Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (118 page)

“Galani?” the red-haired young woman whispered.

Again, a flickering image, but this time posed differently. It was
not
Galani, for the hair was long, lush, and cascaded down past the waist. Even more startling, it was a brilliant silver-blue, so radiant in contrast to the starkness of the land. The face was more human, too, although the eyes were an arresting aquamarine and
crystalline
in design.

Crystalline . . . her father’s journals spoke of people with crystalline eyes.

The Vraad.

Gasping, Valea instinctively backed a step away. Then the realization that this ghost wore her own face made her move forward again. Was there a link to this phantasm akin to the one with Galani?

Again her doppelganger appeared and this time the one hand pointed upward and to the east where a dagger-shaped rock twice as tall as Valea stood.

Biting her lower lip, the spellcaster followed. The phantom materialized every few yards, always anxiously pointing at the rock.

When at last Valea reached it, that changed. Suddenly the ethereal woman formed inside the very rock, reaching out to her earthly twin with beckoning arms. She seemed to want Valea to walk into solid stone, something which, while easy for a ghost, was not so simple for a living being.

But when Valea touched the rock, her hand sank through. She quickly withdrew her hand, then touched the rock once more. When her fingers again sank deep, she felt around. Part of the rock was illusion. An arched opening slightly taller than her lay hidden right before the spellcaster.

Valea stepped through.

She had a brief moment of vertigo . . . then stood in a dank, stone corridor lit only by some vague, sourceless gray illumination. A fine dust covered the floors and the walls and the corridor seemed to go on forever.

The ghost formed briefly again, pointing down the direction Valea faced. The enchantress headed along the hall, eyes and other senses ready.

But nothing barred her path. She continued on down the corridor, passing door after wooden door. The first few she tried, only to find them tightly locked and sturdy despite their rotting appearance. Her spectral companion continued to urge her on and Valea finally abandoned all attempts to check the rooms.

The dust thickened as she made her way deeper into the castle and that bothered the spellcaster. If this area was in use, why were there no footsteps? It was as if nothing lived here. Surely, though, at least the Lords of the Dead walked the castle . . .

Then Valea realized that she might be presumptuous to expect that the necromancers were at all mortal any more.

A slight sound suddenly made her freeze. Valea backed against one of the doors.

The sound reminded her of something being dragged. In such a place, in such a realm, the possibilities of what that meant twisted her stomach.

The noise grew louder, nearer. Valea raised one hand, ready to fight with a spell. The source of the sound had to be almost upon her, but still she could see nothing. Her hand clenched in anticipation and worry—

And just like that, the sound receded past her.

She glanced after it, refusing to believe that it could be possible. The sound continued on, growing fainter and fainter until it ceased to be audible. The dust on the floor remained undisturbed save where Valea’s own prints were.

As she looked back the way she had been heading, the enchantress again saw her unsettling doppelganger. The figure pointed on, her face all urgency.

Again biting her lip, Valea followed the specter. The corridor finally came to an end several yards later at a narrow, winding stairway leading up. The stone passage had no rails, but Valea leaned against one wall as she ascended.

And at the top of the stairs, an iron door confronted her. The symbol of the dragon had been cast upon it and even through the dust Valea could see its malevolent eyes peering back. The style reminded her of the Dragon Kings and she wondered if there was some connection.

The ghost stood before the door, imploring her to enter. She vanished as her mortal counterpart neared. Valea touched the ringed handle, but it would not budge. There was no keyhole.

Concentrating, Valea let her higher senses show her what her eyes could not see. Draped over the door was a series of spells that kept the path sealed. The enchantress probed one and found it easily yielding to her power. After testing another and finding that as readily undone, Valea could come to only one conclusion. The peculiar earmarks of the spells indicated that they served one very specific purpose. They had been designed to work against a particular magical signature and one that she had come to know so very well.

Shade’s.

So he was here and he
was
a prisoner of the Lords. That was what Galani had tried to impart to her and what this other phantom, this other incarnation of herself, had also sought to say. A peculiar sense of relief touched Valea. She had come fully expecting to confront and vanquish the legendary warlock in order to prevent his evil from ever erupting again. Yet, a good part of her had battled against that notion. Valea could not deny that she felt something for Shade. It was not merely some residue of the time that she had spent bound together with Galani. It went far deeper. To Valea, it was as if her soul, in whatever form it existed throughout time, had always been intertwined with his. Had she lived other lives that had crossed the warlock’s path? Surely the second ghost indicated that.

Valea shook her head, clearing her thoughts of any foolish romantic feelings. Her brother would have mocked her and her parents would have looked down at her in pity. She risked more than her life coming here and to let her be distracted by such prattle endangered her further.

Still, she had come here to find Shade and she had done so. All that barred her from confronting him were some simple spells.

With an inherent skill that only a Bedlam could wield, Valea quickly and efficiently removed the remaining spells. There were no hints of alarms among them, which surprised her until she recalled just where she was. The confidence of the Lords in their own dread domain could hardly be surprising. Their only mistake had been not knowing that Valea would have unearthly help to guide her to this point.

As the last spell dissipated, the anxious enchantress tugged on the ring.

The door swung open with an utter silence that both relieved and astounded her. She quickly stepped inside.

The familiar gray cloak completely draped his back, making him look more like a monk than the fearsome figure he was. His face was to the barred and magically sealed window, the only feature of the small chamber. A long, stone bench enabled him to sit there. It was the only piece of furniture in sight. If Shade slept, then he did so on the floor and wrapped in his own garments. Her sympathy for the imprisoned spellcaster grew, but Valea kept it in check, aware that Shade might still prove a danger.

Still facing the window, he slowly rose. At the same time, the ghost, her arms at her side, formed before Valea. She faced not the enchantress, however, but rather Shade. Valea did not move, instead staring straight through the transparent figure.

And as he finished turning toward her, the enchantress came at last face-to-face with the one to whom she had been led.

Valea gaped—for there was indeed a
face
where there should have been none.

The aristocratic features were more handsome than those of her father, with the nose slightly aquiline. Dark hair hung loosely down over the forehead and the chin was narrow. It was a youthful yet ancient countenance, outwardly little older in appearance than hers. The eyes, however, were what made the true difference. They were, like the ghost’s, crystalline, albeit of a deeper shade than the female’s.

Vraad.

An expression of intense sorrow colored the startling face. In a voice that Valea knew all too well, the hooded figure muttered, “Sharissa . . . I am so very sorry.”

And the door behind Valea abruptly shut tight.

IV

“SHADE,” CABE REMARKED
with much more calm than he truly felt. “How long have you been waiting for us?”

“All my existence,” the warlock responded with utter nonchalance.

“I saw you die!” roared Darkhorse, taking none of the situation as cautiously as Cabe. “You ceased to be! Even you were certain of that!”

“And so I was . . .”

The sudden shift in Shade’s tone to deep bitterness silenced the shadow steed. The warlock slowly strode toward his old comrades and enemies. Even when he stood directly in front of Cabe and Darkhorse and peered up at them from under his hood, his features remained indistinct.

“Gwen told us of her encounter with you . . . and your other selves,” said the wizard. “She also told us what you said to her.”

“A shortened story, I promise, young Cabe. Perhaps one day we can discuss it in more detail . . .”

The wizard shifted uneasily. “You still haven’t told us what we should call you.”

Shade chuckled darkly. He performed a sweeping bow and answered, “You may call me . . .
Shade.
”

“Nothing else? Not Simon, not Rork, not Joab, nor any of the countless other names you’ve had over the centuries?”

“No . . . that part of the game is at an end. I tire of this facade or that. Call me Shade, for I am, always have, and always will be, it seems . . . the shadow of a true man.”

Darkhorse snorted. “And will you now tell us that we no longer need fear if you are friend or foe? Is that a facade also past?”

The slim form pulled the cloak tight around him, making him look even more an appropriate denizen of this plane. “No, my eternal friend, that is not. But for now . . . there is little to fear.”

“He says in this of all places!” rumbled the ebony stallion.

“We may bicker until the sun shines over this dismal landscape or we may accept what is,” Shade returned without the slightest impatience. “Ephraim has spent much time planning this and we would not wish to disappoint him.”

Cabe frowned. “Ephraim?”

“It would be him. He was always the guide through which the others worked.”

This brought a mocking laugh from Darkhorse. “The Lords have fought us before, Shade, and regretted it!”

“True, but they learn.” The warlock suddenly tilted his hooded head skyward. “And
he
always has a twofold purpose to any plot—”

The sound of heavy flapping suddenly filled Cabe’s ears. “What is that?”

Shade turned to face something just becoming visible in the sky before them. “Their welcome.”

At first it seemed a huge black cloud flowing swiftly toward them. Then the cloud broke into a giant swarm of winged creatures that grew as they neared. What Cabe at first mistook for fiends the size of cats became so massive that he knew that they would tower over him by the time they reached the trio.

Their wings were wide, leathery, and part of their arms. Savage talons thrust out from each of the fingers, deadly blades they no doubt knew well how to use. The nearer they got, the more the wizard saw that they resembled pale, hairless bats wearing the forms of men, but bent over as if constantly running. Feet wider and longer than Cabe’s ended in nails that made the other talons seem but tiny pins. Their eyes were red and monstrous and needlelike teeth filled their screeching mouths.

“Necri,” Shade declared them. “It would be good not to let them bite you. They carry poison.”

The teeth would also rip apart any flesh upon which they clamped, but Cabe saw no reason to mention that obvious fact. He made a fist, then concentrated.

Darkhorse’s head twisted around completely, an impossible thing for a true steed. “Cabe! It would be better if I fought unhindered, yes?”

Without a word, the wizard slid off the back of his mount. Darkhorse let out a thundering roar and galloped toward the oncoming mass.

“His impetuousness will be the end of him someday . . . I suppose,” Shade commented. The warlock held open one side of his massive cloak. Something leapt from its dark confines, moving so swiftly that Cabe could not make out exactly what it was. He thought he saw a beak and head like those of a gryphon, but the body was more lupine. It darted after Darkhorse, quickly catching up to him.

“I trust Master Zeree will not mind this borrowing of imagination,” the warlock said cryptically.

Cabe did not bother to ask what he meant, for the Necri were then upon them. The wizard thrust his fist at the main mass and a huge, booming explosion scattered the batlike fiends. Several dropped to the earth, where they lay unmoving.

Shade spun in a circle once, twice—and on the third time a whirlwind formed that caught those circling just above the warlock and tossed them together like leaves. The Necri collided, bones breaking. The whirlwind cut into the swarm, dragging off more of the monsters as it went.

Several of the creatures dropped upon Darkhorse, who stood below the mass as if petrified. The first of the Necri made the mistake of seeking to slash the stallion with their clawed feet—and were drawn into the eternal’s black form. They literally fell into him, plummeting to that unnamed place within.

Seeing their brethren vanish so, the next nearest Necri fluttered skyward again. However, the blur that had leapt forth from Shade’s cloak suddenly jumped up, landing atop one beast and ripping out the back of its neck before the Necri even knew what happened. As the corpse dropped, the beaked familiar abandoned its victim, landing atop another and repeating the process. Cabe, who caught a glimpse of its work, noted that it did not seem able to fly, but, given any surface from which to start, could leap wherever it chose.

A massive shadow engulfed the wizard. Breath that smelled of the grave almost made him vomit. The horrific visage of a Necri filled his gaze, the teeth snapping at his throat.

Something white and sharp thrust through the Necri’s chest, halting bare inches from Cabe’s own. The Necri collapsed in a heap, nearly taking its would-be target to the ground with it.

Shade stood behind the monstrosity, the bone-white blade of a tiny dagger retracting. He gave Cabe no time to nod his gratitude, having to turn to slash at another attacker coming at him from the opposite direction.