Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol III Part 20
Unless Cabe was not a prisoner . . .
If not, where was he?
A pair of boots crossed his limited field of vision. They paused before him. "Make him docile for the trip. That'll keep the demon in line."
The Gryphon knew what was coming and braced himself for it. The blow to the back of his head was a good one, he was just barely able to note, for alone it was enough to send him spinning into unconsciousness. He would have only one fist-sized lump when he woke.
Provided the Gryphon woke at all.
WAKE HE DID, but it was no relief to do so, for the Gryphon saw that they had reached the Aramite encampment. It was still night, he supposed, but there were many awake. He sensed a certain tension that permeated the area. The raiders were not at ease in this place. There was not much satisfaction in knowing that. His captors would be that much more anxious, that much more ready to kill him. Although he knew he faced potential agony at the hands of the Aramite inquisitor, the lionbird was determined to survive. He had given up part of his hand already and he was willing to give up much more if he was granted the deaths of Lord D'Farany and his men.
His eyes little more than slits, the captive continued to survey his surroundings. One item of vast importance was missing. He could neither see nor hear Darkhorse. What had happened to the eternal? Surely he was aware that the raiders would kill the Gryphon no matter what? They would be searching for methods of binding the ebony stallion to their will. The Gryphon was fairly certain that the wolf raiders would find some adequate device. This batch had probably stolen whatever they could before they abandoned their fellows back in the empire. So much for the loyalty of the pack!
He was dragged on and on, so long, in fact, that he almost believed they intended to drag him to death. It was not a very imaginative death, if that was the case. From D'Farany the Gryphon expected more. Something slow and agonizing.
This was not how he had planned it.
All at once, the Gryphon was dumped to the harsh earth. He suppressed a grunt and remained as still as possible.
"What is it now?" The voice was indifferent, almost bored.
"Sir, a prize most wonderful! It's-"
"Don't bother to tell me; show me."
"Y-yes, Commander D'Marr!"
Ungentle hands rolled him onto his back.
"Forget rolling him free. I have other things demanding my time, Captain. Cut him out of there."
Evidently in the darkness it was troublesome to make out anything more than his shape. A possible advantage? The Gryphon heard the sound of a dagger being drawn from its sheath. A blade flashed by his visage, but he did not flinch. With little care for his well-being, the soldier began to cut him loose. He tensed. If there was ever an opportunity for escape, it was when he was nearly free of the net. He was swift, far swifter than most of them would think. It was a slim hope, but if they bound him after this, his odds would shrivel to next to nothing.
A heavy boot landed atop his throat. The Gryphon gasped. He felt the tip of a mace against his forehead. Around him was nothing but silence.
"What are you gaping at, you fool? Finish releasing our friend here." Was there just a tinge of excitement in the officer's otherwise monotone voice? "He won't be trying any tricks now."
When the last of the netting had been cut away, the Gryphon was seized by both his arms and his legs. Only when he was certain that his prisoner would not be able to free himself from the guards' grips did D'Marr take his foot off of the lionbird's throat. "You might as well open your eyes all the way, birdman."
The Gryphon did. Peering down at him was a round, clean-shaven countenance. At first glance, he almost wondered if the Aramites had been reduced to promoting children to the officers' ranks. Then, as they tugged him to his feet, he was better able to glimpse the eyes. Young, D'Marr might be, but he was by no means a child. There was more death in his eyes than most men the Gryphon had ever faced.
And is my son one of those deaths?
The Aramite commander stepped closer. The Gryphon c.o.c.ked his head in sudden amus.e.m.e.nt as he saw that D'Marr came up only to his chin.
The head of the mace went deep into his stomach.
His guards would not let him fall forward or clutch his stomach in pain. As he gasped, he heard the young commander say, "You've made an otherwise long and annoying night worthwhile, birdman. You have no idea how much I've waited for this confrontation."
"Shall I alert his lordship, sir?"
D'Marr looked at his prisoner, then at the guards, and then at last at the man who had spoken. He never seemed to look at any one thing for very long, the Gryphon noted, not even the face of an adversary whose image had become synonymous with Aramite defeats. "No. Now would not be the best time. Lord D'Farany has only just retired and his victory over the fog has cost him." The men looked confused over the last part of the statement, but D'Marr ignored them. He smiled ever so briefly at the lionbird. "I'm certain that we can find accommodations for our special guest until then. We need time to prepare the best welcome for him. We need time to properly plan his death. For that Lord D'Farany will want to be fully alert and able to enjoy his pain."
"I hope I will be a disappointment," the Gryphon managed to respond. He was still in pain, but it had subsided enough so that he could pretend it had vanished.
"You speak." D'Marr raised the tip of the mace to the underside of the Gryphon's beak. The lionbird could sense a spell of some sort, a strong, complicated spell, locked into the weapon. Judging from its owner, he was certain that the mace was a treacherous little device. "How entertaining. I'd begun to think you incapable. Don't worry yourself, Your Majesty . . . you are supposed to be a king or some such dribble, aren't you . . . my lord will hardly be disappointed. If you think that I'm eager for your company, you'll be amazed at his enthusiasm. You are the cause of all his suffering. Years of suffering."
"Good."
A shock coursed through his body. He would have fallen if not for the guards. D'Marr waited for him to recover, then held the head of the mace close enough so that the Gryphon could see how it had been designed. "That was one of the low levels. You'll be tasting the others-as many as you can take-when you're brought before our master."
"I am always eager to meet the men I want to kill. It has been a pleasure meeting you, in fact."
D'Marr started to smile again, but then he stared at the avian visage before him and the smile faded. "The only one you'll have the pleasure of meeting will be that brat of yours. The one who died much too quickly."
Demion . . . It was as if his heart had suddenly been wrenched from his chest. Blood madness took him. The Gryphon's world shrank. It was a world large enough to contain only two. One was himself and the other . . . the other was the beast who had killed his son.
No, two was still too many. He would not be satisfied until there was only one.
"Demion . . ." Nothing would keep him from the beast. He felt some sort of resistance holding him in place, but with a twist of his arms he freed himself. The monster backed away from him, eyes wary and prepared for struggle. Good, it would make his death that much better.
The Gryphon felt something pull at his arms again and this time he lashed out, striking flesh and bone. Not once did he look to see what the source of that interference was; his eyes could only see the black figure before him. The jackal.
He leapt, but the beast struck him with the scepter, sending him through a new crescendo of agony. Still the enraged Gryphon would not accept defeat. The pain gave way to his anger, his bitterness. He slashed at his adversary, but his claws caught only the hard metal of the beast's armor.
The net came down on him before he could strike again. Still fighting, the maddened lionbird was pulled to the ground. A blow to his head finally succeeded in lessening some of the blood l.u.s.t.
"Don't kill him. Keep him bound." The beast stood where he knew the Gryphon could not help but look. His placid face broke into that brief smile again. "You are a feisty one, aren't you?"
"I will have you, D'Marr," the prisoner replied in much calmer tones. He was furious at himself for allowing his base instincts to take over like that. He had not served the memory of his son nor the love of his mate in any way by becoming the animal. There was a line between animal and humanity that the Gryphon had always walked. Now, he had allowed himself to fall prey to the unthinking side. It was never right to allow one side or the other complete control. Only with both sides in balance could he triumph. "I will have you and your master."
D'Marr squatted and pointed the tip of the mace at him. The top just barely flicked against the side of the Gryphon's face, who flinched before realizing that there was no pain this time. "No, that's for later, birdman. That and so much more." The Aramite officer rose. "Bind him properly this time and take him to the other beasts. They can stare at each other until he's needed for the festivities. Is the demon under control?"
"We've bound it as you've instructed," responded the patrol leader. "It doesn't seem to be able to free itself."
"Watch it. Make certain of that." The youthful raider yawned in the Gryphon's direction. "Now that we have things settled, you'll excuse me if I retire. I have so much to do tomorr-excuse me, later today." He pointed at the guards with his scepter. "These men will see to your discomfort. If you have need of anything, please ask."
"Just your head."
D'Marr tapped the side of the weapon against his palm. He stared thoughtfully at the captive, then politely asked, "And how long do you think before we might be graced with the presence of your cat? I'm looking forward to completing the set."
This time, the Gryphon did not respond. D'Marr was working hard to keep his mind in turmoil and he was achieving that goal all too well. As desperate as his situation was, the only hope that the Gryphon had was in retaining his calm.
"Well, I suspect she'll be here soon enough. I will be certain to greet her with open, loving arms." His countenance once more a bland mask, the young officer gave the tangled lionbird a mock salute and departed.
Watching him walk off, the Gryphon knew that he had to somehow free himself despite the odds. If he did not, then Troia would follow, as D'Marr had predicted. The thought of her in the hands of someone like the s.a.d.i.s.tic Aramite made him shiver.
I'm looking forward to completing the set, D'Marr had mocked. If the Gryphon did not find some way to escape his fate, without the aid of Darkhorse, apparently, it was all too possible that the deadly raider would do just that.
XIV.
"RISE, CABE BEDLAM."
The voice sounded familiar, yet it also did not. Cabe, his body responding as if it had long ago given way to rigor mortis, managed to rise to a sitting position. He found himself staring at the blurred images of one countenance, a countenance that every facet of every reflective crystal repeated. It was the face of a man much like the one the warlock had seen in the visions, but despite the blurriness, he could see that this one was a younger, varied copy. A son, perhaps. Until the detail became much more focused, he could guess no more.
"You are resilient, warlock."
He turned to the source of the voice and only then discovered that it was not the images that were blurred, but rather his own vision. Not really a shock, considering what had happened.
Dragon Kings will be the death of me yet . . . even when they are not purposely trying to achieve that result.
"Your-Your Majesty?" He blinked several times, but to no discernible effect.
"Wait a moment. Your vision should clear. You were not, fortunately for you, struck in the eyes. I did what I could for you otherwise."
What did that mean? Cabe started to reach up with his left hand and was wracked by dagger strikes of pain. He quickly lowered the arm and clutched it with his other hand, which thankfully did not hurt. "What-what happened?"
"You deflected most of the fragments, but a few stronger ones broke through your shields. Only a few pierced you; it was the force of the explosion, which I fought to contain, that left you unconscious."
"The fragments. The sphere. One of the pieces struck me in the arm?"
He knew it was the Crystal Dragon who spoke to him, but still the voice sounded so different from anything he had heard before. What new change had the explosion wrought upon the Dragon King's personality? "It did not strike your arm. It pierced it, warlock. The wound goes completely through your upper arm. I did what I could, but it will not heal for me. It may never heal, you understand, not completely."
Never heal. Much the way King Melicard's face and arm had never healed after the burst of magic that had maimed him. Cabe was aware that his own wound did not even approach the severity of Melicard's, but he could not help but be more upset by it.
"There are also small scars on your neck. You were very fortunate, warlock. Your skills are impressive."
Skills? More like pure luck! Cabe pulled his robe askew so that he could study the wound. A jagged, green scar surrounded by red, swollen skin marked the fragment's pa.s.sage. With great trepidation, he touched it. The soft touch was still enough to make him grunt in intense pain. Bracing himself, the wounded mage touched the back of the same arm. Again, the pain struck him.
Never heal?
He was still staring at the wound when the Crystal Dragon spoke again. "We are both fortunate, Cabe Bedlam. When the sphere was shattered, the doorway to Nimth was closed, not opened. That was how the device was designed, but there was no true way of testing it except by an occurrence much like this explosion."
Cabe looked up. His vision had cleared enough so that he could now clearly see the Crystal Dragon. The drake lord looked unmarred, but that did not mean he had not been wounded. More important now was his state of mind. He seemed sane enough . . .
"What happened?"
"I underestimated the wolf raider leader. I underestimated so much. He has wrested control of the mist from me. Before long, he will understand something of how to utilize it. Things go from bad to worse." The glittering leviathan closed his eyes.
The warlock's gaze darted back and forth between the ma.s.sive dragon and the face that stared at him from all directions, but his attention remained on the subject at hand. "What will you do now?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I must do nothing!" The Dragon King's long, narrowed eyes opened again . . . and was this the first time that Cabe had noticed how crystalline they appeared? They were almost like the insane orbs of Plool. "I dare not! I will not lose myself!"
Cabe's gaze again drifted to the multiplied countenance covering the walls. This time, however, he studied them closer. Not lose myself, the leviathan had just said. Did that mean what Cabe thought it did?
"Who are you?"
The Crystal Dragon settled back. He seemed almost to welcome the strange question. The huge head turned and indicated the faces. "Once . . . I was him."
Him. The faces in the visions. The eyes of Plool. The obsession with the foulness of Nimth. It all began to make sense to the warlock.
"You're a Vraad." He found he was really not that astonished by the revelation. So much had pointed to it. Yet, if the knowledge that the Crystal Dragon had once worn a human form was not shocking, then the fact that he still lived was. How long had it been since the coming of the Dragon Kings?
"How did it happen? When?"
The dragon's laugh was harsh and humorless. "By the banner, I no longer even know, warlock! Centuries, yes. Millennia, yes. How many it has been I have forgotten! I have watched generations come and go, live and die! I have seen the rise of the Dragon Kings and I have watched their pitiful decline! The others pa.s.sed on, but I lived! Ha! Lived? I am fortunate that I have not gone insane!"
The last word echoed throughout the chamber. Cabe stood, careful to avoid stress to his arm. He had to hear. "Tell me."
"Tell you?" The Crystal Dragon contemplated that. His expression was weary. "Tell you of Logan of the Tezerenee? The dutiful son, one of many sons, to Lord Barakas Tezerenee, he was. Not like Gerrod or Rendel or Lochivan, he was. Logan obeyed blindly as was proper. When the Vraad fled Nimth, he was there to aid his father. When Barakas claimed this land under the dragon banner, Logan was there to enforce that claim."
Cabe Bedlam listened transfixed as the history of the first Dragon Kings began to unfold before him. The wound was all but forgotten as the time-worn leviathan spoke of the fatal error that had led to his present existence.
"It was the bodies, the bodies his father and Master Zeree and his brothers Gerrod and Rendel had created, created from the stuff of dragons! They were people-shaped, but they were dragons in heart. The spirits, the ka, of the Tezerenee crossed the path of worlds to this one and claimed those bodies. Claimed their own eventual destruction."
The sorcery-shaped bodies had worked well for the Tezerenee. Most of the other Vraad had crossed over physically, but that door had not been open at the time of the Tezerenees' crossing. So the folk of the dragon banner truly became dragon men, which served to increase their power and presence among the other refugees.
It was not until a few years later that people, not merely the Tezerenee, began to notice some changes. Their skill in sorcery faded, but even that was not so insurmountable a situation to the Tezerenee, who had always espoused the physical even while they made use of the magical. For a time, it served to make the Vraad more reliant upon the clan. Not enough to accept the rule of Lord Barakas, however. When he sought to take his rightful place, there was resistance. Strong resistance. It was that in the end that forced Lord Barakas to seek a new kingdom overseas.
"They claimed that land." The Dragon King did not seem to consider how the Tezerenee had made the long crossing from one continent to the other without ships and sorcery important enough to discuss. Recalling what little he had gleaned from Darkhorse over the years, the warlock wondered if this was where the eternal had fallen prey to the Vraad. It might explain the shadow steed's bitterness and, yes, fear where things relating to Nimth and the Vraad were concerned.
Lord Barakas had evidently expected to fight the Seekers, but the avians' civilization had collapsed in some war and only a few bands were strong enough to give them trouble. Flushed with success, they conquered the mountain stronghold of the bird folk and took its ancient secrets for their own.
Kivan Grath. Cabe recognized the place from the Dragon King's description. Kivan Grath, the mountain whose caverns would become the citadel of the Dragon Emperor. Odd how he recalls so much but not how much time has pa.s.sed. Then again, he may want to recall his humanity, but not how long it has been since he lost it.
As he spoke, the Crystal Dragon seemed to shrink a little. More and more he became a man seeing a horror ahead than a great leviathan who ruled and was feared. With great unease, the warlock noted how the mult.i.tude of faces copied the drake lord's emotions. It was like being surrounded by a thousand tormented ghosts.
"It may be that the land was fearful of them and although it could not destroy the Tezerenee, it made them into its own. Or perhaps the bodies themselves, formed from that which was dragon, at last sought to revert to what they had been meant to be. In the end, all that matters was the changing. First one, then another. No one understood then. No one saw it was happening to all, not merely a few."
He shuddered, blinked, then looked directly at his human guest with something approaching desperate envy. "I remember the pain that day. I remember screaming as my arms and legs stretched and bent at angles no human appendages had been meant to bend. Do you know what it feels like to sense burgeoning wings squirming beneath the flesh of your back and then having them burst fully formed through your skin? To feel and see your skull reshape itself and then realize that your eyes, too, are shifting, changing? To scream and scream again as the transformation tears through armor and sends you crashing to all fours . . .
". . . and then to know oblivion."
Cabe, thinking of his own fear of even the minutest shifting of form, swallowed.
The reptilian monarch looked down at the floor. "I recall vague images, the thoughts of a beast struggling to think. How long, I do not know. I only recall that one day I began to think as a man, but I was not myself. I was a creature. I was . . . a dragon. This land was supposed to be my kingdom. Years it would be before I remembered that it had been chosen for me by my father, that all of us had, despite becoming beasts, claimed our particular kingdoms." His laugh had more than a tinge of bitterness. "I have never known whether he gave me this peninsula because he knew what wonders were here or simply because I was one of the least important of his many sons."