Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (18 page)

The young officer touched the tip of the scepter against the underside of the Quel’s snout. As he had expected, the creature flinched. D’Marr smiled ever so briefly at the puzzlement he could read in the other’s eyes. There had been no pain. D’Marr had not activated his toy.

“I know you can understand me, so listen well. There are two things you should note, my ugly beastie.” He kept the tip of the scepter no more than a few inches from the Quel’s eyes, now and then swinging it back and forth so as to keep the prisoner off-guard. “The first is that you should never think of me as predictable.” He tapped the rod against the Quel’s snout, this time giving him but the least of the pain levels.

He had the creature’s attention now. D’Marr backed up and began to walk about the chamber. He continued to talk as he played at studying its interior. “The second item you should be aware of is that I have not bothered with the speech stone this time. Your answers would only be repetitive. Also, what I need to know from you now does not require words or images.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the look of cautious curiosity that had spread across that monstrous visage. D’Marr put a hand on the crystalline device. He sensed the Quel flinch almost as much as when he had put the scepter to the subterranean’s head.

The Aramite officer brought the weapon dangerously close to the crystals aligned on the top of the alien creation. Then, as if unaware of both what he had nearly done and the Quel’s reaction, D’Marr stepped away. He walked to the far end of the chamber and started pacing the outer edge, occasionally tapping the wall with his staff as he went. The Quel’s eyes never left him.

“There are things you are hiding from us, beast.”
Tap.
“I have been trying to be reasonable about this.”
Tap.
“You must understand, my lord’s becoming impatient.”
Tap.
“And now your fellow monsters have taken two of our men.” Orril D’Marr stopped and turned to face the captive. “Two men very near to this place. Two men, who might have seen . . . what?”

Still facing the Quel, he snapped his arm back and struck the wall beside him soundly with the top of the scepter.

The armored leviathan gave a muffled hoot and tried to leap forward despite being bound. His guards dragged him back, although it took some effort to do so. D’Marr allowed himself a rare full, satisfied smile as he watched the Quel’s unsuccessful struggle. Noticing his tormentor’s own reaction, a look that might have been equivalent to human consternation crossed the inhuman features.

“Thank you.” The wolf raider glanced at the mace. Despite its somewhat fragile appearance, it was very sturdy. The head was not at all chipped. When his predecessor had had it created, he had wanted a weapon that could be used in combat as well. D’Marr was thankful for his forethought. It would take much to even scar the scepter.

He turned to inspect the area that he had struck. It was the same region where, on the first day, he had thought that he had seen another chamber or tunnel. That day, D’Marr had inspected the area and found only solid wall, but he had been nagged ever since by doubt. He was not one to imagine such things. Now, thanks to the Quel’s violent and unthinking response, D’Marr was certain that there was indeed a chamber or passage hidden behind the glittering facade.

Even had the Quel not responded as he had expected, there would have been proof of a sort to back his suspicions. Each time he had brought the baton against the glittering wall, he had left a tiny trail of cracked crystal and rock behind him. Yet, despite utilizing the full strength of his arm, his last strike had not left so much as a single scratch in the surface of this section of the wall. It might be that he had happened to strike an area of exceptionally resilient crystal, but D’Marr doubted that. No, there was something special about this particular bit of wall.

The raider officer turned away from the others and ran his hand over the suspect area, as he had done the first day. There was no sign of a break. There was nothing that might betray the falseness of the wall. “Nonetheless,” he whispered, “I shall have to tear you down. Stone by stone, if necessary.”

“To do that, Orril, would be a most distressing thing to me.”

He spun around. “My
lord
?”

As the officer fell to his knees, the Pack Leader slowly entered the chamber. He was accompanied by the blue man and his personal guard. Standing in the tunnel, just beyond the entrance, was what appeared to be a full squadron. Lord D’Farany looked about the chamber, his expression that of a man who is home at last. “You know nothing of the work of sorcery, Orril. Of the intricate matrices that must sometimes be arranged. Of the nuances of concentration, so simple in theory but perplexing in practice.” D’Farany stroked the side edge of the Quel artifact. His eyes fixed on a location above D’Marr’s head. “Of the
care
one must take. . . . If you understood such things, you would certainly realize what permanently damaging the integrity of this room might do to my prize.”

The young officer had
not
considered that. He recalled the minute but very real damage he had already caused the wall. Would that be sufficient to upset the balance of the magical array? If so, then he had handed his own head to the blue man.

“Forgive me, my lord. I had our interests at heart. I’m certain that there’s a hidden chamber behind the portion of the wall I was inspecting. The beasts know it; I’ve watched them. I tricked this one into betraying himself. There may be something, some threat to us, hidden there.”

“And so trusting of the Quel, who would seek to trick, you would destroy all this, yes?” interjected D’Rance. The two men locked gazes. The northerner was enjoying this.

“There will be . . . none of that.” The Pack Leader actually shuddered, as if the mere thought of any damage to this place physically pained him. He pointed in the direction of D’Marr. “The wall, Kanaan . . .”

“My lord.” Bowing, the blue man stalked across the chamber. As he neared his rival, he smirked. D’Marr’s grip on his scepter tightened. Given the least of excuses, he would have been willing to strike down the blue devil right there and then.

D’Rance ran both hands over the questionable section. His eyes were half-closed in concentration; he almost seemed in a trance. At last, he turned back to his master and said, “This wall feels like the others, my lord, yes, but I am only a simple soldier.” After a moment’s hesitation, he slyly added, “He does not seem to have damaged it yet, either.”

“There will be no breaking down of walls.” To Lord D’Farany, that was evidently the final word on the subject. He turned his attention to the Quel device. D’Marr exhaled quietly. He would find other ways to pursue the matter . . . and take the blue man to task while he was at it.

D’Rance was not finished with
him
, however. The northerner stepped past the Aramite and studied the floor. D’Marr grew still. After a brief inspection, the blue man looked up. “My lord, I fear that there may be damage to the chamber after all. There are several places where the crystal face has been chipped, perhaps by a blunt weapon, yes.”

Perhaps I should chip your face with this blunt weapon
. . . He readied himself for punishment. There would surely be no escaping it this time.

Lord D’Farany leaned over the crystalline device. He was silent for nearly a minute. Then, “We shall see what will happen, Kanaan. I do not like to execute a man for no reason.”

Familiar with his master’s ways, D’Marr was not at all comforted by the comment.

“Now come, Kanaan. I can wait no longer.”

That there were not only more than a dozen soldiers present but also a Quel as well did not appear to disturb the Pack Leader in the slightest. He only had eyes for the crystalline magic of the chamber. His gauntlets put aside, he carefully inspected each and every major facet of the peculiar artifact.

The blue man, on the other hand, was not at all pleased with the crowd. As he joined the Aramite commander, he asked, “My lord, would it not be better if those unnecessary would depart, yes? They could cause distraction and perhaps also unknown harm. It would be best, yes, if they retreated back to the previous passage even.”

“Do what you will,” D’Farany responded rather distractedly, his response accompanied by a curt wave of his hand.

Kanaan D’Rance dismissed everyone, including even the guards that D’Marr had brought with him. The sentries urged the Quel to his feet, but as they were dragging him toward the tunnel leading to the surface, the Pack Leader turned his ambiguous gaze in their direction. “Leave it. Orril, the thing is your responsibility.”

“Yes, my lord,” responded the short raider. He rose quickly to his feet and took control of the prisoner. At his command, the Quel knelt again. Two guards remained long enough to bind the beastman’s legs together, then, saluting, they hurried after their comrades.

“Would it not be wiser to—”

“It shall watch, Kanaan. I want it to watch.”

There was no argument. One did not argue with the Pack Leader . . . at least not
often
if one wanted to keep one’s head.

The raider leader touched several crystals. D’Marr felt a tingle, but it passed away. The Quel was leaning forward, his dark eyes narrowed.
You don’t like what you see, do you, beastie? Did you underestimate my lord simply because his world is not always ours? What were you expecting? I wonder.
He observed with care the way the captive followed each and every gesture made by Lord D’Farany. There was growing apprehension in the monster’s ugly countenance. This was more than what the Quel had expected, he thought.
He uses your toy like an adept, doesn’t he? You expected less of him, didn’t you?

It was then that the chamber . . .
twinkled.
That was the only word that D’Marr thought appropriate. Even though they were well into the depths of the earth, stars now shone bright above them. A thousand points of light sparkled, almost a dizzying effect. Colors from one end of the spectrum to the other danced about like fairies wild and gay. There was a low, almost inaudible hum that seemed to course through the mind. The young Aramite gritted his teeth. The others were either unaware of it or affected in a different manner. D’Marr only knew that it set him on edge, made him want to flee the area. He could not, of course, do any such thing.

“Kanaan . . . I will take the box now.” Perhaps it was some trick of his addled perceptions, but D’Marr thought it seemed as if it were a different Lord D’Farany who stood there. This one was almost sane in speech and manner. The eyes were nearly focused on what he was doing. His words did not come out in sometimes random phrases, but rather as complete and, for the most part, coherent statements.

Somehow, it only made him that much more frightening.

The blue man removed a small black box and turned it quickly over to the Pack Leader. Orril D’Marr squinted. He knew what was in the box, but could not fathom what purpose the Pack Leader had in mind for the contents. The thing within was dead, powerless. The Pack Leader had drained it during the initial assault against the Quel. It was nothing more than a memento of the past now . . . wasn’t it?

Lord D’Farany opened the box and removed from it the Aramite talisman that he had used to silence the Quel’s power.

A muffled hoot made D’Marr glance down at the captive. The Quel had evidently fathomed the raider leader’s intentions. He squirmed anew, trying to free himself from bonds designed to hold creatures much stronger than he. D’Marr increased the intensity of his scepter and jolted the Quel back into submission. He would have liked to have asked the beastman what concerned him so, but he had neither the time nor the means to do so.
We will know soon enough . . .

The former keeper inspected the curved artifact. “There can be no flaw,” he explained to no one in particular. “All of my calculations of the past days demand that. Any flaw would mean disaster.”

It was no comfort at all to the young raider that D’Rance was just as dismayed by the comment as he was. The blue man took an involuntary step backward and, if anything, was a much paler blue than he had been seconds before.

D’Farany looked up from his work. He gazed at the Quel as if seeing him for the first time. “This device is recent, isn’t it? I thought as much. It lacks the care and design of so much else here, yet it holds so much more potential. Why did you build it?”

The Quel, of course, could not and would not answer. This was apparently unimportant to Lord D’Farany. He shrugged and returned his concern to the Aramite talisman and the peculiar creation of the armored underdwellers.

“It is incomplete. I shall complete it for y—for
me.
”

With his free hand he rearranged the central pattern, plucking gemstones from their chosen locations and replacing them with others from the array. The Quel started to shake and twist, but still to no avail. D’Marr gave his captive another touch of the rod, but even then the massive figure continued to shift.

Satisfied with his alterations, the Pack Leader added the talisman to the arrangement.

The room crackled . . . and from each point of light a bolt of blue darted toward the Quel creation.

D’Marr covered his eyes and ducked down. The blue man pressed himself against the wall nearest to the entrance to the chamber and simply stared. Beside D’Marr, the underdweller rocked back and forth as if expecting the end of everything.

The wolf raider was almost inclined to agree with him.

Tenuous, frantic strands of light, the blue bolts struck the crystalline device, bathing it in brilliant color. D’Marr felt his hair stand of its own accord and saw that the others suffered the same effect. Only Lord D’Farany, standing within the bright cobalt glow, was untouched . . . at least on the surface.

He was smiling. Smiling as a lover might while in the tender embrace of his desire. It was perhaps a very apt description, the officer realized, for to the former keeper the power that bathed him
was
both his love and desire. The loss of it had killed most of his kind and sent him into madness.