Richard A. Knaak - Dragonrealm 02 - Ice Dragon

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RICHARD A. KNAAK
The Dragonrealm: Ice Dragon
I
The bone-numbing winds of the great Northern Wastes tore at the cloaks of the two riders, seeking to remove their
only real pro-tection. One rider paid the wind no mind though it often threatened to thrust him from the back of his
steed. The other rider, his form, like that of his companion, hidden by the enveloping cloak, would glance from time to
time at the first one as if seeking some re-sponse. After a moment or two, he would return his gaze to the endless white
world before them—and specifically to the jagged, treacherous range of ice-encrusted peaks near the horizon.
He urged his steed forward, knowing that the other would follow if he could convince his own. His urging however
only succeeded in gaining a slight increase in speed; the mounts had suffered greatly and were, in fact, the last of six
that he had started out with.
The slow movements of the steeds angered him, but he knew his choices had been limited. The mounts he would have
desired would have been dead long before, the cold of the Northern Wastes having an even more pronounced effect
on those creatures than the horses he and the other rode.
Already he felt sick of the cold, sick of the snow and ice—but what choice did he have? The others were fighting
among themselves or, worse yet, were dead or turned traitor, which was the same thing in his eyes. He let loose a hiss
of anger, disturbing both horses. It took him several moments to calm them down. His companion made no move
despite the jumpiness of his own steed. There was no need to. His legs had been tied to his horse by the other rider. It
was a necessity.
They rode on, and as they moved closer and closer toward the mountains, the one rider's anger turned to uncertainty.
Who was to say that he would gain aid here? This land was ruled by the most traditional of his kind and that tradition
conflicted with his own desires, namely the rule of his own and other races by himself. Under the laws governing birth
for his kind, he was ineligible. As his father's warlord and the ruling duke of the clan, he should have been satisfied. He
was not, however, knowing as he did that his command of the power was greater, far greater, than many of his father's
brethren. But for a few birth markings . . . The snowbank before him rose, and continued to rise. It towered over him
and his companion, blotting out the land-scape before them.
The snowbank grew eyes, pale, ice-blue eyes—and tremendous claws designed for digging through frozen earth and
easily tearing through soft flesh.
The first of the guardians of the one he sought. He had now two choices, it seemed. Either kill the guardian or be killed,
and neither was particularly wise.
The horses began turning and bucking. Only the rider's skill kept his own animal from throwing him and only the rope
fastened from his own animal to the other kept him from losing his com-panion. The other rider teetered back and forth
like some toy, but his hands were also tied to his mount's saddle, preventing him from falling too far.
The lead rider raised his hand and made a fist. He could not, of course, allow either of them to die, which meant he had
to halt the guardian. He began to mutter under his breath, knowing that it would require a strong spell to turn, much
less destroy, this creature.
"Halt."
The sorcerer paused, checking but not canceling his magical assault. He peered through the snowstorm the guardian
had caused in rising and finally noticed the figure to his front right. The mage
blinked.
It walked stiffly toward him, one hand holding a staff which he was sure controlled the great snow beast. A blue gem
pulsated on the top of the staff. The figure holding the staff was not human.
"You are in the domain of the Ice Dragon." Its voice was emotionless and reminiscent of the whirling wind. There was
something about it, something that made it difficult to see until it was practically on top of the sorcerer. "Only one
thing prevents your death . . . and that is that you are one of the master's kin, are you not, drake?"
The lead rider reached up and pulled back his hood. As he did so, he revealed the dragonhelm that should have been
noticeable, hood or no hood. The magical cloak which had hidden it allowed him to travel through the lands of men,
but that function was no longer necessary here.
"You know who I am, servant. You know your master will see me."
"That is up to the Ice Dragon."
The firedrake hissed. "Tell him it is Duke Toma who awaits!"
The declaration did not impress the odd-looking servant. Toma studied it with narrowed eyes—narrowed eyes that
widened when he saw the thing's true nature. His estimation of the Ice Dragon's powers grew and the nagging fear of
the Dragon King, which he had kept safely locked in the back of his mind, poured over his mental barriers.
Necromancer!
The servant turned. It was a thing of ice, a caricature of a man made all the more horrible because its binding structure,
its skel-eton, was a figure frozen within its core. The corpse, whether man or drake or elf or some other creature of
similar form, was im-possible to identify and moved within the ice man like a twisted puppet. Leg moved with leg, arm
with arm, head with head. It was as if someone was wearing an all-encompassing suit—save that, in this case, the suit
was wearing the someone. Toma won-dered about what had occurred here in the months since his escape from the
battle between the human mages, the cursed Bedlams.
Thinking of the Bedlams, Azran and Cabe, reinforced the drake's resolve. He knew that Cabe had won and that the
Dragon Kings were in disarray. Black was secluded in his domain, Lochivar, and the Gray Mists, which covered that
land, were so thin that there had been talk of confronting this one particular King at last.
The servant raised its staff toward the behemoth, which had remained silent and unmoving since its initial rise. The tip
of the staff was pointed at where Toma estimated the huge creature's head might be.
The leviathan began to sink back into the snow and ice. The two drakes' horses, only barely under control, now
panicked. Duke Toma had to raise his hand and draw a pattern in the air. The horses calmed.
Turning back to the two visitors, the servant indicated Toma's companion. "And him? He also wishes to visit my
lord?"
"He wishes nothing," said Toma, pulling the other horse over to him. He then reached up and took hold of his
companion's hood, and pulled it back so the face and color of the other drake could be easily studied. "He has no mind
with which to wish for even the smallest of favors. Yet, he is your lord's master, your lord's liege, King of Kings, and he
will be treated and cared for until he has recovered. It is your master's duty!"
Nearly identical to Toma in form save in height and color, the Gold Dragon stared forward mindlessly. A bit of drool
flowed from the left corner of his mouth and his forked tongue darted in and out at random. He would not, or perhaps
could not, return to his dragon form, and so Toma had also remained in his semi-human warrior form. They were two
scale-armored knights with helms topped by intricate dragon faces, their true faces. Within the helm itself, bloodied
eyes stared out. Though harder by far than any normal mail armor, what they wore was not clothing but their own
skins. Long ago, their ancestors could have assumed some other form, but continual contact with humans and the
re-alization of the advantages of a humanoid form had made this second shape something learned from the time of
birth. It had become as natural to them as breathing.
The Ice Dragon's servant bowed its head briefly in the direction of the Kings of Kings, acknowledging or mocking the
mindless monarch's sovereignty. Toma hissed loudly.
"Well? May we go on, or are we to make camp here and wait for spring?" Spring had not come to the Northern Wastes
since before the rule of the Dragon Kings. Now, the land was buried under a perpetual coat of snow and ice.
The creature stepped aside and pointed the staff at the mountains toward which the drakes had been riding. "My lord
knows of your presence. He is coming to meet you." This, at last, seemed to impress the servant. "He has not come to
the surface since returning from the last Council of Kings." The surface?
The chilling wind picked up, going from a constant annoyance to a howling, storming, chaotic whirlwind before Toma
could even pull the hood back over his father's head. The temperature, already distressingly uncomfortable for a
firedrake, became truly numbing, almost threatening to lower both riders' temperatures below a safe minimum. Visibility
dropped to nothing, so that all that Toma could see was snow. He only knew his father's horse remained near thanks
to the rope.
Something very large came to rest before them. Toma reinforced the restraining spell he had laid on the horses.
"Myyyy greetingsss to you, Duke Toma, hatchling of my brother, my king. My home issss open to you and our
majesty." The wind died down, though not to the level it had been pre-viously. Visibility improved to where the
firedrake could see his host. Yet another surprise met his eyes.
The Ice Dragon loomed tall, wings spread, maw open wide. He was huge, greater in length than even Gold. This was
not the Ice Dragon who had last visited the King of Kings just prior to the chaos. This was a creature in every way
more frightening than either of his bizarre servants. Thin to the point of emaciation, so much so that each rib was
apparent, the Ice Dragon might have been some ghoulish thing risen from the dead. Even the eyes, which never
seemed to settle on dead white or icy blue, were those of something that measured life by other standards. Its head
itself was long and lean and from its maw clouds of cold air erupted regularly.
A transformation had been wrought on the Lord of the Northern Wastes in the months that had passed since that last
visit. This was not the Dragon King Toma had expected and almost definitely not one that he wanted, either.
It was too late to turn back and the firedrake could not have even if he had wanted to. This creature was his best hope
of restoring his father and, therefore, Toma's own dream of rule from behind the throne. The question now, however,
was how similar his goals and those of the Ice Dragon actually were anymore.
The frost-covered leviathan spread its ice-encrusted wings and smiled as only a dragon can smile at his tiny relations.
There seemed no real emotion behind that smile, though. Nothing.
"I've been expecting you," the Ice Dragon said at last.
II
To his horror-stricken eyes, the blade seemed twice the length of a fall-grown man. From the handle, two horns,
much like those of a ram, curled outward, giving the sword an evil appearance. The weapon was called the horned
blade, a creation of the mad warlock Azran Bedlam, and it was evil. Cabe knew that all too well, for not only had he
wielded the demonic sword himself, but he was also Azran's son.
"Your blood Is mine," hissed the figure now wielding Azran's toy. He stalked without difficulty toward the young
mage who, in his panic, could not seem to find his footing. Cabe stumbled away from the huge, armored figure,
trying to recall a spell, trying to find a way out of the lifeless stretch of baked mud called the Barren Lands. How
long he had been running, he could not say. It did not matter. In the end, his foe had stayed with him.
His pursuer laughed mockingly, blazing scarlet orbs the only portion of his visage not buried in the murky depths
within the dragonhelm. A false helm at that, for the face within was less the visage of his pursuer than the intricate
dragonhead crest was.
Even now, the glittering eyes set in that reptilian visage watched with growing anticipation.
This was a drake, one of the creatures that ruled the lands known collectively and singly as the Dragonrealm. More
so, this was one of those chief among those who ruled—and who now chose to give the human his personal
attention. There were only a dozen like him and only one of the others would this one call lord.
Cabe was alone and at the mercy of a Dragon King.
Something caught him by the foot and he went crashing down onto the centuries-old, stone-hard earth. He was
blinded momen-tarily as his face swung toward the relentless sun. When his eyes cleared moments later, he saw what
had brought him down.
A hand. A huge, clawed hand that had emerged from the ground itself. Even now, it refused to relinquish its grip.
Cabe struggled and struggled and only after several seconds did he remember the greater threat. Only when the one
shadow for miles draped over him did he recall and then it was almost too late.
"Your blood is mine," the Dragon King repeated with a sat-isfied hiss. He was as pale a brown as the dried earth
below him and this made no sense to Cabe.
The demon sword came rushing down—only to miss by inches as the young sorcerer succeeded in rolling aside
despite the hand gripping his ankle.
His new point of view found him face to face with a long snout and narrow, savage eyes. A creature reminiscent of an
armadillo—but no armadillo grew this large. The thing hooted once and then rose from beneath the ground,
revealing a form taller and wider than any human and huge, clawed hands identical to the one holding Cabe by the
ankle.
' 'Shall I let them rend you limb from limb?'' The Dragon King asked sweetly. "Or would you prefer the kiss of this
blade, Cabe Bedlam?"
Cabe tried to recall a spell, but, again, he failed. Something had severed his ties to his power. He was helpless and
unarmed.
But how?
In his mind, there suddenly came an image—an image of hate and fear. An image of his father, Azran. He was as
Cabe had seen him last, handsome with a groomed beard and his hair exactly half silver, as if he had dyed one side
of his head. The silver was the mark of a human mage and Cabe had such a mark in his own hair, a vast streak that
seemed ready to devour the dark color of the rest of his hair.
' 'You would not be mine, my son; therefore, you will be theirs.'' Azran smiled benevolently for no other reason than
that he was very, very insane.
As if on command, the Quel who had risen from the earth took hold of his wrists. Cabe struggled, but the tremendous
strength of the creature was too much.
He heard the rasping breath of the Dragon King and for the second time the sun was blocked by the armored form.
The drake lord spat at him, the sword already positioned for a deathstroke. "With your death, I bring life back to my
clanssss!"
Cabe shook his head in disbelief. He knew which of the Dragon Kings stood above him now—one that should not
have been able.
"You're dead!"
The Brown Dragon, lord of the Barren Lands, laughed—and plunged the horned blade into Cube's chest. . . .
"Yaaah!"
With a start, Cabe woke from the dream, only to stare straight into the inhuman eyes of another drake, which resulted
in a second shout. The drake ducked down and scurried out of sight as fast as its four legs could carry it.
Light burst forth from everywhere, bathing the room in brilli-ance. He caught a glimpse of a green, leathery tail
disappearing through a half-open doorway. A hand gripped his shoulder. He only barely succeeded in stifling yet a
third shout.
Gwen leaned over, her hair a long, fire-red tangle, save for a great streak of silver. Even though it was dark, her emerald
eyes captured his attention as she sought to calm him. He briefly won-dered how she always managed to stay so
perfect. It was not all due to her magic, which, in its own way, was greater than his and certainly better honed.
"It was one of the hatchlings, Cabe. It's all right. The poor thing must've gotten loose. Probably nibbled through the
grate."
She moved toward his front side and he saw that she had conjured up a robe of forest green. Lady of the Amber, she
was called, because of her imprisonment within that substance generations before by Cabe's father, but she might well
have been called the Green Lady or the Lady of the Forest, such was her love for nature and the color which
represented it best.
With a quick gesture, she made the door shut. This time, it would take more than a curious young dragon's bumping to
open it.
"No." He shook his head, as much to clear it as to correct her misconceptions concerning his screams. This was not
the Barren Lands, he kept telling himself. This was a room in the palace of the Gryphon who ruled Penacles, the city of
knowledge in the southeastern portion of the Dragonrealm. He and Gwen, friends and allies of the inhuman ruler, were
here as the monarch's guests.
"That's not what I yelled about—not the first time, anyway. I—" How could he describe what he had dreamt of? Did
he dare? Gwen, too, had suffered at the hands of Azran and the Dragon Kings, yet, the sort of dreams he had been
having of late—dreams in which he had been helpless, bereft of his own abilities—might very well mark him as insane
as his father. Would she understand?
The Dragon Kings. He thought of the one in the dream and shuddered anew. The reptilian creatures were now trying
to reclaim their once-mighty power from the human vermin. Though their power had been absolute once, there had
always been few of the intelligent drakes and, therefore, they had allowed, perhaps even trained, the first humans in
the duties of trade and farming. From that point on, there had been no stopping the growth of the younger race. Only
after it was too late did the Dragon Kings realize that they might have trained their own successors—and the drakes
had no intention of surrendering control without a fight. Were it not for the fact that they lacked numbers and even
needed the humans, the reptilian lords would have started a full genocidal war long ago. The only thing that had held
the humans back was the in-credible, savage power of the drakes that more than made up for there being so few.
Gwen looked at him, the picture of concern and patience. Cabe chose to downplay the dream. It was something he
must deal with alone. Instead, forcing his voice to a semblance of annoyance, he
said, "I'd like to find something that will keep those lesser drakes penned up long enough for us to arrive at the Manor.
They'll escape one time too often during the journey and it's important we don't lose even one."
"Another dream?" The concern in her voice was as evident as that on her face. She had had no trouble seeing through
his poor attempt at deception and refused to be sidetracked by anything else.
Cabe grimaced and ran a hand through his hair where the silver which marked both him and his love as magic-users
vied for dominance with the darker strands. Of late, the streak in Cabe's hair seemed to have taken on a life of its own;
it was difficult to say what pattern his hair color might take each day. Sometimes it was nearly completely silver,
sometimes it tended toward the dominance of his original hair color. As entertaining and amusing as the sight might
seem to some, it definitely worried the young magic-user. The shifting had begun soon after he and Gwen had married
two months before. She could not explain it and he could draw no knowledge from the memories of the archmage
Nathan, his grandfather, who had bequeathed to him, at birth, much of his own soul and power.
"Another dream. This one was a bard's epic. There were the Brown Dragon, my father Azran, and one of those Quel
things. The only one missing was Shade."
"Shade?" She arched an eyebrow, something she did quite beautifully, so Cabe thought. "That could be it. That
damned no-faced warlock might have escaped from wherever the Gryphon said Darkhorse had taken him."
"I don't think so. Darkhorse was a powerful demon and if anyone could keep Shade trapped in the Void, it's him."
"You have too much faith in the monster."
He sighed, not wanting to be drawn into the same useless ar-gument they always had concerning the two. Both
Darkhorse and Shade were unique, tragic figures to Cabe. Darkhorse was a shad-owy steed, part of the Void itself.
Shade was a sorcerer who had been too greedy far back in history; he had attempted to harness both the "good" and
"bad" aspects of the powers, two contrary pieces of nature, but instead had become a pawn between the two forces,
an immortal who served good during one lifetime and who worked hideous evil in the next. Each incarnation sought to
break the curse. For that, Shade had attempted to use Cabe as a conduit in a great spell, and only Darkhorse had saved
Cabe, but apparently at the cost of his own freedom. What was sad was that Shade and the demon had been the
closest of friends during the former's more pleasant lives.
"It's not Shade," Cabe finally decided, "and before you sug-gest it, I doubt this is Toma's style, either. I think this has
to do with what I am—a warlock, mage, whatever. This is still all too new to me, that's all. Sometimes my fears return.
Do you know what it's like to be as confident as—as Nathan, the Dragon Master, was—and then suddenly revert to
my untrained self in the midst of doing something?"
There. He had said it. His self-doubts were returning and, with their return, the confidence he had gained from being
the legacy of Nathan Bedlam was retreating rapidly. Cabe yearned for the days when he had simply been an
innkeeper's assistant, before the Brown Dragon had sought him out as a sacrifice to return the Barren Lands to the
lush fields they had once been.
Gwen leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I do know what it's like. I have them myself. I saw them when Nathan
learned of the death of his elder son by his younger son, Azran. I experienced them through my training and all
through the Turning War over a hundred years ago, up to the day that pig Azran ensnared me in my amber prison near
the end of that war. I still feel them now. When you stop having doubts about your prowess, you usually make a fatal
mistake. Take my word for it, husband."
Men and women were shouting and Cabe realized they had been shouting for some time. It was not the shouting of
men in battle or people under attack, but rather the curses of those seeking to herd a frightened minor drake back into
its holding pen.
"Do we really have to do this?" The thought of what they would be attempting come the next day was almost as
frightening as the nightmares.
Gwen gave him a look which brooked no argument. "The Gryphon made an oath with the Green Dragon and we're the
best ones to see that it holds. When we're sure that Duke Toma and the remaining Dragon Kings can be kept at a safe
distance, then we can move them elsewhere. Right now, the Manor is the best place for the Gold Dragon's hatchlings.
Besides, I think the Gryphon has other worries to deal with besides the Dragon Kings."
The shouting died down, indicating that the wayward drake was once again under the control of its keepers. Cabe
wondered how the other drakes were holding out. Among the young there were seven major drakes, the species from
which the Dragon Kings had come. These were intelligent dragons, the true enemy as far as many were concerned.
Wyverns, lesser drakes, and such were merely animals, albeit deadly.
He was not fond of the drakes, but neither could he abandon them. The Green Dragon, Master of the Dagora Forest
and the sole Dragon King thus far to make peace with humanity, wanted them raised as human as possible. The
Gryphon, Lord of Penacles, had agreed in part, but only if, in addition, the hatchlings received equal training from their
own kind—a request which both aston-ished and pleased the reptilian monarch. The Gryphon, who seemed to have
little or no background of his own, as far as Cabe knew, was determined that the drakes learn about their own her-itage
as well as that of mankind. It was a grand experiment, but one that had to succeed if the lands were ever to be at peace.
It fell to Cabe and Gwen to care for them for the time being. As much as the powers of the two were welcomed by the
Gryphon in his struggle to raise a people that was not his own, he knew how important this long-term project was and
who was best suited for the potential dangers. As long as Toma lived, the hatchlings stood the chance of falling into
his hands and being subverted to his cause. The two mages would not be babysitting. If the Gold Dragon was dead or
died later on, Toma's only hope was to plant a new puppet on the Dragon Emperor's throne. . . .
There were three such potential puppets.
"Cabe?"
"Hmmm?" He had not realized he had been ignoring her.
"If nothing else, consider this a trial for the real thing."
Puzzled, he studied her face. She was smiling devilishly. "Trial for what?"
"Silly." She settled down next to him. "For when we have children of our own."
Gwen laughed quietly at the look on his face. For all he appeared physically older than she, thanks to the properties of
her amber prison, there were many things he was still naive about.
It was one of the things she liked best about him. One of the things that set him apart from her first love, Nathan
Bedlam. The enchantress put a finger on his lips in order to still any further comment. "No more talk. Go back to sleep.
You'll have plenty of time to think about it once the caravan is on its way."
He smiled and abruptly reached up. Taking her head in his hands, he guided her mouth to his. Even as they kissed, she
dismissed the light.
Penacles was perhaps the greatest human city in the Dragon-realm, even though its rulers had never been human
themselves. Prom time immemorial, those drake lords who had chosen purple as their mark had ruled in a steady
succession. There had always been a Purple Dragon, and so it had been believed that there would always be one. The
Dragon Masters and the inhuman mercenary called the Gryphon had succeeded in at least changing that, and it was
now the Gryphon who ruled here in the place known as the City of Knowledge. Through his efforts, Penacles rose to
new heights, but, because of that success, he was diligently watched by the brooding, angry Dragon Kings. They had
still not recovered from the Turning War with the human sorcerers—but watch they did. Waiting. Waiting until Duke
Toma rekindled hostilities be-tween the two races for his own ends. Now, even the previously untouchable merchants,
they who dealt with both drake and man, were not safe.
It was only one of his many concerns. The Gryphon, accom-panied by the guards General Toos, his second, had
demanded always be with him, strode majestically toward where Cabe and Gwen were supervising the last bit of
packing. Watching the two was frighteningly like watching the witch and her first love, Nathan Bedlam. The lad
(anyone below the Gryphon's two hundred odd years of age could be considered a lad) was so much like his
grandfather that the lionbird was often tempted to call him by the elder's name. What truly prevented him from doing
so was the fear that Cabe would respond. Something of Nathan literally lived within his grandson, and though he
could not describe it the Gry-phon knew it was there.
Heads turned in the courtyard. The Gryphon was a startling figure in himself, for he was as his name implied. Clad in
loose garments designed not to impede his astonishing reflexes, he al-most looked human from the neck down, if one
ignored the white, clawed hands so much more like talons or the boots that did not totally hide the fact that his feet
and legs were more like those of a lion. The swiftness of his movements came not just from his years as a mercenary
but also because, like the savage creature whose name and appearance he bore, he was a predator at heart. Every
action was a challenge to those around who might dare to oppose him.
It was the head, however, that grasped all attention. Rather than a mouth, he had a great, sharp beak easily capable of
tearing flesh, and instead of a normal head of hair, he had a mane like a lion that ended in feathers like that of a majestic
eagle. And his eyes. They were neither the eyes of a bird of prey nor the eyes of a human being, but something in
between. Something that made even the strongest of soldiers turn away in fear if the Gryphon so desired it.
Cabe and Gwen turned just before he reached them, either due to some power to sense his coming or a chance glance
at the awed faces around them. The lionbird was pleased that the two mages showed no such awe. He had enough
followers and all too few friends as it was. Waving the guards back, he joined the two.
"I see you have just about everything ready,” said the Gryphon, studying the long caravan.
Cabe, looking worn despite what the Gryphon would have as-sumed was a good night's slumber, grimaced. "We
would have been done long before now. Lord Gryphon."
"I have told you time and again—you two need never call me lord. We are friends, I hope." He cocked his head
slightly to the side in a manner reminiscent of his avian aspect.
Gwen, a radiant contrast to her husband, smiled. Even the fierce visage of the Gryphon softened at that sight. "Of
course we are your friends, Gryphon. We owe you too much for what you've done."
"You owe me! You two seem to have forgotten all the work you've done here and now you are even taking those
hatchlings off my hands. I owe you. I doubt if I will ever be able to repay you properly." "This is silly," Cabe finally
decided. "If we're all such good friends, then nobody owes anybody."
"Much better." Even as the lionbird nodded, an unwelcome thought squirmed its way into his mind. They may be
lying. They may be anxious to be away from the monstrosity that rules over their fellow humans.
"Is something wrong?" Cabe put a hand on the Gryphon's shoulder. The monarch forced himself not to brush it away.
"Nothing. Exhaustion, I suppose." What sort of foolish thoughts had those been, he wondered. There was no reason
he should think of such things. He knew these two too well. They were honest about their emotions. "You should rest
more, Gryphon. Even you need sleep."
"A king's work is never done."
"It is when he tumbles over from lack of rest." The Gryphon chuckled. "I won't hold you any longer. The sun
is already fairly high in the heavens and I know you want to get started." He glanced toward the caravan. "How are
your charges doing today?"
Gwen indicated the cart that was a little behind their horses. In it were several reptilian figures coiled about one
another in slum-ber. Other than by color, it was impossible to tell where one creature ended and another began. Behind
that cart was another one likewise packed. "Last night's escapades wore them out. They should sleep for at least part
of the journey today."
"If I ever let you begin." The Gryphon reached out and took the Lady of the Amber's hand. His features contorted,
then blurred. When they rematerialized, they were human. By most human standards, the Gryphon's new face would
have been con-sidered quite handsome. His features were, appropriately, hawk-like, the kind that young maidens
dreamed their heroes had. He kissed the back of Gwen's hand.
"Should I be jealous?" Cabe asked innocently.
The enchantress laughed lightly, a sound like tiny bells—at least to the two males near her. "If you aren't, maybe I
should find a reason you should be."
"This is where I definitely part company with you," the Gry-phon said. He stepped away and his features returned to
their normal state. Gwen smiled toward him and then had Cabe help her mount her horse. Cabe then mounted his own
steed and took the reins from a well-trained page who had been waiting quietly all this time.
Farewells were said by those in the caravan to friends and relatives standing nearby. Cabe finally looked at Gwen, who
nod-ded. Raising his arm, the young mage signaled to the rest of the travellers and then urged his steed forward. The
Gryphon waved once and then stood silently watching.
It will fail, he realized. The experiment will fail. The hatchlings should be back with the drakes. With their own kind.
The Gryphon swore. That was not the way it was going to be! This experiment must succeed! It had every chance of
succeeding—didn't it? He felt the uncertainty grow. Oddly, it was not restricted to this one thing. If his judgment
concerning the young drakes was incorrect, then so might his judgment concerning any number of things.
He shivered, belatedly realizing it was not from his thoughts. It was cold! Bone-numbing, mind-chilling cold. As
quickly as it had come, the intense cold vanished.
"Milord!" A page, little more than a dozen years in age, per-haps, rushed over to the Gryphon. "General Toos is
looking for you! He ... he makes it all sound so urgent, your majesty!"
"It will wait a few minutes longer." He would wait until the caravan was out of sight. The lionbird was astonished at
how hard it was to part company with those two. Being both ruler and an outsider, even after all this time, he savored
the few close com-panions he had—and with the Dragonrealm in such turmoil of late, there was always the chance he
might not see them again.
When the caravan was out of sight, the Gryphon still stood staring, and only when he heard the messenger fidgeting
next to him did he recall that one of his oldest companions, perhaps the one who knew him best, had urgent news for
him.
He sighed and turned to the page. The boy was, of course, in awe of the being before him. Most likely his first time
delivering a message to one so important as well. "All right, lad," he said in his friendliest voice, his worries forcibly
pushed to one corner of his mind. “Show me where Toos is so that I can reprimand him for the hundredth time on
proper chain of command. After all, he's supposed to come to me, not the other way around." The page smiled and, if
only for a moment, the Gryphon's
worries seemed pointless.
III
By horse, the center of the Dagora Forest, where the Manor was located, was several days journey to the northwest of
Penacles, and with a party of more than thirty—the Gryphon had insisted on supplying Cabe and Gwen with all sorts
of servants—the time tripled. Wagons had to maneuver around obstacles, people kept losing things, and there were
even children to consider. (If the young of the Emperor Dragon were to be raised among humans, they had to be made
to understand human children as well, and if the barriers could be broken between the young, there was hope.) From
their carts, the drake hatchlings watched with guarded expressions. Occasionally, one could tell when the hatchlings
grew curious because their eyes would widen to literally twice their normal size. Excitement was the easiest emotion to
read. Those of the intelligent drake race, looking like bizarre, two-legged liz-ards, jumped up and down in copy of the
human young they had observed, while the young lesser drakes, pure animal, swayed frantically from side to side,
hissing all the while. As they were doing now.
The forest was suddenly alive with men. Masked men. They all wore baggy traveling outfits and Cabe suspected that
beneath those outfits was armor. It was obvious that this had been planned in advance. The caravan was more than a
day's journey past the borders of Penacles' lands, and there was nothing in sight now but more and more trees.
"The fools!" Gwen hissed. "The Green Dragon will never tolerate this assault in his own domain!"
"He may not find out about it. We're far from where you said he makes his home,"
She looked Cabe squarely in the eye. "The master of the Dagora Forest knows everything that happens anywhere in
his domain."
The apparent leader of the band urged his horse a little closer to the group, seemingly unconcerned about his safety,
even with two mages present. He was a tall man and probably a veteran of many a fight, judging by his stance and the
way his eyes took in everything. There was little else that could be said about him since much was covered to preserve
his identity.
"We only want the damn lizards! Give them to us and the rest of you can go on your way!"
Cabe tensed, having recognized something in the tone of the man's voice. He was fairly certain that the spokesman
was from Mito Pica.
"Well?" The spokesman was growing impatient.
Gwen spoke up. "The hatchlings are under our protection and will not be turned over to the likes of you! Depart before
it is too late!"
A few of the marauders chuckled, which did nothing to ease the disturbing feelings Cabe was experiencing.
"Sorcerers' spells won't touch us, witch, not with these." He lifted a medallion out of his clothing. From such a long
distance, Cabe could make out very little other than that it appeared to be quite worn. Gwen let out a slight gasp.
"Those things are the work of the Seekers," she whispered. "I've seen one or two, battered and broken, but if they
have more. ..." She did not have to complete the thought. The Seek-ers, avian predecessors to the drakes, had left
behind more than one secret which hinted of a power once far, far greater than the Dragon Kings at their finest.
"So you see," began the hooded figure once more, "we don't have to be nice. We've no quarrel with you unless you
give us trouble. That'd be bad, considering we have you surrounded and outnumbered.''
"Are those things really that effective?" Cabe muttered.
The Lady of the Amber nodded sourly. "Try casting something and the spell will go haywire some way. I don't know
about prepared spells, but I think it works for those as well."
"There's only one way to find out. ..."
The marauders were stirring. The leader shifted in his saddle. "You've had all the time you need to discuss it. We'll take
them by force if need be. . . ."
"Touch them and not one of you will live to sssee the morrow. Your bonesss will be picked clean by the birds of the
foresssst."
Marauders and caravan alike jumped at the commanding voice. The spokesman looked this way and that before seeing
the single figure riding atop a fierce-looking lesser drake. The riding beast hissed hungrily, disturbing all the horses in
the area.
"You are not wanted in or near my forest," hissed the Green Dragon. Like his brethren, his humanoid form resembled
an ar-mored knight wearing an immense and elaborate dragonhelm. He was covered by glittering green scale armor
(which was really his own skin). Gleaming red eyes stared out at the assembled examples of humanity.
It was evident that this was one of the last beings the leader had expected to see. Nevertheless, when he spoke, there
was only a hint of uneasiness in his voice. "These are not your lands. You have no control over this region."
"I share a common border with the lord of Penacles and I am his ally. I protect hisss side when necessary and I would
expect no lessss from him. As for you, the east or the north is where you should be, human. Fight Silver or the
remnants of Red's clans. Challenge the Storm Dragon, but do not presume to hunt in or near my domain. I will not
permit it. Tell your benefactor King Melicard that."
"Melicard?" Cabe whispered to Gwen. "A rumor, nothing more. They say he supplies them. He hates the drakes as
much as they do. Remember, it was Toma's nest-brother, that sadistic Kyrg, who drove Melicard's father, Rennek,
mad."
Cabe nodded slowly, recalling the incident. "Rennek thought he was going to end up as part of Kyrg's dinner."
The hooded spokesman started laughing. One could almost picture the sneer hidden by his mask. "There's nothing
you can do against us. These things have put a damper on your powers. I know how to use these. You can't even
shapeshift to your dragon form."
The Green Dragon was not put out by this news. He reached slowly into a saddle pouch and pulled something out.
"Would you care, gelding, to match your bits of bird magic to mine?"
The Master of the Dagora Forest held up something in one clawed hand and muttered sounds akin to the constant call
of some raven.
There was a yelp from the marauder leader and a second later the man was working desperately to take the medallion
from around his neck and cast it away. It was a waste of time, though. The medallion crumbled as all watched, until all
that remained was the chain. The hooded figure quickly removed the chain and tossed it as far away as he could.
"I have not kept control of this domain for so long without reasssson. Did you think my brethren approve of the
freedom the people of my landsss have? Those concessionsss were hard fought—and I ussse the last word literally."
The Green Dragon returned the item to the saddle bag. "Depart now and we will forget this incident happened. You
serve a purpose to me, but only to a point. Rest assured, I have other tricksss, if it comes down to it."
The intruders looked to their leader, who in turn looked from the Dragon King to the two mages to the cart where the
hatchlings watched with agitated interest. Finally, he turned back to the Green Dragon. "If they leave your lands, we
will seek them out."
"Your war isss with the Council, not hatchlingsss." The Green Dragon took a breath. When he spoke again, his words
were measured and the hiss inherent to his kind was all but unnoticeable. "Now go, or do you wish to test your
trinkets against a full-grown dragon again? Be assured that I have eyes watching you even now. They will continue to
watch to make certain that you do indeed depart and never return unless invited—which I doubt you would ever be."
The spokesman hesitated, then finally nodded in defeat, and signaled to his men to retreat. Reluctantly, the marauders
departed, the leader last. He seemed to spend most of his time studying the
two magic-users, as if they were traitors to their own kind. When the last of his men had disappeared into the forest, he
followed.
The Master of the Dagora Forest hissed, but this time it was in satisfaction. "Fools grow rampant these days. The only
reason they made it this far into the border lands at all is because I was forced to reprimand one of my own for plotting
to take the hatchlings from you just before you reached the Manor."
"Your own clans?" Gwen's surprise was evident.
"Drakes will be drakes, as humans will be humans. I have dealt with that one as I have dealt with this one. I suggest
you and yours follow close behind me for the rest of your journey. We will save time if I lead you through the secret
ways of the forest.''
"Milord . . ."
"Yes, Cabe Bedlam?" The emphasis on the last name struck hard. The Green Dragon still remembered Nathan and the
Dragon Masters, the group of mages who had fought the Kings in the Turning War and reduced the power of the
drakes to its present state despite losing in the end.
"That disk . . ."
"This?" A clawed hand brought forth the item in question. "I have had many an occasion to gather and study the
artifacts of our predecessors. The Lady Gwendolyn is not the first to stake claim to the Manor. That place has housed
many since it was abandoned in the waning days of the Seekers. I believe the lower levels may even predate them."
"They planned well—perhaps too well. The dampers like those marauders wear are excellent creations, but, like all
Seeker magic, those were created with a countermeasure already in mind. That, I believe, is what led to their downfall.
They planned too well and someone took advantage of that."
The Green Dragon nudged his lesser drake toward the front of the group. As he passed them by, Gwen whispered into
Cabe's ear. "You will find that the Seekers are a pet project of his. It was the original reason he dealt civilly with
Nathan. They both wanted to know how such a powerful race could fall so rapidly."
"Like the Quel?"
She nodded. "These lands have seen many races rule. Each has had its cycle and it appears the time for humans is
close at hand. Nathan didn't want us falling as the others had and the Green Dragon wanted to preserve as much of his
people's ways as possible. For the sake of both races, they shelved their differ-ences."
It was not what Cabe would have expected from the stories he had heard, but it rang true in his memories, which were
partly Nathan's as well. There was some knowledge of the Seekers back in there, he realized, but it was like trying to
find one's way through a thick fog. He could not dredge out anything specific from the past.
The hatchlings were growing extremely agitated. The presence of the Green Dragon was something new to them,
having spent all of their short lives either under the watchful wings of the great dams who guarded the hatcheries or
under the untrusting eyes of the humans. They had never seen a male adult of their kind so close, but they knew kin
when they saw it.
One of the royal hatchlings, the one Cabe reckoned as eldest, stood confidently on its hind legs. His face seemed
punched in, less like a beast and more like a man. The tail had shrunken as well.
He's learning, the young mage realized. He's starring to shift from dragon form to manshape. All he needed was an
example to get him started.
With one to lead them, the others would soon follow suit. First the other two royal hatchlings, then their unmarked
brethren— who would be the dukes or soldiers of their species—and finally the single female (Gwen had assured him
it was indeed female; he had not wanted to find out close up). That the female would take longer was no fault of her
own. Female drakes had a different metabolism and, while she would take much longer, her human form would be near
perfect, perhaps more than perfect, Cabe remembered, having almost fallen prey to three such enchantresses who had
once taken up residence in the very place they were now heading.
He did not look forward to the future where the drakes were concerned. He knew that the Dragon Kings, while silent
now, had not yet given up.
Cabe guided his horse as near as he could to the drake lord. "Why didn't you destroy the raiders while you had the
chance? They may choose to ignore your warning."
The Green Dragon's eyes narrowed to two tiny pinpoints of red. "With as many as there were, there was too much of a
chance for something to happen to the hatchlings. A lucky shot by an archer might have struck down the heir to the
dragon throne. I chose the best way to avoid all of that. If they try again, then they will forfeit their lives. Not this time,
though."
Satisfied, Cabe slowed his horse until he was even with Gwen. The rest of the caravan slowly trudged forward again.
Despite the Dragon King's words concerning eyes that watched over them, more than one person could not help
glancing around from time to time. Regardless of their renewed vigilance, however, no one, not even the Green Dragon,
who prided himself on his skill, noticed the single figure perched high in the trees. No wyvern this, but an avian
creature who watched all with arrogance and something else.
The Green Dragon had been correct when he had said the Seek-ers designed with countermeasures already in mind.
The watcher wore one such measure now and kept it quite well hidden from the mages and drakes below.
The observer waited until the caravan was lost from sight before finally moving. Then, silently and swiftly, the Seeker
spread its wings and rose into the heavens, its destination to the northeast.
Alone in his chambers, the Gryphon sat quietly, his mind on a number of scattered items of interest. Like someone
putting to-gether a puzzle, he maneuvered the pieces around, trying to see if there were any relation between them. It
was the way in which he ruled this city. He had learned more through this process than a hundred meetings with the
various ministers that protocol de-manded he pretend to listen to. He doubted any of them would be able to help him
with even one of the problems he now con-sidered.
A servant brought him a goblet of fine red wine. The Gryphon's face twisted and contorted as he formed a human
visage in order to drink without spilling it all over his person. The wine was excellent, as usual, and he nodded to the
servant, a half-seen shadow that immediately thereafter melted into the walls. Such servants unnerved many who lived
in the palace, but the Gryphon refused to do anything about them, for he needed them in more ways than one. They
were not only servants, but his eyes and ears as well. Merely with their presence, they made him feel as if he were not
the only unique creature in all of Penacles.
His keen hearing detected the sound of someone walking pur-posefully and he turned toward the doorway. Two huge,
metallic figures stood next to the doorway, one on each side. Rough con-ceptions of men. The Gryphon waited
expectantly.
Suddenly one of the figures opened its eyes, revealing nothing but an iron-gray blankness where the pupils should
have been.
"General Toos requests admittance," it grumbled.
"Let him enter." The golems made very effective doormen, since nothing short of the most powerful magic would stop
them if they believed he was in danger.
The doors swung open of their own accord and a tall, thin, foxlike man stepped into the chamber. Most noticeable in
his hair was the silver streak, a surprising thing since most people believed the general to be unable to perform magic.
He was, however, noted for shrewd hunches and last-minute miracles. Though human—he also claimed a bit of elfin
blood, but that was debatable—Toos was by far the Gryphon's oldest companion. More than that, he was a close
friend.
"Milord." The man bowed in one smooth, sleek action. Age had done nothing to slow him. He was already far older
than most humans ever got—almost twice as old, the Gryphon realized with a start.
"Sit, please, Toos, and forget formalities." It was always this way. The general was of the sort who always followed
protocol even when dealing with those he had known for years.
Toos took the proffered seat, somehow managing to sit without wrinkling his dress uniform. It amazed the Gryphon
that his com-rade should go around so unprotected—even Penacles had its assassins. Yet, though there had been
attempts, Toos had survived most without a scratch.
The old soldier pulled a parchment from his belt and reluctantly handed it over to his lord.
"More concerning . . . what you showed me?"
"No. I suggest you read the report first."
The Gryphon unfolded it and studied the contents. A report from one of his spies who passed as a fisherman in the
coastal city of Irillian by the Sea, the main human habitation in that region and a city that was controlled by the aquatic
Blue Dragon. It was not the location that the Gryphon would have expected news to come from.
He started reading the portion he knew Toos had wanted him to see and ignored everything else. Two figures wearing
the dis-tinctive black armor and wolfhelms of eastern continent raiders had been spotted traveling out to the caverns
which served as the above-ground entrance to the palace of Irillian's true master. One matched the description the
Gryphon had given his spies of a raider named D'Shay. D'Shay.
A name, but one the Gryphon felt he should know, and re-member. An aristocratic raider from across the Eastern Seas.
D'Shay was a wolf in human form, though not in the literal sense. Still, the Lord of Penacles would have felt safer with a
pack of ravished wolves than alone with the raider. With wolves he at least understood what he was up against.
His uncertainty returned. D'Shay in contact with the Blue Dragon. The Lord of Penacles did not care for the potential
that such an alliance might offer. The Master of Irillian had raiders of his own and they were a constant problem even
to some of his fellow Dragon Kings, yet nothing had been done because they were too swift, too skilled. Dragon
Kings did not wage true war with other Dragon Kings; that was a stated fact, though there had been rumors to the
contrary occasionally.
He had not realized that he had uttered D'Shay's name out loud until Toos spoke up. "Please reconsider this, milord.
We cannot afford any new campaigns at the moment. There is no telling when the Black Dragon will recover
completely. Now would be an excellent time to rid ourselves of him. His fanatics are weak and the Gray Mists are
merely a wisp right now. Lochivar is visible for miles inward."
Shaking his furred head, the Gryphon rejected the suggestion. "We can't afford such an action. Despite the weakness
of both the Gray Mists and the Black Dragon, the Lochivarites and those
that the raiders brought over will indeed fight. That's all they know any more. The Mists only enforce Black's will even
more. Most of those people have grown only knowing servitude to him. If he says fight, they will."
"But D'Shay is ... Gryphon, I know what's forming in your mind, dammit! Don't even consider it!"
They stared at one another and it was finally Toos who turned away. The Gryphon stared down any further comment
before reminding his second-in-command, "D'Shay represents a threat we know nothing about. The wolf raiders want
to set up some permanent base in the Dragonrealm, either because they are ex-panding their hunting grounds or
because they are losing whatever war they fight across the seas. It may even be that D'Shay is simply after me. He
knows something about me, and I would like to know what it is. One of the puzzles I've been mulling over of late." The
lionbird patted the report. "This gave me the extra piece I needed. Lochivar is too volatile at present for them to
consider as a port, but Irillian is perfect. I should have realized it sooner."
Toos looked at him darkly. When his lord spoke like this, it meant he was about to do what most rulers would imagine
un-thinkable. "Who will lead while you are away? We are not speak-ing of some local journey. We are speaking of the
realm of the Blue Dragon. Other than the Master of the Dagora Forest, he holds the greatest respect of his human
subjects. You will not find so many allies there. You could be gone for months or—yes, I'll say it, dammit—forever!
Dead!"
The Gryphon was unmoved by the emotion. The idea of jour-neying to Irillian in order to seek out the wolf raider
D'Shay was becoming more and more of a priority. Carefully, so that his growing obsession did not show, he asked a
question of his own. "Who leads when I am away?"
Another unseen servant brought forth sweets, but the general irritably waved away both bowl and creature. "Damn
you, I'm a soldier, an ex-mercenary. Arguing with politicians is your specialty—and what do I care about the price of
wheat as long as my men and their horses get fed? You've ruled here so long that no one can imagine any other as
lord! Only those like me still remember that there ever was a Purple Dragon!"
"Are you through?" The Gryphon's face had reverted to that of a bird of prey, but his voice indicated amusement.
"Yes," sighed Toos. "You'll take over—as usual?"
"Yes—dammit. You could have at least mentioned our other problem to the sorcerers while they were here. Then, I
wouldn't be so worried."
"The frost incident appears to be isolated. No one else has reported any animals found frozen solid or fields of
ice-encrusted oat. I've already contacted those with the resources to investigate more thoroughly. If I'm not here, they
will find you."
A crafty look crept over the human's face. "Why not send these—hell, they're elves—to Irillian?"
"Because there are no elves in that region, save the seagoing kind, and they, like the people there, are loyal to the Blue
Dragon.'' The Gryphon rose with the ease of a cat.' 'Why do you always persist in this show of reluctance?"
"Because old habits die hard and I always have this feeling you're going to stick me with this king business and run
off permanently."
"It would serve you right, you old ogre." The general chuckled, then recalled what he had shown the lionbird the day
before. "I still wish the Bedlams were here. They might know something. That mule was as solid as a chunk of iron,
Gryphon! What could freeze a creature so?"
The Gryphon found that he no longer cared about mules, fields, and sorcerers. Now that he had decided to depart the
city, he was anxious to get away as soon as possible. It was not like him to be so uncaring about such puzzles, but
perhaps that was because he had never before been offered such a chance to capture the wolf raider D'Shay. At the
very least, the information D'Shay could give him concerning the wolf raiders themselves would surely be more
valuable. The ice was probably the error of some fledgling sorcerer or witch. Perhaps even some sort of insane joke by
sprites. Yes, that made some sense, he decided. Now, there was no reason to hesitate.
Turning to his aide, the Gryphon outlined his thoughts. General Toos did not seem taken with the ideas, but he soon
gave in. The lionbird knew that Toos would understand as time went on.
"Now that that's settled," he continued, "there is no more reason for me to hesitate. Toos, I have full faith in you and
your men, but this is something I have to do myself. D'Shay once claimed a connection to me; I want to rind out what
that connection is or whether he spouted it purely in jest."
"I could stop you no more now than when you led our company in battle, though, now that you are king, I would have
hoped for different." The general looked highly displeased with the situa-tion, but knew better. "How soon will you be
departing?"
"Before tomorrow morning. Have someone saddle a horse for me."
"Before morning"? You—" The soldier broke off at the look on his monarch's face. "Aye, dammit, as you say."
The Gryphon dismissed his oldest companion with a gesture. Toos sputtered, but said nothing. It did not matter to the
Gryphon, anyway. The complaints of Toos or the ministers did not concern him. Only his journey to Irillian did.
That—and the man called D'Shay.
He felt a brief pounding in his head and started to question its cause, but the pounding ceased and, with it, his
curiosity con-cerning it. All that mattered, he reminded himself again, was Irillian and D'Shay. Nothing else.
IV
Toma entered the frozen hall of the Ice Dragon with great trepi-dation. From the first, he had come to loathe this cold,
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