easily sensed the dark power emanating from the jagged mountains. If this was not the stronghold of the Dragon King, he could not imagine another.

“Down,” the hooded figure quietly commanded. The skeleton immediately began its descent, flapping its useless wings as if they actually held air.

“Is it safe to land so near the lair?” objected Aurim.

“It’s where we have to go.”

For Shade, this settled everything. For his anxious companion, however, such a frontal assault presaged disaster.

And, seconds later, it seemed Aurim’s fears proved well-grounded. From atop one of the two peaks flanking the largest, a huge, gray dragon took to the sky. It required little imagination to figure out exactly where the behemoth headed.

As the dragon approached, Aurim readied a spell. Yet, before he could cast it, the hooded warlock waved his hand in a circular motion.

Without hesitation, the dragon suddenly veered upward, passing by the two without noticing them. The behemoth continued on, disappearing into the black clouds.

“Be prepared,” Shade told him calmly, as if the threat that they had just faced had not existed. “We land in moments.”

With astonishing grace considering its fleshless condition, the Necri skeleton delicately deposited them feet first on the rocky ground. The moment it had done so, the batlike creature collapsed into a cluttered pile, the magically created bones vanishing even as they dropped. The skull rolled a few feet away, then clattered to a halt. The eye holes seemed to stare resentfully at the pair.

“Come,” Shade urged a still-staring Aurim.

A flash of lightning illuminated the area as they came within sight of the lair. The dragon might have left, but that did not mean that the way was unguarded. Along the side of the mountain, armed sentinels watched from various points. Most wore the broad-rimmed armor of Wenslis, but Aurim noted a few drake warriors among them, no doubt the commanders. Drakes were not so numerous as humans and so Dragon Kings often had to make use of the very race that they distrusted most.

But Shade continued on as if entirely unconcerned about the guards. Aurim had no choice but to follow and hope that his disconcerting associate knew what he did.

Two human soldiers thrust out their spears in what at first appeared warning to the newcomers. Yet, as Aurim watched, the guards separated, their gazes sweeping warily over the vicinity and not once fixing on the duo. One guard came within arm’s reach of the wizard, his bearded, scarred face as brutal as that of a drake. The wide brim of his helmet kept most of the rain from his eyes, but still he did not notice the blond figure so near.

Without a word, Shade and Aurim walked past the soldiers, ascending the path to the lair.

The way up was both the longest and shortest trek that Aurim Bedlam had ever taken. Each step he expected either a horde of guards, a dragon, or, worst of all, the Storm Lord, to fall upon them. Yet, at the same time, he moved with impatience, knowing that within he would find Yssa.

At the mouth of the cave system, Shade for the first time paused.

“He is within,” the hood announced with a turn to the left.

“Of course,” he replied to himself with a look to the right.

Aurim prepared himself. He, too, could sense the overwhelming force that was the Dragon King. If he had to face the Storm Lord to rescue Yssa, then so be it. His father had confronted the dread Toma, a far worse dragon than any, and had emerged victorious. Aurim was well aware that, if he kept his focus, his abilities had the potential to dwarf even those of his father. With Shade beside him, surely even this Dragon King would fall.

They continued past unsuspecting guards and even the grotesque, bestial lesser drakes, cousins of the dragons whom the latter used as mounts when in their warrior forms. The lesser drakes sniffed the air as they passed, but even the beasts did not truly realize their presence.

Deeper and deeper into the cavern system they went. The protection spell that Shade had surrounded them with had enabled them to see despite the storm and now it worked against the darkness of the lair. Aurim’s confidence grew as they walked. No threat had so far reared its ugly head. Perhaps with the warlock so near, even the Dragon King would not notice them.

Then, without warning, they stepped into what could only be the Storm Lord’s sanctum. The chamber was the largest and well-adapted for the movements of a full-grown dragon. The walls were of a peculiar onyx within which miniature storms raged. At the far end, a huge dais consisting of three great steps led up to a magnificently carved if oddly damaged throne.

Then Aurim sensed another presence, one whose nearness so startled him that he quickly looked around the vast chamber. To the side he eventually noticed what at first he took for a statue . . . until he saw who it resembled.

“Mother?” For the moment, all thought of Yssa fell to the wayside as Aurim rushed toward the figure. Surely he was overreacting; surely there was a good reason why the Storm Lord would have a statue of his mother here.

But as he approached, the wizard more and more sensed her so-familiar presence. He could have mistaken it no more than he could have his own.

“By the Manor!” Aurim gasped, putting a hand to her cheek and discovering only then that it was made of ice . . . rapidly melting ice.

And as it melted, so, too, would his mother.

She still lived, that much the wizard could feel, but for how long, he could not say. Aurim immediately began delving into the spellwork, seeking a way of unbinding it quickly. The casting had been done in a manner not at all like he had been taught and yet it had a familiar feel. Almost it reminded him of—of
Yssa?

He tried not to think about why she would do such a horrific thing to his mother, whom he knew Yssa respected greatly and wished would come to accept their pairing. Instead, Aurim continued to search for the point of focus, the place where he could make the entire spell unravel.

So caught up was he in his task that he at first did not notice that someone watched him from another shadowed corner of the cavern. Only when the stare finally burned into him did Aurim gaze up to discover a figure literally perched on the wall.

A figure that was none other than
Shade.

Aurim quickly glanced over his shoulder . . . and saw his companion just turning to look at him.

The hooded immediately shifted, tipping to the right as the warlock clearly looked
past
the young wizard . . . and at
himself.

There were
two
Shades?

“We expected you,” said the one who had accompanied Aurim. “We felt you.”

“I sensed you in turn,” remarked the figure on the wall with the same bland tone. The hood shifted so as to eye Aurim again. “She’s mine.”

“And he’s ours . . .” said the wizard’s Shade. “He knows us. He can make us whole, make us the original . . .”

“She could do the same for me,” the other replied. “But I got curious as to what it would be like to feel her emotions as her life melted away.”

Aurim’s expression darkened. “That’s monstrous!”

“Is it? I suppose it is . . .” The Shade on the wall rubbed his indistinct chin in thought, then nodded almost eagerly. “Yes! You’re right! Monstrous! I’ve chosen, then!”

“Not fair!” snarled Aurim’s Shade without warning. With a tilt of his head to the right, he added, “Not fair at all! We want to be the original!”

“But I’m ahead in the game! I’ve chosen the path! All I need is a name now . . .”

As fearful as he was about losing his mother, Aurim could not help but listen to the rantings of the pair, especially the one on the wall. He knew enough about the legend of the warlock to understand what it meant if this one chose a name.

It mean that the second Shade also knew whether he followed darkness or light.

“I have it . . .” The Shade on the wall spread his cloak wide. He literally stood on the onyx as if it were the floor. With a voice full of triumph and glee, he declared, “Call me Valac . . . this time . . .”

And without warning, without reason—but with only the flick of a finger—he created a ring of flame around Aurim’s mother.

With a cry, the wizard fell back. Smoke rose from his garments and his right hand stung. He saw a covering of moisture form over his mother and droplets of water fell to the floor.

“No!” Powered by his emotions, a fierce wind blew over the fire, dousing it completely. Aurim seized his mother before her slippery figure could topple over. He looked up at the Shade on the wall, prepared to deflect whatever barbaric attack this newly evil figure next cast.

But there stood another between them. The first Shade faced himself, the two reminding Aurim in some way like a pair of children bickering over who was most favored.

“We want your name! Give it to us!”

“No! It’s mine!” retorted the one above. “I’m whole now . . . I’m Shade!”

“No! We are! We deserve it! We make our choice . . . we’ll help them! Be their friends!”

“You’ve no name, though! I’ve a name! I’m Valac!”

Time was running out for Aurim’s mother, but he dared not focus on her. He watched his own Shade, who seemed to hesitate each time the other shouted his new name.

His name . . .

Aurim ran through his memory, picked the first name that came to mind. “I’ve got a better name for you!”

His Shade looked back at him. “A name? A better one?”

“Nathan.”

“Nathan . . .” For just a moment, the face almost—but not quite—came into focus as the hooded figure tasted Aurim’s choice. “Nathan . . .”

“You know the name. You know the strength of it.”

“We—I—remember Nathan . . .” Shade seemed to swell. He faced his other self, who now retreated back somewhat under the sudden change in his counterpart. “Call me Nathan,” he told the one on the wall. “This time . . .”

Well aware that the original Shade had known his great-grandfather, had even fought alongside him against the Dragon Kings during the Turning War, Aurim had gifted his Shade with the use of that name. He had counted on the hooded warlock to recall what Nathan had stood for and take that to heart.

Where one Shade had chosen evil, he hoped the latter would stay securely with good.