Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade (12 page)

Valea at first mistook his meaning, believing that he was after all seeking to renew his advances toward her. His face, however, revealed no such guile and the enchantress suddenly understood. “You suspected my reasons for coming!”

“I could have hoped that they were other, more personal ones, but I have learned, Valea. If you came to me, even by passing Faras and Ssgayn, you came for something more important. And the fact that you came at all would mean it is likely something your parents would not approve of.”

She was grateful for his grasp of the situation but worried that once he understood exactly what she wanted, his attitude might change. “I—thank you. I don’t even know if you can help me, but I had no other source to turn to. I heard once that your sire—that every Dragon Emperor before him—had records kept of all matters important to the realm. I don’t know how true it is—”

“My people have their savage side,” he said, taking a step back from her to observe her face better. “But it was not our lost brother in Penacles alone who gathered knowledge that was deemed worthy.”

Kyl spoke of the last of the Dragon Kings of Clan Purple, the former rulers of the City of Knowledge, with much detachment despite his use of the word “brother.” All Dragon Kings used that familial term in regard to one another, although to Valea’s knowledge they were so only in spirit.

Taking a deep breath, the enchantress said, “I’m trying to find out whatever I can about the origins of Shade.”

He looked incredulous. “The warlock? Your father would tell you not to stray into dark places like that, Valea, and I would be his greatest supporter in that regard! Even we drakes respect and fear his madness!” The emperor hissed. “Besides, he is dead, is he not?”

“No.”

Kyl grimaced. “One more trouble with which to deal.” He did not clarify, instead adding, “The scribes serving my sire and those before him would have entered anything their lords found relevant. Shade would seem to me to be relevant in any age.”

He had just raised a hand as if about to lead her from the chamber when a horn blew from the direction of the entrance. Immediately, Kyl stiffened.

“Valea, I must ask you to leave.”

Perplexed, she hesitated. “But you were just going to let me—”

“You mussst leave now! Whisssk yourssself away!” Kyl bared his teeth in frustration, looking very much the predator. The raised hand suddenly veered in her direction. “Leave!”

Before the enchantress could protest, her surroundings rippled. Kyl had decided he could not wait for her to make the decision herself.

As powerful as the young emperor was, Valea still feared for herself as the cavern vanished. She was not certain if he intended to send her far or simply deposit her somewhere in the mountains surrounding his sanctum.

“Ugh!” Her face met cold, hard ground. Fortunately, her hands had been in front of her and saved her from possibly striking harder. Even then, she lay there for a moment, trying to regain her senses.

A chill wind tore through her thin garments. Pushing herself up, Valea saw nothing but high peaks around her. She was indeed still in the Tyber Mountains but could not make out Kivan Grath, the tallest of the icy giants, from which the Dragon Emperor ruled. Kyl had retained enough sense to not try to hurtle her far away without the time to better focus on her destination but had still sent her some tremendous distance.

What was the meaning of that horn?
she wondered. Why had it made Kyl react with such violence? He had been so very afraid to have her there.

It struck her as odd that he would not think that she might decide to return to some nearer spot and see what she could learn. Despite the
immediacy of her own quest, Valea knew that she had to find out what was happening for the possible sake of her family and others. Something ominous was definitely taking place.

“I am so sorry, Valea. He sent me after you.”

The enchantress whirled.

A saddened Ursa touched the point of a small golden staff to Valea’s chest. Try as she might, Valea could not move.

“It’s only for a time,” the female drake promised, her tone full of regret. “He said it was only for a time. He realized that he had to do more than send you away. I’m so sorry.”

Ursa drew a circle with the staff . . . and the pair vanished.

ONCE, THE GRYPHON
had left the gates of Penacles open to Shade, but that had been in the days when the lionbird could trust the sorcerer’s incarnation. Before, and after, Shade had been as much a threat as the Dragon Kings themselves, and the lord of Penacles had set spells around his kingdom capable of dealing with even the accursed magic user.

Now, within sight of the fabled City of Knowledge, Shade stared in the direction of the tall walls. However, he did not see them, but rather the lines of energy permeating everything before him, twisted into a series of sophisticated defenses invisible even to many with the ability. The Gryphon was a master mage himself and Shade very much respected anything he had been involved in casting.

To a respected friend, such as any of the Bedlams, the way into Penacles was clear of danger. As Shade surveyed the network of spells, he doubted that he was on that list at the moment. The Gryphon was wise enough not to assume that even though Shade had been reported dead by those with the ability to verify it, such was still fact.

A party of riders headed toward the gates, a patrol returning, no doubt, from the border with Lochivar. Shade had no interest in the coming war. Either side would have been happy to pause long enough to destroy him and he could not blame them.

The medallion rested warm against his chest. Shade did not even trust his ally; the Crystal Dragon’s true intentions were still an enigma.
However, the sorcerer could not deny the usefulness of the drake lord’s gift. It made him seem as any mortal and gave him more stability than he could recall having in a thousand cursed lifetimes.

But for how long? How long will it last me?

Shade slid the medallion from beneath his shirt. He had a theory, but it risked the very thing that kept him from possible physical dissolution.

He passed a hand over the piece. Shade believed he understood it enough to do what he planned. If not . . .

A faded blue aura emanated from his palm. It descended upon the medallion, sinking into it.

Shade bit his lip and waited. He felt no change and his hands remained solid. He gestured and a tiny, triangular mirror formed in his palm. The sorcerer held it to his face.

That face greeted him. The Dragon King’s creation continued to keep him stable, almost . . . human.

But now came the test as to his own handiwork. Shade replaced the medallion beneath his shirt, pulled back his hood, and headed for the gates.

Although war was imminent, traffic still passed through both directions. The Gryphon’s army had moved to meet their foes near the border, a fact that Shade knew but perhaps the force from Lochivar did not . . . yet. The sentries were wary but trusted also to the spells set in place by their lord and his legendary allies.

Shade walked with confidence as he approached, but his mind remained ready to cast the moment anything out of the ordinary transpired. The tall gateway loomed ahead and over it hung a red banner, the center of which was marked by a golden, stylized gryphon rearing. The silver armor of the guards glistened, the bright sun above belying the growing tension.

He made it to the gate unhindered, then passed among the sentries. One, a husky man with squinty eyes who seemed the officer on duty, suddenly barred Shade’s path with a very serviceable sword.

“Where you from?”

“Talak,” the sorcerer responded without hesitation.

“Long way to walk.”

Undaunted by the man’s curiosity, Shade explained. “I rode the first half of the way. The wolves scared my horse off just before I entered your lands.”

His accent matched that of the inhabitants of the mountain kingdom. The incident that he had described was not uncommon, the safest route between Talak and Penacles still requiring some caution. Most folks traveled in groups, but lone travelers were not unheard-of.

His answer suited the officer. Yet, he still did not let Shade pass. “What news? Your king joining us?”

“He’ll be marching any day now.” The answer was a true one. Shade had monitored the efforts of King Melicard. It paid to know what the great powers of the land were doing at all times . . . or at least as often as possible. “Probably already on his way, in fact.” The last might have been true. Melicard was not one known to dawdle when time was of the essence.

The officer grinned, then glanced past Shade at where two of his men were investigating a wagon. Shade forgotten, the officer barged past to oversee the search.

Only after the sorcerer was well past the gate did he realize that he was sweating. The act itself was not surprising, but the reason was. He had actually been more worried about being found out than he had realized. Entering through physical rather than magical means had proven an unsettling experience.

It also reminded him that he now could pass for just one more person among many. That struck the sorcerer hard. Not since long before the rise of the current human civilizations had he simply been one man among many . . . not since when last he had been but one extra member of the most powerful clan among the Vraad.

If you could see me you would laugh, wouldn’t you, Father?
Shade forced away the image of his sire, an image that burned bright after countless
centuries. The past was best forgotten; the future was all that mattered, if there was to be one even.

His audacious plan had thus far succeeded. Shade had entered Penacles unnoticed. More so, he had entered in daylight, when they would least expect any such intrusion. He allowed himself a rare chuckle, then grew solemn again as he considered the effort to enter the lionbird’s palace. Shade disliked having to use such nefarious methods to reach the libraries, but he no longer had any friends here. It was possible that, like Irillian’s lord, the Gryphon might even decide that Shade was better off eradicated than simply captured. The former mercenary was not quite so altruistic as Cabe Bedlam.

Now that he had gained entrance to the city, the sorcerer knew that he had to wait until dark to proceed any farther. The palace would be too alive with activity. Even late into the night, the risk was great, but it was still the better time. Every fiber of Shade’s being screamed for him to push on, to risk everything to reach the fabled libraries immediately and wrench from them the secrets he needed, but he also understood the folly of doing just that.

The sound of merriment from one of the nearest taverns caught his ear. Shade looked at the establishment. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, but the sorcerer found himself walking toward the tavern as if
it
had been his ultimate goal.

I will sit among men and women and pretend to be one of them for a time
. Shade understood the farce of what he intended, for even with a face and form more mortal in appearance he was hardly ordinary.
I will bide my time at this place until the hour grows close.

Shade shoved the door open, then suddenly looked to his left, where he realized a part of the palace was just visible above the rooftops. The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed as he recalled a past life that ended defending that same structure. Whether the Gryphon understood or not, Shade felt he was owed the information that he sought.

Someone in the tavern laughed loudly, cheerfully. A woman’s laughter
followed, then the clinking of mugs. Shade focused his attention on the interior, smiling as if drinking and eating among mortals was something he did on a daily basis.

And thus, his attention tugged between the coming night’s treacherous quest and the momentary pretense that he did not suffer under a curse, the spellcaster entered the tavern without noticing that the gloved hand that gripped the door faintly and briefly faded.

THE CHAMBER LAY
dusty and unused, its last inhabitant released several years prior. Melicard stared at the scrawled markings on the stone floor, recalling a darker time in his life and some of the foul things spawned during it.

“Ah, Drayfitt,” the king muttered, recalling a loyal and much-abused servant who, simply because he had been discovered to have the gift for magic, had been forced by his king to delve into mysteries better left unanswered and forgotten. “I am so sorry . . .”

Drayfitt, who had also served Melicard and his father in the more commonplace capacity of master of appointments, was long dead, slain—so Cabe Bedlam had judged—during some contact with the accursed warlock Shade. Had the featureless spellcaster not perished in protecting Erini and, ironically, Talak, Melicard would have done everything he could have to avenge Drayfitt. Of course, that would not have freed the king from his own guilt where his late servant was concerned. Drayfitt might have been alive this day if Melicard had not sought to have him summon a demon that proved to be none other than—

“I am here, lord of Talak!” boomed the voice from every corner of the bleak chamber. The flame of the small brass oil lamp Melicard carried danced wildly. “Here and wondering how it is that you are the one who calls to me and not your queen . . .”

A shadow darker than those already permeating Melicard’s surroundings formed in the center. It stretched tall and quickly took on the shape of a mighty stallion.

Eyes formed, ice-blue eyes without pupils. Darkhorse peered down at the king, his emotions unreadable to the human. Melicard felt an urge to reach for a weapon, yet not only would a blade have been ineffective, he had purposely set both his sword and dagger to the side in order to avoid just such a reaction. He needed the eternal’s aid, if it was possible for him to gain.

“Erini is your friend more than I,” Melicard cautiously responded. “And it’s for her sake in part that I’ve asked you here.”