Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol III Part 67

Darkhorse . . . Queen Erini . . . they had seen him perish. Everyone was certain that Shade was finally at peace.

Valea looked up to the walls, whispering, "He isn't dead, is he? He's been resurrected again, hasn't he?"

The walls did not reply . . . and that in itself told her the answer.

Closing the journal, the sorceress stared out her window at the lands of the Manor. Somewhere far beyond, Shade moved about again. The question remained, however, which Shade? His last incarnation had been a chaotic one, both evil and good combined. He had even seemed to regain some of his true self at the end, so Darkhorse had said.

A face came unbidden to her, but not Kyl's. This was a more human face. The face behind the legend, behind the curse.

"I will find him, Galani," Valea whispered. "And I will do whatever must be done."

And if that meant killing him again to finally give him peace, she knew that she would do even that.

It was time for all the ghosts to be laid to rest.

STORM LORD.

Madness is a matter of perspective.

I.

THE WIND HOWLED like a hundred hungry wolves. The rain poured down in such torrents that it seemed the world's oceans sought to drown the land. Crisp crackles of lightning flashed from the sky, some of them darting precariously near to where he rode. His brown steed struggled to maintain its footing as it raced over the slippery hills constantly rising ahead, but he paid no attention. All that mattered was the rendezvous.

The chill night air forced him to bundle his long, gray travel cloak over his head. He could have used magic to protect him from the elements, but that would have risked discovery. In this benighted realm, absolute power rested in the hands of a ruler gone mad.

And there was nothing more dangerous than an insane Dragon King.

The hood barely covered his chiseled chin, his high cheek bones, clipped nose, and brooding, brilliantly blue eyes. Other than the eyes, which he had altered to fit another's tastes, his facial features were those with which he had been born. He had inherited most of his looks from his beautiful mother, but his reckless traits and skill with magic were more those of his father, the bravest, most powerful wizard he knew. With his golden hair-pure save for the wide, silver streak that marked him as a wizard-he looked like a prince out of a fairy tale, his pale shirt, forest green pants, and knee-high leather boots adding to that valiant image.

His mount stumbled, momentarily throwing him off-balance. He reacted instinctively, using just a touch of power to right himself before the wet saddle could make him fall. A whispered curse escaped him immediately after; even such a spell dared too much.

Then he forgot the risk he had just taken, for, at that moment, through the downpour he saw his destination. The old hut lay nearly obscured by the thickly wooded hillside. The tendrils from the huge willows draped over the crooked, black structure like grasping fingers seeking to crush what remained. The dilapidated structure looked like the last place where anyone would dare to meet, especially in the midst of such violent weather.

And that was just as the two of them had planned.

He brought the horse to a natural alcove in the hill. Another, darker mount whose reins had already been bound to an outcropping within snorted as they approached. The rider whispered soothing words to the second beast, then tied the reins of his own steed to the same outcropping.

The hut quaked as he cautiously pushed open the creaking, rotting door. The darkness within did not disturb him, for he knew the danger of any illumination being noticed here.

Lightning crashed, revealing briefly the lack of any ornamentation or furniture in the old structure. He had long concluded that it had served only as a way station for messengers or perhaps an old guard outpost. When the occupants had abandoned it, they had taken with them everything of value.

Another bolt filled the lone room with white light-and in the far corner, he saw her waiting for him.

"Aurim . . ." The voice was low, melodious, and sent his heart racing.

Her features were slightly elfin, but overall more full, more human. Her long, flowing hair was nearly as golden as his own. The deep brown riding outfit she wore-blouse, shin-length skirt, and tapering boots-accented her curvaceous figure perfectly. Over her shoulders the young woman wore a green travel cloak similar to Aurim's own.

Despite the darkness, he could readily make out her eyes. They seemed to flare with life whenever she reacted to something-yet they were not always the same. Sometimes they were bright emerald, other times gold. On a rare occasion, Aurim had seen them become as bloodred and inhuman as those of a reptilian Dragon King.

Not a surprise, truly, considering that she was the daughter of one.

"Yssa . . ."

They fell into one another's arms with a pa.s.sion built up by the two weeks since last they had dared sneak out of their respective domains. He was the son of the most prominent line of wizards, the Bedlams, and both his father, Cabe, and his mother, Gwen, had saved the Dragonrealm more than once from threats within and without. Yssa, on the other hand, was the half-human daughter of the Green Dragon, the Master of the Dagora Forest, and one-time ally of the Bedlams. But something had come between the wizards and the Dragon King and now the Bedlams treated both the father and the daughter with mistrust.

Which made Aurim's and Yssa's growing love for one another a terrible trial for both.

"Did you have trouble slipping out?" she asked.

"No, Father was away with Darkhorse and Mother had her own obligations. They think I'm visiting elsewhere, anyway. What about you?"

Yssa looked down. "My sire's illness makes his heir more watchful . . ." The Dragon King had become weakened in the eyes of his kind, especially his son, Yssa's half-sibling and a full drake.

"I'm sorry . . ." Aurim had, for a time, been part of that invading force, his will controlled by the malignant demon Yureel, the true power behind Zuu's monarch, the Horse King. He still felt some responsibility for the terrible wounds Yssa's father had suffered even though he had not had been directly at fault.

"All will work out . . . even for us . . ."

They held one another close, forgetting for the moment the terrible complications in their lives. Now, the world consisted only of the two of them.

Outside the storm raged, shaking not only the hut, but the hills surrounding it. The black clouds shook and twisted as if alive. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed over and over again. The rain poured down with more malevolence, threatening to wash away everything. Yet, ensconced in the hut, their minds only on one another, Aurim and Yssa paid scant attention to the violent storm.

But had they looked out at it, they might have found much to interest them-for if either had stared at the furious clouds, looked deep into the tempest itself, they would have noticed that the storm stared back at them.

II.

HOW COULD HE be so foolish? she asked herself again as she rode along the narrow ridge. Above her, a clear, starlit night greeted her, but just ahead she could already hear the boom of thunder, the crackle of lightning.

The border of Wenslis lay only an hour's ride away.

She reined the mare to a halt, staring in the direction of the other kingdom. That a storm raged over Wenslis despite the open heavens here did not surprise her in the least. Foul weather often swept over Wenslis, for was it not a symbol of the absolute hold its master had on the land?

Dragon Kings forsook the names they bore when they took up rule of their realms. Whatever t.i.tle he had gone by long ago, this one was now known as the Storm Dragon. He wielded primal forces that shook even the neighboring lands at times. But wielding such G.o.dlike powers had eventually brought this reptilian monarch to the brink of madness and beyond. Now, he truly imagined himself a deity, if only of his own drenched kingdom.

Lady Gwendolyn Bedlam pursed her lips. A cascade of fiery hair accented by a deep streak of silver tumbled down both her back and her chest. Her emerald eyes gleamed dangerously at the thought of what might happen to her son. In truth, she looked no older than Aurim, her firstborn, a gift of her powerful wizardry.

The form-fitting riding outfit matched perfectly her eyes. The enchantress sniffed the air, her upturned nose sensing more than smells. Gwen could feel the powerful forces at work, but among them she noted something else, something only she and perhaps her husband had the skill to detect.

Aurim had ridden this way. His distinctive magical trail continued on to the northeast. She frowned again. There was no mistaking that he had entered Wenslis.

With growing anxiety, Gwen urged her horse on. Yssa was to blame for this. The Green Dragon's daughter had seduced her son as she had tried to once do to Cabe. How long it had been going on, she did not know. Only an argument with Aurim's sister, Valea, had caused the truth to come out. In an attempt to avert some of the fury directed toward her, Valea had pointed out her brother's own transgression.

Gwen had ridden off that same day.

Only a few hours out, she had used divination to seek his path . . . and then had made an even more horrible discovery. Against all common sense, he and the half-drake had apparently chosen an area just inside the border of Wenslis for their clandestine meetings. She understood the illogical logic of the lovers; who would seek them in such a foreboding land? Yet, to place their lives in such jeopardy made no sense at all . . .

If only I can find them before the Dragon King notices their presence! That vixen! This is her doing . . .

Trying to calm her heated thoughts, she concentrated on Aurim only. Yssa could handle her own affairs. The Green Dragon had been one of Gwen's early mentors, but he had betrayed her trust and it seemed the daughter followed the parent's trait.

"Focus!" Gwen hissed at herself. Aurim. She had to think only of Aurim.

Still the night sky directly above stood as cloudless as possible, yet just ahead the storm raged. Gwen drew her travel cloak tighter as she neared the border.

The moment she crossed the invisible line separating Penacles from Wenslis, the full fury of the tempest fell upon her. Her horse whinnied in shock, then stumbled. Gwen twisted the reins, regained control. The mare quieted.

Ahead of her, the enchantress made out the dark shadows of trees and other vegetation. It amazed her that anything could grow here, but Wenslis had more vegetation than she had ever imagined. As she pa.s.sed the first trees, she identified them as willows, not a surprise in such a wet landscape. Still, plants were one thing; people were another. How did the humans and others serving the Dragon King survive the almost perpetual rain?

Aurim's trail suddenly grew more faint, more difficult to track. It was not that it had faded, but rather that the storm itself contained so much raw magic that it disrupted her higher senses. The crimson-tressed spellcaster gazed up at the turbulent sky, suddenly feeling as if she was being watched. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the clouds, but nothing more.

Trying to shake away her uncertainties, she leaned forward and urged the horse to better speed. Perhaps eager to finish this madness and return to a more calm realm, the mare obeyed with gusto. Gwen breathed easier as she raced along. She still detected some hint of Aurim and so long as even a trace remained, she felt certain that she would find him.

Through the swampy forest Gwen rode. The lightning created monstrous displays-huge grasping tentacles and fingers, creatures with heads full of snakes. They were all merely the twisted forms of Wenslis's trees, but even knowing that, the enchantress could not help stiffening each time a new outline formed.

Then a bolt struck the willow just to her right. The explosion turned bright the entire vicinity and set the tree on fire. Gwen's horse veered away from the danger.

And in that instant, situated between two more distant trees, she saw a cloaked and hooded form watching her.

Before Gwen could refocus on the spot, the last vestiges of lightning faded. Even the fire from the willow proved insufficient to illuminate the area she desired.

Reining the mare to a halt, Gwen turned back to where the figure had stood.

Another bolt struck the tree nearest her.

Now the mare panicked. It was all Gwen could do to keep from falling off. Although wary of possible detection, she cast a minor spell to calm the animal.

But before she could complete it, branches enveloped her from every direction. They entangled her arms, blinded her, even snared her legs. The mare, now free of her control, pulled away, leaving Gwen caught like a fly in a web of wood and leaves.

She tried to concentrate enough to free herself, but the branches spun her around, turned her upside down. The leaves in her face made it almost impossible to even breathe.

An imposing presence touched her thoughts. It said nothing, but the sheer power behind it made her certain that it could only be one being.

The Storm Lord had discovered her intrusion.

Lightning flared again. Through a few narrow gaps in her tightening prison, Gwen caught a glimpse of several figures moving through the raging weather. They looked human in form, but wearing outlandish armor with broad, curved shoulders like tiny, overturned boats and helmets with wide, sloping brims. Pale faces peered out from under the helmets, the eyes all focused on the struggling enchantress.

One raised what looked like a pear with a flower on the end to her face. The figure squeezed the object and a puff of scented air struck Gwen full.

She did not even notice when she blacked out.

HE WATCHED WITH clinical interest as the soldiers removed their unconscious captive from the willows with remarkable gentleness. He could have saved her then, but he had not decided whether he wanted to or not. Still, she presented not only a marvelous coincidence, but an interesting diversion to keep him from having to contemplate other, more difficult matters.

He pulled his dark cloak tight around him and as he did, his entire body seemed to fold into it, growing thinner and thinner in the blink of an eye-until he was gone.

III.

THEY WERE NO longer alone.

Yssa obviously sensed him tense, for she suddenly asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Someone-something's approaching."

The half-drake female pulled out of his arms, her gaze toward the ceiling. "I don't feel-no-I do now . . ."

Despite her own legacy, her powers were not always as great as Aurim's. He had first noticed the newcomers several seconds ago, but his mind had initially refused to accept such a dire intrusion into his time with her. Fortunately, common sense had finally prevailed over pa.s.sion.

But was it been soon enough?

"They could be my father's warriors," she suggested.

Her tone, however, matched his own thoughts. "Not here. They'd never be allowed this far into Wenslis."

Neither had to say more, for they knew that those moving in on the hut could be the servants of only one other.

Aurim left Yssa in the middle of the room. Stepping to the rotting door, he peered through a wide crack.

With the aid of the lightning, he saw them. More than half a dozen shapes, all wearing odd, broad-rimmed armor and helmets. The human soldiers of Wenslis. The slaves of the Storm Dragon.

"They're surrounding us," he told her.

"He wouldn't dare harm either of us," Yssa insisted. "Even he isn't that mad."

"We're about to find out."

Aurim sensed the spell just before it struck. He raised the transparent, blue shield around his love and himself just before the bolts decimated the hut.