Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (42 page)

The Gryphon could still not recall D’Farany’s features, but that had been almost twenty years ago and humans tended to change more with time. Sorcerers, even keepers, lived longer, but the Aramite commander had also suffered withdrawal from the addictive power of his dark master. That had probably done more to twist his features than the entire war.

Glancing about, D’Marr dared interrupt his commander. “Lord D’Farany, you said that we must have the camp ready to move as soon as possible. While the order has just gone out, we don’t have much time.”

“I am aware of what I said, Orril. I am. A pity, though.” The eyes suddenly focused. “It is a pity, Gryphon, that we cannot make a grand ceremony of your death. I, for one, would have found it inspiring. I was thinking of first giving my verlok a few moments of your time and then allowing Orril to show us his prowess in the art of lingering pain.”

“Death by vermin. My apologies for the disappointment.” There was no great visible reaction from D’Marr, although his eyes might have flashed in anger for an instant. The lionbird tried to judge the distance between himself and Lord D’Farany. Even bound as he was, he was almost certain that a good push would send him rolling into D’Farany. It was a desperate venture, but if he was meant to die now he at least wanted one last chance at one of his foes. After what the Gryphon had learned from D’Marr about his son’s death, he would have preferred the young officer’s throat, but D’Marr was too far away to even consider.

“I will live with it . . .” Lord D’Farany gingerly shifted his grip on the glimmering talisman. “I made the brief acquaintance of a friend of yours, by the way. A dark-haired warlock . . . Cabe Bedlam was his name.”

The Gryphon tensed.

“It would have been so cozy to bring such old friends back together, but he didn’t want to come . . . so I left him buried beneath the rubble from a collapsed cavern.”

Cocking his head to one side, the lionbird carefully studied his captor. The drawn face, the constantly moving hands, and the stiff body told him more than the keeper’s words. Cabe might be dead, but that death had been costly for the Aramite commander. He began to ponder the sudden decision to break camp when it was obvious that the Quel city could hardly be stripped of all its prizes. Cabe or Cabe’s death had instigated something that bothered Lord D’Farany enough to make him uproot his entire force without warning.

D’Farany took his silence the wrong way. “I thought you cared about your friends more. You are little more than an animal, birdman. It would be best if we just put you out of your misery.”

By the side, Orril D’Marr removed the scepter from his belt.

A hand stayed the raider officer. “He does not die this morning. Have him readied for the journey. His death will entertain us on the morrow.”

Looking somewhat disappointed, D’Marr nodded. He glanced at the Quel, who stared back with unreadable expressions. The Gryphon thought that they looked a bit too calm considering their situation. “What about these little beasts?”

Lord D’Farany did not even give them a glance. “Kill them before we leave, Orril.” To his prisoner, the Aramite softly added, “I want to spend a little time with you before your death, birdman. I want you to know the pain and suffering you caused me all those years ago . . . and I know it was you. It had to be. I have never been whole since the day the gifts of the keepership were stripped from my soul.” He stroked the talisman and again smiled that lipless smile. “But here I have come close.”

With that, the keeper turned and departed the tent. His aides, with the exception of Orril D’Marr, hurried after. Only the young officer and the guards remained. The former studied the bound captives and scratched his chin in contemplation.

“I should do this all myself, but I’ve not the time. Too bad; it would’ve been fun.” He swung the tip of the scepter around until it was pointed at the lionbird. “At least I’ll have the pleasure of dealing with you later. Let’s see if you can scream as long as your son did.”

Holding back the rage that boiled up within him, the Gryphon calmly and quietly responded, “My son did not scream.”

It was not merely his belief. He
knew
Demion had not screamed. Demion would never have screamed. The Gryphon was also aware that his son had died quickly and in the heat of battle. D’Marr had never had time to torture him.

That in no way released the wolf raider from the lionbird’s vengeance. Somehow, he would take the little man down.

Seeing that his attempt to ruffle the feathers of his adversary had failed, Orril D’Marr replaced the mace on his belt and summoned the two guards. “Bind his mouth and kill those obnoxious beasts. Do you think the two of you are capable of executing those orders? I mean, they
are
bound hand and foot.”

The soldiers nodded. D’Marr turned to go, then stopped to stare at the Quel again. He reached into a pouch and removed something too small for the Gryphon to make out. Crouching, the Aramite spoke to one of the Quel males. “I have decided to give you one final chance to save your miserable lives. What’s in that cavern? What were you hiding? Speak to me!”

The Gryphon guessed that the unseen object in D’Marr’s tightly clenched fist had to be a magical creation similar to the crystals that the subterranean race used to communicate with those not of their kind. Talk of a hidden cavern interested him, especially the cold silence it brought forth from the Quel that D’Marr had questioned.

“It’s buried forever! There’s no use keeping it a secret any longer! I want to know!”

It was interesting to see the bland mask of the young officer slip away. He had obviously become obsessed with this cavern.

“Bah!” The Aramite rose, then turned toward the lionbird. “Stupid beasts won’t talk even to save their useless lives.”

Likely because they know what your promise is worth. At least they can die knowing they’ve frustrated you in this.
Aloud, he wryly remarked, “You seem a bit put out. What won’t they tell you?”

D’Marr’s face returned to its more common banality. “You. You might know about it.” He leaned over the prisoner. “Far beneath the surface, past the Quel city, there was a chamber with some sort of great magical device.”

“Fascinating.”

The Aramite looked ready to strike him, but held back. “It’s what lies beyond, what I
alone
of the camp knows lies beyond, that interests me more. The beasties used sorcery—I witnessed the very end of that spell—to change the entrance to solid wall. There is something so valuable in there that they willingly die to preserve the secret. I was planning to set some explosives against one of the outer walls, but circumstances worked against me. Something
always
worked against me. Now Lord D’Farany says the passage is gone and we must leave here, but I still need to know what was in there.” While he had been talking, Orril D’Marr had put away the tiny talisman and once more removed the scepter from his belt. He began poking the head into the lionbird’s chest, but, fortunately for the Gryphon, did not make use of the weapon’s more devilish aspect. “Do
you
know what secret they hide from me?”

Certain as he was of the cavern’s contents, the Gryphon had no intention of passing that information on to the wolf raider. D’Marr could offer him nothing. The Gryphon had no love for the Quel and they certainly cared little for him, but here, for the moment, was a common foe. Let D’Marr’s curiosity eat at him. It was a small, petty bit of revenge, but at least it was something.

“I have never been to the domain of the Quel.”

It was an honest statement, as far as it went. The raider officer looked ready to strike him, but their discourse was shattered by another tremor, this one more violent than its predecessors. D’Marr almost fell on the Gryphon, who would have gladly snapped off the Aramite’s throat with his powerful beak if given the opportunity. One of the Quel did seek to roll into a guard, but the soldier backed out of the way and, without ceremony, thrust a good length of his blade into the creature’s unprotected throat. The armored beastman gave a muffled squeal and died. His companions rocked madly back and forth, but there was little they could do.

The tremor took long to settle. Now, the Gryphon had a better understanding of why the wolf raiders were beginning to break camp. This portion of Legar was no longer stable. That should not have been so, unless . . .
The fools must have played too much with things they did not understand!

Collecting himself, D’Marr stepped back to the tent opening. He looked from his adversary to the sentries, his frustration revealed only in his eyes. “Finish the rest of those beasts and make him ready for travel. I want this tent struck immediately after. We march in one half hour. Anything or anyone not ready by then will be left behind.”

With one last glance at the Gryphon, D’Marr vanished through the tent flaps. The two soldiers matched gazes, consulted among themselves for about half a minute as to how best to dispose of the bodies, then turned with grim purpose toward the captured Quel.

The Gryphon felt the ground beneath him rise and braced himself for another tremor. When that did not immediately happen, he looked down and saw that he now sat on one end of a spreading rise of dirt much like a mole’s trail. The width of the rise spread as it neared the soldiers and their victims, in the end becoming twice as wide as either man.

Throwing himself to one side, the lionbird braced himself.

His sudden and peculiar action caught the attention of the two raiders just as they were about to dispatch a pair of the Quel. One of the guards sheathed his sword and started after the Gryphon.

The Aramite was thrown screaming into the ceiling of the tent as the ground before him burst skyward and several hundred pounds of armored destruction erupted from the depths of the earth.

The Quel was huge, even by the standards of the race. In one massive paw he carried a wicked, double-bladed ax that somehow he had managed to drag with him even while tunneling. The first soldier had still not recovered, but the second was already attacking. Much to the raider’s misfortune, though, he thrust his blade too low and it shattered off of the rocklike shell of the newcomer. The Quel, completely silent throughout all, brought the ax around and proceeded to nearly cleave the armored soldier in two. Blood and much too much more decorated the interior of the tent, but only the Gryphon seemed to care.

Turning, the armed creature stalked toward the remaining raider and buried one edge of his deadly weapon in the chest of the still dazed man, who managed another short scream before he died.

The Quel threw down his weapon and began freeing the other prisoners. Dragging himself along like a snake, the Gryphon tried to move as far from the sight of the Quel as was possible. So far, they were all ignoring him, but one of them might decide to leave no witness to the escape.

A soldier stepped through the flap. “What goes—?”

Reaching for his ax, the rescuer rose to face the stunned newcomer. Two Quel whose hands had been freed hurried to undo the bonds around their legs. The Aramite was not so caught off-guard that he was not able to defend himself. His blade was out and biting before his hulking adversary was able to bring his own weapon into play. This time, the Quel was not as lucky. The wolf raider caught him in a fairly unprotected area near the neck and managed to slice off a good piece of flesh. The Quel fought back a hoot of pain and swung. His ax passed through where the human’s chest should have been, but the wary raider had fallen to a crouch. The soldier started to shout at the top of his lungs.

Meanwhile, the lionbird, who had continued to move away from the battle, found himself against the side of the tent. He rolled over so his face was toward the material. Seizing the heavy cloth in his beak, the Gryphon tried to either tear a hole in it or pull it free from the ground. There was no other way out.

A true tremor struck. He lost hold of the material but quickly regained control. Unfortunately, the tremor continued to grow in intensity. It was all he could do just to hang on.

Then, someone tugged on the tent from outside. The Gryphon was so surprised that he lost his grip again. A figure in a robe peered inside.

“Gryphon?” asked a not-so-silent voice. The quake rumbled on, making it hard to hear anything below a shout.

He looked up into the worn but ready countenance of the warlock Cabe Bedlam.

“It would be nice to occasionally meet under more pleasant circumstances,” the imprisoned lionbird managed.

That brought the shadow of a smile to the visage of his old friend. Cabe started to crawl in, but the Gryphon shook his head. “Pull me out! There’s Quel in there!”

Cabe glanced past him and nodded, likely having known already. The Gryphon was glad the tremor and the anxious work of the wolf raiders was keeping most others from noticing the battle yet, but was certain that that would change in the next few seconds. The warlock seized him and dragged the lionbird out. Then he pointed at the ropes around the Gryphon’s arms and legs. The bonds loosened and fell to the ground. Rubbing his wrists, the former mercenary tried to remove the collar from around his throat. A sharp, immediate pain on each side of his neck made him cease his efforts.

“Let me.” The warlock reached forward and touched the sides of the collar with his index fingers. There was a brief, reddish glow. Cabe took hold of the Aramite creation and pulled it apart.

“My gratitude.” The Gryphon rubbed his sore neck. He noticed Cabe glancing at his maimed hand. “A gift of the war. A gift I blame on men such as Ivon D’Farany and Orril D’Marr.”

“I’ve met the first. Is the second a shorter, younger officer?”

“The same. There’s a blue man from the north of the empire that completes the set.”

Cabe shook his head. “That one’s dead. Would-be sorcerer. Killed himself with overconfidence, I think. These tremors are the result of that.”

The Gryphon straightened, the news bringing him some little pleasure. Still, there was no time to savor the death. “Tremors aside, we cannot remain here. The battle will draw others.”