Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol IV Part 69

With dawn, he raced off to the southwest, aware that his destination lay not all that far ahead. The Gryphon began steeling himself for the journey into the uninviting realm. The Legar Peninsula had always been an inhospitable land. The heat rose to unspeakable levels and the ever-present sunlight combined with the natural crystal deposits to make travel during daylight all but blinding. Wildlife consisted of the typical desert dwellers. The dragon clan itself had always been small and, like their lord, seldom seen. They likely would be no trouble, if they still even existed.

The Quel were another story. They lived deep beneath the earth there, burrowing through rock and creating vast, underground chambers. Until the wolf raiders, all but a handful had been caught in a perpetual sleep, the product of a spell gone awry centuries before. The Aramites had awakened the rest by chance and only the destruction of Legar had prevented further catastrophe. Still, the odds were better that some of the huge, armored diggers had survived. The Gryphon knew that he would have to keep an eye on the ground, watch for any sudden shifting that could not be explained by one of the realm's incessant tremors.

Late in the afternoon, his surroundings changed, becoming more and more akin to what he expected of Legar. His only moment of danger during the trek so far had been a small patrol to the south. The huge, blonde riders in leather jerkin and pants had clearly been from Zuu and, as was the kingdom's way, some of the warriors had been women. Zuu made very little distinction between the s.e.xes when it came to work and war.

Fortunately for him, the patrol had turned back to the east without noticing the stranger in their land. That had not been due to lack of effort, but rather the Gryphon's own superior experience. More than two centuries as a mercenary and warrior had, at least, benefited him in some way.

At last, he reached Legar.

The high, rocky hills glittered even from more than a mile away. The clouds that had earlier threatened some rain stopped almost exactly at the recognized border, giving way to a relentless sun. A dry, harsh wind blew from the peninsula, offering the newcomer a taste of what to expect.

Without hesitation, the Gryphon entered.

At first, the trek seemed a simple one. While uneven and rocky, the path was not the worst, especially for a horse as well-versed as his. That enabled the Gryphon to focus his attention on the seeking signs of the kidnappers. Near Zuu, the effort had not been so difficult; a party of riders left much of a trail in gra.s.slands and fields. However, here in this dry, hard region, the clues required a more cautious, expert eye.

Several times he reined the horse to a halt so that he could investigate marks. By now the Gryphon knew that there had been five riders, one of them likely his son. The party had stayed close together and had ridden as if the demon Yureel had been at their backs. They feared something . . . but not pursuit.

Their leader?

Still mulling over that question, the Gryphon directed his mount through a narrow, winding pa.s.s. The hills rose high and foreboding around him, then finally opened up just as the sun set.

And beyond them at last he witnessed the ravages of the Crystal Dragon's attack.

It looked as if the entire world before him had been literally raised up in the air, turned upside down, then dropped. No inch had been left untouched. Legar for as far as the eye could see was a realm torn asunder.

The horse snorted uneasily, stamping its front hoof at the same time. The Gryphon also hesitated, recalling the actual devastation. In many ways, what had happened here reminded him of the events during the desperate war against the Dragon Kings by the wizard Nathan Bedlam and his allies that had culminated in calling the struggle the Turning War. Then, the area of destruction had been elsewhere and the results had finally made the bickering drakes ally themselves long enough to deal with the upstart humans.

Rocks as huge as some of the hills through which he had ridden lay as if tossed about by some giant child. Sudden gaps plummeted deep into the earth, the pebbles that the Gryphon threw into one never making a sound to indicate that they had reached the bottom. Even after years, many areas had not yet settled, the groan of shifting earth a.s.sailing him as he traveled cautiously along.

His quarry aided his journey now. By careful study, the Gryphon located their path, the safest through Legar. Even still, he knew that the land could be treacherous and so he finally walked the horse, hoping eventually that he would find smoother ground ahead.

The Gryphon did not realize just how dangerous the peninsula still was until a short time later, when he discovered the bodies.

Initially, he had mistaken the glitter for just more crystal. Only as he drew near did he recognize the glint as from metal.

The Aramite and his horse had died together, crushed into one almost pastelike substance by the rock fall. The familiar black armor that had put fear into a continent for centuries had served as much of a buffer against the tons of stone as silk. Blood stained much of the area, the sun already drying it to a faint crimson chalk.

For several terrifying moments, the Gryphon searched around, trying to discover whether or not Darot had suffered a like fate. Eventually, it became clear that only the one horse and rider had perished. Scratch marks revealed that the others had continued on. Like him, they were now on foot.

The descending sun brought some relief in terms of temperature, but mounting frustration in terms of the pursuing father. The Gryphon dared not travel at night; one false step could quickly end his life. He did not fear for himself, but what the wolf raiders would do to his son if he did not make it to Darot. There would be no use for a young child, then.

Just before the last rays of sun vanished, the Gryphon came across what appeared the most stable patch of ground so far. More or less flat, it was flanked to the north by several jagged plates of baked earth rising yards into the sky and on the south by a gaping ravine.

Alone and feeling as dry as his surroundings, the Gryphon removed the illusion, returning to his true form. In preparation to entering Legar, he had filled several sacks brought with him with water. Already a third of those sacks had been emptied. The Gryphon took one, then held it so that his horse could drink. The animal eagerly swallowed the contents, licking at the empty bag until its master finally pulled it away.

Satisfied that the horse had been watered, he led it to where a few gaunt, skeletal shrubs somehow had managed to grow. The fare was not the best, but it would keep the steed alive.

Seeing to his own needs, the Gryphon drank some more water, then dug into the shrinking bag of rations. Some dried, salted meat served him for now. He had long learned to survive on little during his campaigns and had eaten as healthy as possible before setting out.

A slight tremor shook his immediate surroundings. Pausing in his meal, the former mercenary waited it out. The tremor ceased almost immediately. The Gryphon waited a few moments, then resumed eating.

Styx drifted high in the sky. Of his b.l.o.o.d.y sister, there was no sign. The pale moon enabled the Gryphon to see for some distance, not that there was much at which to look.

A second tremor started, this one nearer and more severe. Dropping the meat, he leapt up and prepared to move to safety.

His mount neighed. The Gryphon started toward the animal, intent on calming it.

The earth beneath the horse gave way.

The animal shrieked as it dropped from sight. The Gryphon made a desperate grab for the reins, but they slithered out of his reach, vanishing into the dark gap.

Before he could collect himself, the ground near his feet burst open and a huge rock thrust skyward.

No . . . not a rock. Even in the dim light of night, the Gryphon recognized the monstrous outline.

A Quel.

The Gryphon tried to cast a spell, but felt a force disperse the magic. He cursed silently, recalling that the crystal-embedded ridges of a Quel's sh.e.l.l gave it much protection from all but the most powerful attacks.

The giant underdweller emitted a deep hoot, then pulled a blunt spear from the earth and jabbed at hiss prey. However, by then the Gryphon had rolled away, coming to a crouch at the edge of the hole down which his unfortunate mount had fallen.

The end of the spear sank into the hard earth just inches from him. He immediately grabbed at the weapon, pulling it free despite the Quel's tremendous brute strength.

Again the Gryphon felt the ground quiver. This time, however, he was not fooled. Using the spear as a pole, he leapt away just as a second hulking form burst up from below.

The first Quel slashed at the Gryphon with claws nearly a foot long. Had they actually cut, they would have spilled the latter's insides all over the unforgiving landscape. Instead, as the Quel lashed out at empty air, his more agile opponent used the spear as a pole again-throwing himself up and over the armored behemoth.

The Quel turned, trying to snare him. The Gryphon flipped the spear around, bringing the point up.

He embedded the point in the creature's throat, the softest part of the Quel's sh.e.l.led hide.

As the one dropped, two more erupted from the soil. Still moving, the Gryphon retreated up a ma.s.sive rock in the hopes of better gauging the enemy's numbers.

But the rock shifted, tipping over and throwing him at an awkward angle. With a grunt, the Gryphon struck the ground shoulder first.

As pain coursed through him, one of his attackers seized the Gryphon by the mane. The Gryphon squawked as the huge creature twisted his head back.

Claws out, he slashed at the Quel's long, almost tubular mouth. Blood splattered the Gryphon's avian visage, but he failed to disrupt the shadowy behemoth's grip.

The other Quel closed in on him. Muscles straining, the Gryphon flipped, turning upside down in his captor's claws and wrapping his legs around the stocky head. The injured Quel hooted, adjusting his grip so that he could deal with the unexpected a.s.sault.

It was exactly what the Gryphon desired. He pulled his head free, leaving bits of his mane behind in the process, then dropped without warning. A normal man would have fallen on his back, possibly cracking it, but the Gryphon twisted again, managing to land on his feet and duck under the Quel's groping arms.

A spear point came within inches. The Gryphon rolled past it, darting with inhuman agility between two of his a.s.sailants.

He leapt up onto a more stable position, then crouched. The Quel turned as one, at least four broad, armored figures seeking his death.

Though they were native to Legar, this attack could be no coincidence. Whoever led the kidnappers had alerted the underdwellers to his eventual incursion. They had calculated that he would have to choose this particular area for his rest stop and had dug a tunnel to it.

The Gryphon eyed the dark path, seeking a way past the four. He spied another rock just behind the furious Quel. It would require a prodigious leap even for him, but it would put the Gryphon far enough ahead of his foes to keep them from ever catching up.

Two of the Quel abruptly bent down, thrusting their snouts into the earth and digging furiously. As they disappeared below, he noted them coming his direction. They hoped to undermine this rock as some had the last one.

Without hesitation, the Gryphon jumped.

But just as his feet left the rock, one of the remaining Quel did a peculiar thing. He bent low and turned his back to the Gryphon. The Quel curled, creating of himself a ma.s.sive ball.

And suddenly a glittering blaze of light completely blinded the Gryphon.

His concentration lost, he tumbled earthward short of his target. He nearly broke his beak and his arm as he fell face first. Head pounding, the Gryphon struggled to regain his equilibrium.

A heavy fist pounded him into the ground, followed by another and another . . .

He managed to turn and swipe at the nearest. Claws rent flesh and fluids soaked his hand. A fierce gurgle gave indication of the harsh wound that he had dealt one of the Quel- But then the pounding increased and under the relentless onslaught the Gryphon finally faltered. He tried to roll himself into a ball, but even that brought no protection.

A glaring, red orb broke through the swirling lights still a.s.sailing his eyes. It filled the Gryphon's gaze.

A force a thousand times harder than the blows he had suffered struck him . . . and the Gryphon knew no more.

V.

Three more had been eliminated from his list, but the four remaining General Marner could not exonerate. They were all known to him, but he could not let that be a factor.

One worked in the royal kitchens, another served in the house staff, and two were members of the palace guard. The latter pair had even contributed to the necklace that their queen wore.

Marner had suggested that since Troia desired to be present, they should hold these final talks in the throne room. She had declined, stating that the general's office would be sufficient. Yet, while the queen found no fault in the bare walls and simple oak furniture, the general felt as if he lived in squalor. He quickly ordered the guard stationed inside the door to start the interviews, hoping that doing so would take his mind off his shame.

Syl Cordwain entered first, left leg dragging slightly. He acted as tutor for the young prince. The slight, balding man at first appeared incapable of any treachery, but Marner and the queen knew that his background included several years as a spy for the king. Syl had infiltrated nearly every major kingdom and Dragonrealm during his career and his knowledge of the known lands had made him the perfect teacher for one who would some day have to rule a place prized by every enemy.

"My queen," Syl whispered, kneeling.

"Good Syl," Troia returned, absently touching the gem.

"We've some questions," the general informed the tutor.

"So I would imagine."

For the next hour, Troia and Marner delved into every aspect of Syl's life, trying to draw clues as to his innocence. Their subject answered well, but ever it was on their minds that he had spent many a year in a career where twisting the truth meant life or death. It had only been the maiming of his leg that had forced Syl to shift to a new branch of service to his monarch.

"Tell me about your leg," the queen asked at one point. Marner glanced her direction, noticing that her nose twitched. When she had said that she could sniff out a wolf raider, she had in some ways meant it literally.

Syl went into his tale and when he had finished, the queen rose and touched him gently on the shoulder. "You've paid much following the dictates of my husband."

"My father served him before. I consider it an honor." His pinched face darkened. "Would that I had been near when the fiends took the prince."

He said it with such conviction that Marner desired to believe him, but again Syl's background worked against him.

Alone with the general, Troia remarked, "I sense no taint on him and he's nearly given his life more than once for the kingdom . . . yet . . . "

"Let us see the others."

In next came Henrik Bronzesmith and Juren of Taflur, two men Marner had, until this incident, considered among his best. The familiar scent of garlic pervaded Juren, who had a fondness for Penaclesean blood sausage. Henrik, broader of shoulder and a foot taller than his clean-shaven friend, tried to smooth his thick brown beard.

Both men went down on one knee as a guard shut the door. Despite being clad in the familiar silver and blue armor most recently chosen for the palace guard, they carried no weapons. General Marner had wanted no potential threat near the pregnant queen.

"Henrik," he began, not bothering to read through the notes he had earlier written. "Three years good service. Juren . . . nearly the same." Part of the case against the pair had to do with their recent addition to the ranks. They were less known to the general's staff despite their clean records and sterling behavior. Still, that alone could not condemn them.

"Taflur," Troia murmured. "Where is that?"

"N-north of Penacles, my lady," Juren sputtered. "Toward the Dagora Forest. A s-small village, if you please."

Both men had served in the kingdom's army prior to joining the palace guard. Their commanders had recommended them highly. Yet, Syl Cordwain was an example of how cleverly someone could infiltrate another realm and be thought of as a loyal member . . . he had spent some three and a half years in the service of the human administrator who ran the affairs of Irillian By the Sea for the Blue Dragon.

"You were not born in Taflur," Marner reminded the young soldier.

"No, sir. My family were refugees from Mito Pica. I was born just after they escaped its razing."

The general grunted his sympathies. Mito Pica, once a proud, shining example of human civilization, had been destroyed by the forces of the present Dragon Emperor's sire. They had been searching for Cabe Bedlam, grandson of the notorious Nathan Bedlam. The grandfather had been responsible for gathering mages to fight the Dragon Kings some two centuries prior and while the spellcasters had failed, their legacy remained burned in the drakes' memories. Yet, in trying to destroy Cabe, they had set in motion a sequence of events that now left half the continent free of their domination.

But for many of those in Mito Pica, that freedom had come at the cost of their lives. The ruins still lay untouched, the tales of bloodshed so terrible that few journeyed there.

Gazing through draped eyes, Troia looked at the larger of the two. "Master Henrik. You were born in Penacles?"

"Aye, my queen."

"You have family here still?" Her nose twitched once, twice.

"None, my queen. I was a lone child and my parents died from disease when I was young."

"No distant relations?"

He shrugged. "None to my knowledge."

Seeing her interest in Henrik, Marner recalled what he could of the man. Again, a sterling record, but . . .

"Henrik . . . you went away as a youth, seeking your fortune. That's what you told me once."

The bearded soldier's brow furrowed, but he answered, "Aye. Fool boy wanted to see what he could make of himself."

"Where did you go?"

"Zuu. Talak. Grandion. Wenslis. Morgare-"

The queen straightened. Only Marner noted the slight tensing of her form as she did so. "I don't recognize the last one."

"Obscure little region southeast of here, my lady," the commander informed Troia. "Near the realm of the Black Dragon."

"Oh?" Troia's claws extended ever so slightly. Her nose twitched more actively. "Really? Henrik . . . did you ever enter the mist lands-"