Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (75 page)

Yes, Toos had solved the problem of keeping his men at their best, but he could hardly join them on the field, however much he would have wanted to do so. There was the risk that something might happen to him, either by accident or due to some assassin. No ruler who desired to survive dared believe that there was
not
an assassin lurking nearby. Simply because the Black Dragon had made no new assaults on the kingdom in years did not mean that he had withdrawn his spies.

From his long years as the Gryphon’s second, the vulpine soldier had picked up a fondness for chess, especially its constant demand for reevaluating one’s strategy. Simple chess had been sufficient for some time, but then, while visiting the magical libraries of Penacles with the Gryphon, the bored regent had commented on his need for something further.

“To my surprise,” Toos said to his guests as he considered his next move, “the
gnome
spoke up.”

The libraries of Penacles were a magical wonder dating back possibly beyond the present city. No one knew much about them save that they were larger than should have been physically possible, some corridors stretching for what seemed miles underground, yet apparently movable, and accessible only through a wondrous tapestry hidden in the palace.

The libraries also had a librarian . . . or perhaps many, although if the latter was the case, then all of them were identical in form. For as long as either Toos or the Gryphon could recall, they had always been served by a small, squat, completely hairless gnome wearing a robe much like that of a mage. All one had to do was tell the gnome what one was searching for and the odd little figure would locate it. Rarely, however, did the gnome offer words of advice.

Toos made his move and continued. “He suggested a field, a life-sized board, and living champions to do combat. I scoffed at the idea at first, but . . .” The general indicated the area just before them. “You see what I’ve done.”

In what had once been a small arena where human slaves had fought for the personal amusement of the Dragon King, there was now a black-and-white pattern of squares, each approximately three feet by three feet. There were viewing boxes on each end of the board, providing seating for perhaps two dozen people apiece.

On the board, or sitting off to the sides, were soldiers clad in armor representing the various pieces in the game. These were the game’s living chessmen . . . and women, too, since not only did each side need a queen, but female soldiers had been a part of the army of Penacles since the days of the Gryphon’s reign.

Cabe took his mind off of the game to observe the lionbird himself, who was the general’s opponent. The first time the warlock had been invited to witness the tournament, he had come fearing that the regent had finally fallen prey to his power and had become a decadent tyrant. However, after watching the game and learning the rules behind it, he had come to enjoy it himself.

The chessmen were volunteers. Over the years, it had become a bit of prestige to be a combatant in the chess tournament. Unlike the true board game, a chess piece was not removed simply because another piece had captured it. Instead, the two warriors had to duel, utilizing their skills while remaining within the two squares involved. Fighters were removed if they lost or if they attempted to truly wound their adversaries. It had become a matter of honor for most soldiers involved to win as cleanly as possible, as the best were often chosen for a place in the royal guard.

At the moment, Toos was in grave danger. His rook, his last line of defense against the Gryphon, had just fallen in combat against the other’s knight. The rook, a man armed with a mace and shield, had been disarmed by the knight, an armored figure also using a shield, but instead of a mace had wielded a broadsword.

“I knew that would happen,” the regent muttered. “Luck of the draw! He’s current champion among the champions!”

The game ended three combats later. The rule involving checkmate particularly fascinated Cabe. First the player would have to assure that his opponent’s king had no escape. That was the same as a normal game of chess. However, in the general’s variation, the checking pieces then had to do battle with the beleaguered monarch. It was possible for the king to free himself from checkmate if he could eliminate every opponent involved, but he had to fight all of them; he could not move to safety after defeating the first adversary.

The drakes, especially Kyl and Grath, were eager to direct the game themselves. The Dragon King had already played on one or two of his previous visits, so he offered to stand aside and let brother go against brother. Toos repeated the differences in the rules from normal chess, then chose their pieces for them. Chessmen were always chosen by lottery, so that no player could ever come to trust too much in his warriors. It made for a more balanced game and, in fact, after the countless battles the Gryphon and Toos had played, the lionbird was up by only seven victories. Of course, if there were ever two opponents who knew how one another thought, it was the two former mercenaries.

While the regent guided Kyl and the Green Dragon, who had always had a fondness for the human game, coached Grath, the Gryphon made his way back to where Cabe and Benjin Traske sat watching the opening moves. As usual, Faras and Ssgayn took up a spot near the dragon heir, which made for some crowding as the general’s own guards insisted on watching the drakes.

“They will be quite occupied with this game,” the Gryphon commented as he joined the two humans. “This might be a good time to visit the libraries.”

“For what reason?”

“I’m doing some research, trying to see if I finally understand some of the methods by which the libraries pass on information. I’m certain now that long ago something happened that distorted the original function of the place. I thought that I might save my next visit for when you were here. Do you wish to come?”

“I’d be a fool to say no.” As the Manor was the warlock’s pet project, so were the libraries the Gryphon’s. Both researchers had achieved about the same amount of success so far . . . meaning very little. If the lionbird had finally made progress, Cabe wanted to see it for himself.

“Good!” The Gryphon paused, then eyed Traske. “Benjin, you’ve never been in the libraries before, have you?”

“No, my lord.”

“You
haven’t?
” That startled Cabe. “After all these years?”

“I blame Toos for that!” The former monarch of Penacles shook his head. “Toos has never trusted the libraries . . . and who can blame him? You and I were virtually the only ones he would allow to enter until fairly recently, warlock. The old fox rarely even visits them himself!”

Cabe had known the last, but not that Toos had been so restrictive. Surely, Benjin Traske, whose expertise had helped create the school of sorcery, deserved that much trust. Once again, he was reminded of the paranoia of the monarchy.

“Well, I think that it’s time the scholar was given permission to visit them,” the Gryphon commented with a glance toward the regent. “You may certainly join us, Benjin.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The calm veneer momentarily twisted into a look of extreme pleasure. Then, apparently remembering himself, Traske quickly reverted to his more stolid, scholarly expression.

As they rose to leave, Cabe could not resist quietly commenting to the Gryphon, “I thought that you no longer ruled this kingdom.”

“You may consider me king emeritus for the time being.”

“Perhaps you’d better hope that Toos will consider you that.”

The Gryphon chuckled, an incongruous sight, considering his features. “My old comrade-in-arms would be happy to consider me king of
anything,
just so long as he can relinquish the throne to me!” He pretended to shudder at the thought. “Now, come! We really should give Benjin all the time we can in the libraries!”

They left the drakes and the general to their game. The Gryphon led his companions back into the palace and through its halls. As the visitors had noticed on their initial walk through the gray edifice, the inside of the palace was little better decorated than the outside. A few pieces of art, most recent and all of them reminiscent of war, dotted the halls here and there, but for the most part the palace interior looked as if the architects had left their project undone. Only when they passed the grand ballroom was there a radical change. Cabe glanced inside as they passed by and marveled at the bright, glittering array of crystal and gold decorations. After the rest of the building, the sight of the ballroom was almost jarring.

On and on they walked. Cabe began to wonder why the Gryphon had not chosen to transport them there. Most likely it was because the lionbird preferred physical activity and considered such use of magic frivolous. While this pattern of thought was much akin to the warlock’s own way of thinking, this particular trek was one where he would have happily made an exception.

At last they came before a doorway beside which two huge, iron figures stood, roughly hewn warriors that, like the palace, seemed to have been abandoned before they had been completed. The Gryphon signaled his companions to halt. He continued on for several paces until he stood no more than two yards from the center of the doorway.

“Well? Will you let us pass?” the lionbird asked.

What happened next made Benjin Traske gasp and clutch the hilt of his blade, an action which, in retrospect, Cabe realized might have endangered all of them.

One of the iron figures slowly turned its head toward the waiting Gryphon. The other looked not at the lionbird, but rather at the two behind.

The warlock took hold of the scholar’s arm and whispered, “Make no false moves, Benjin. If they perceive you as a threat, they might attack. You’d be surprised at how fast they can move!”

“Iron
golems,
” the tutor muttered, still stunned. “I have heard of such, but only in old stories.”

“Did the stories mention what they could do to those they were sent against?”

Traske did not release his blade, but he made no other move, which was perhaps the best that Cabe could hope for.

Oddly, the Gryphon was still waiting for the doors to be opened. The golems continued to stare at the trio, as if uncertain what to do.

“You
heard
me. The three of us will enter here; is that understood?”

Very slowly, the golem watching the former monarch returned to its original stance. As its head swiveled back, the creature rumbled, “You may enter.”

“Thank you
very
much.” The Gryphon waved the other two forward.

The doors suddenly swung open of their own accord. Beyond was a chamber that, like the ballroom, was a contrast to the stark simplicity of the regent’s palace. That was because the chamber before them had once been the Gryphon’s very room, his private sanctum in the days when he had ruled Penacles.

With careful steps, the three entered the chamber. Cabe noticed that the other golem continued to observe the Gryphon’s two guests. He could not recall the last time that the iron monsters had taken such interest in him. Then he realized that it must be Traske in whom the metal man was interested, for the scholar had never been permitted entrance before.

Benjin Traske still clutched his knife hilt, but he had almost forgotten the golems. Now he was busy inspecting the room that they had entered, his eyes quickly fixing on one ornament in particular, a skillfully woven tapestry hanging on one of the walls.

“I still use this place on occasion, although for the most part my stays last only the day. Troia would never forgive me if I left her and Darot alone overnight. Since we live not that far from here, I cannot blame her. Mostly, I use this chamber when I’m researching the libraries.”

The doors suddenly swung closed and as they did, they revealed two more of the metal colossi standing guard inside. Cabe had seen these two often enough, but for the first time that he could recall, they were watching the Gryphon’s guests closely.

Leading them to the tapestry, the Gryphon explained its importance to the scholar. “This is the only way—the only way we know of—that one can gain entrance to the libraries.”

“The detail is fantastic!” whispered Traske. “And it appears to be very ancient. I have never seen such a style before.”

“We don’t know
how
old it is, Benjin, but it may be from the first Dragon King. No one is certain.”

Traske squinted. “But . . . this is present-day Penacles! That cannot be right!”

“The tapestry is quite magical. It always shows the kingdom as it presently is. We could watch a building being torn down, return to this chamber, and find that it’s also vanished from the image.”

“How does it help us journey to the libraries? I do not even see them.”

“You have to know how to look for them, Benjin. Where the libraries are concerned, you won’t see an actual building. Instead, there’s usually a symbol of some sort. It varies now and then. Sometimes it’s a book, other times it might simply be a cross or star. Knowing the tapestry as I do, I merely have to search for something that is out of place.” The Gryphon studied the image. “And I think . . . that’s certainly a strange choice!”

“What is it this time?” Cabe asked.

“See for yourself.” Their host put his finger next to the mark, then shifted to the side so that the others could look at it.

Just under several buildings in what was the eastern edge of the city was the symbol. Cabe had never seen its like in all the times he had watched the Gryphon use the tapestry, and its very pattern disturbed him.

Benjin Traske peered at it. “A very stylized version of a dragon, is it not?”

“It is. That’s not the symbol you find on each tome in the libraries, though. Looks very familiar.”

“It should,” whispered the warlock. “Kyrg and Toma both used it as one of their banners.”

“I’d
forgotten
that! Of course!”

Cabe frowned, suddenly filled with tension. “I don’t like that coincidence. This could mean that Toma somehow gained access to the libraries.” Traske, who had finally been told of the drake’s other intrusions, frowned at this. “He could be in there
now.
”