Legends of the Dragonrealm
Also by Richard A. Knaak
The Dragonrealm
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. I
(featuring the novels Firedrake, Ice Dragon, & Wolfhelm)
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II
(featuring the novels Shadow Steed, The Shrouded Realm, & Children of the Drake, plus the novella “Skins”)
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III
(featuring the novels The Crystal Dragon & The Dragon Crown, plus novellas “Past Dance”, “Storm Lord”, & “The Still Lands”)
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. IV
(featuring the novels Dragon Tome & The Horse King, plus novellas “Dragon Master”, “A Wolf in the Fold”, & “A Game of Ghosts”)
Shade
The Turning War:
Dragon Masters
The Gryphon Mage
The World of Warcraft
Day of the Dragon
Night of the Dragon
Stormrage
Wolfheart
The War of the Ancients:
Vol. I – The Well of Eternity
Vol. II – The Demon Soul
Vol. III – The Sundering
Dawn of the Aspects
Diablo
Legacy of Blood
Kingdom of Shadow
Moon of the Spider
The Sin War:
Vol. I – Birthright
Vol. II – Scales of the Serpent
Vol. III – The Veiled Prophet
Dragonlance
The Legend of Huma
Kaz the Minotaur
Land of the Minotaurs
Reavers of the Blood Sea
The Citadel
The Minotaur Wars:
Vol. I – Night of Blood
Vol. II – Tides of Blood
Vol. III – Empire of Blood
The Ogre Titans:
Vol. I – The Black Talon
Vol. II – The Fire Rose
Vol. III – The Gargoyle King
The Age of Conan
Vol. I – The God in the Moon
Vol. II – The Eye of Charon
Vol. III – The Silent Enemy
The Knight in Shadow
Vol. I – Dragon Mound
*Vol. II – Wake of the Wyrm
*Vol. III – The Twilight Throne
Individual Titles
The Janus Mask
Frostwing
King of the Grey
Dutchman
Shattered Light: Ruby Flames
Beastmaster: Myth
Black City Saint
Black City Demon
A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK
ISBN: 978-1-68261-313-9
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-314-6
Legends of the Dragonrealm:
Cut from the Same Shadow and Other Tales
© 2017 by Richard A. Knaak
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Permuted Press, LLC
New York • Nashville
permutedpress.com
Published in the United States of America
CONTENTS
DRAGON MASTER
Obsession Wears Many Faces...
A WOLF IN THE FOLD
Suffer Not the Children...
A GAME OF GHOSTS
The Past Will Always Catch Up...
CUT FROM THE SAME SHADOW
Choices...or the Lack Thereof...Can Make All the Difference
FOUNDERS AND FOOLS
Those Who Do Not Learn From History...
DRAGON MASTER
OBSESSION WEARS MANY FACES...
I
The bronze mask wore a smile. The entire false face, in fact, had been shaped to be jovial, with small crinkle lines at the end of the open mouth and between the arched brows. Even the eye holes had been carved to indicate merriment.
Merriment...or mockery.
The hood of a vast, green cloak hung just over the top edge of the mask, obscuring the rest of the wearer’s head. That same cloak draped over wizard’s robes dark brown as the figure sat upon the cracked, crumbling stone throne.
Within the mask, eyes so gray as to be almost colorless watched intently. A true mouth with just a hint of white beard surrounding it set with teeth clenched. Hands scarred and gnarled gripped the ends of the ruined arm rests.
The decrepit throne sat upon a broken dais in a huge, devastated cavern. On each side, massive, winding columns carved from the stone dwarfed the figure. Towering statues lay shattered on the floor, their identities eradicated by some explosive force. Parts of the ceiling had clearly caved in, broken stalagmites and stalactites now intermingled together in toothy displays.
“Now,” he rasped.
A tremendous roar erupted from a high, dark passage far ahead.
Through the passage burst a huge dragon, his greenish, scaly skin tinted with what could only be described as a bronze accent. He reared up, his head nearly touching the ceiling, and roared again his displeasure at his recent captivity.
Narrow, reptilian orbs of crimson marked the puny figure on the throne.
“At lassst! Now isss my vengeance! I will burn your flesh from your bonessss!” the leviathan rumbled. He inhaled, preparing a monstrous blast of flame.
The masked wizard raised his left hand and whispered, “Genin. Hala.”
From two smaller passages below him emerged a young man and woman, both clad in hooded, light green robes. Their expressions were in general blank, but their eyes focused on the beast with hatred mirroring the one who had summoned them.
The dragon paused briefly when he noticed them, then clearly dismissed the pair from his thoughts. Only his captor was of importance. As one, Genin and Hala raised their left arms, pointing at the great beast.
Lightning without any source suddenly struck the dragon from every angle. He roared in agony and astonishment, so harsh, so deadly were the attacks. Scorch marks dotted his body, the scales burnt completely through.
“Houndsss! Jackalsss!” Twisting, the winged behemoth raked at the two, but came up short when an invisible barrier suddenly blocked his way.
From the young woman, Hala, came a momentary gasp. Then, her face resuming its almost inhuman calm, she fixed her gaze again on their adversary.
“Too slow...” muttered the seated figure. “You are all linked. Use that. Finish now.”
The young spellcasters nodded simultaneously.
The invisible force that had blocked the dragon’s claws now buffeted him back. At the same time, every sharp rock formation near the irontinted leviathan shook loose.
Now pinned against one wall, the dragon tried desperately to flame his keepers.
But before he could, scores of stalactites and stalagmites flew at him, pincushioning the bronze giant before he could exhale. He roared in agony. Great rivers of blood shot forth, splattering everything save the three tiny figures. The dragon’s roar transformed into a pathetic whimper.
The beast stilled.
Genin lowered his arm.
Hala lowered hers.
The gargantuan corpse tumbled to the cavern floor, its collapse creating a tremor that shook the entire chamber for several seconds. Genin and Hala turned their unblinking eyes to the one who commanded them.
“Better...” he remarked, nodding his head slightly. “Much better...”
“Thank you, Master Tragaro,” the pair piped in unison.
Without another word, they filed out the way they had come. Tragaro leaned back and stared avidly at the dragon, savoring the death.
“Soon...very soon...we shall rise again...”
II
From atop his horse, the wizard Cabe Bedlam eyed the hilly landscape ahead, noting the lights flickering in the distance.
“Gordag-Ai,” he whispered. “Perhaps the answer lies there. I suppose it’s worth checking out.”
His mount, a huge, shadowy black stallion, twisted his head around at an impossible angle to look at the gray-robed figure. Startling eyes of ice-blue—eyes with no pupils—narrowed in amusement.
“After a week of running around every hill and mountain, questioning every peasant and dwarf, we’re finally going to enter the city?” the steed asked. “Truly this is a glorious day!”
“Hush, Darkhorse! Even out in this wilderness someone might hear you!”
The black stallion snorted. “What would I fear from man or drake?”
“Too many things,” his human companion returned, taking a quick look around. “Your reputation precedes you by several centuries, you know. We don’t need that now.”
Cabe Bedlam wore plain, cloth robes, the type a pilgrim might don. The hood covered most of his dark hair and, more importantly, almost all of the wide, silver streak marking him as wielder of magic, a wizard or a warlock. His face bordered on the unprepossessing, which aided in his present masquerade. No one would ever take the slightly upturned nose, broad mouth, and farmer’s jaw for the features of one of the most powerful mages in all the Dragonrealm. In truth, Cabe came from a lineage that had produced many of the most famous and infamous spellcasters, including both his grandfather Nathan and his treacherous father, Azran.
Hidden from Azran, who had betrayed his fellow wizards, the Dragon Masters, in their war to rid the lands of the monstrous Dragon Kings, Cabe had been secreted magically for almost two centuries before his elven guardian had dared try to raise him among mortals. That mistake had started a chain of events that had seen the elf’s death, Azran’s destruction of the Red Dragon clan, and much, much more. From it, though, Cabe had emerged as a powerful force for humanity—and a leader despite his own protests.
And in the process, he had gained a wife—the fiery, magical Lady of the Amber—a family, an estate...and the true friendship of the legendary eternal, the enigmatic creature called Darkhorse.
Darkhorse himself came from an empty realm beyond reality, the endless Void. The shape he wore was one of his own fancy, taken when he had entered the land centuries before. If necessary, the eternal could manipulate his shape with the fluidity of water, becoming anything he desired. However, his fondness for his present form kept him from rarely doing so and the name he had gained because of his chosen appearance made his inclination to become something else even less.
He had befriended others of Cabe’s line, but Darkhorse seemed to have a special kinship with his current rider, willing to sacrifice himself if necessary to save the wizard or his family. When Cabe had informed the shadowy creature of his intended quest, Darkhorse had quickly volunteered.
In truth, the dark-haired spellcaster was grateful. When news had come to him of the disappearances, he had naturally been concerned; young men and women vanishing so near the enclaves of the Drake Confederation boded ill. However, when Cabe had heard that these were men and women who had shown some potential with magic—that had stirred worries much, much greater.
When one Dragon King—Brown—had died trying to slay Cabe himself, his human vassal, the lord of Zuu, had begun his own campaign for power. Lanith had gathered by guile and force a small but deadly group of half-trained mages, pawns not only of him, but his own true master, Darkhorse’s twin, Yureel. Before Lanith’s plan had been foiled and the Horse King and Yureel slain, many had died.
Even before then, Cabe and his wife had begun to gather young humans with the gift into schools where they could be cautiously trained. The Dragon Kings had, over the centuries, attempted to control or eradicate any such humans, but always a few had survived and flourished. Now, with no such threat, more and more were appearing.
And now some of them were disappearing.
Gordag-Ai had produced its share of mages, including the present queen of Talak, Erini. They had been free of the yoke of a Dragon King longer than most realms. Because of Erini, restrictions against magic had loosened and now that her nephew, Edrik, sat on the throne, he even employed a few for the good of the kingdom.
But Cabe had come to wonder whether Edrik might now be desiring to be the next Lanith...and that was why he had hesitated to enter the city.
Darkhorse turned his head forward again. “I shall endeavor to keep my identity secret, friend Cabe.”
Cabe patted him on the neck. “I don’t want to lose you.”
The ebony stallion snorted, but clearly appreciated his rider’s comment. The pair moved on, heading toward the great wooden gates leading into Gordag-Ai.
Guards with high, forked helms, bronze-colored breast plates, and wide-hipped military pants watched warily as he and others entered. The banners of the kingdom, a fierce red ram on a field of black and white stripes, fluttered overhead.
In contrast to the broad, almost cumbersome garments of the locals, the buildings were short, narrow, and packed together. Although not nearly so expansive as Talak or Penacles, Cabe still saw no reason for Gordag-Ai to be so cramped. However, as he studied the people, he noticed that they seemed more inclined than in most places to bump against one another, almost as if on purpose.
Something Queen Erini had once said of her homeland came to him. “We are a close-knit people, we of Gordag-Ai. Surrounded by drakes so long, we came to cherish the presence of one another...”
Whatever the truth behind her beliefs, certainly the Gordagians, as they were called, spent much time finding excuses to talk. Several tried to strike up a conversation with each newcomer who entered. A number of onlookers peeked from the open windows and for the first time the wizard realized that, despite their narrowness, Gordagian buildings had more openings than normal—and thus more places to lean out and see or speak with a passerby.
At a clean if old establishment called the Mountain Herder, Cabe dismounted. After going through the pretense of tying Darkhorse to a post, the supposed pilgrim stepped inside.
His smiling host, a young, fair-haired man, came up to him. “Welcome, traveler! I am Brode! Please! Have a seat! Some ale?”
Taken slightly aback by the robust manner of the innkeeper’s greeting, Cabe hesitated before agreeing. “An ale would do wonders for my parched throat, good man. Do I also smell stew?”
“Oh, aye! My wife, she’s finishing it up now! Just be a few minutes!”
With the utmost earnestness, Brode guided his newest customer to a seat. As the wizard sat, he glanced around at the others. Brode had five patrons, all but one clad in local clothes. The fifth wore plain trader’s garb with small badges sewn in at the shoulders that indicated he originated from Talak, far to the east. All seemed perfectly at ease with the innkeeper’s overenthusiastic nature.
After Brode had brought him his drink and meal, Cabe leaned back. Outwardly, it appeared he relaxed, his eyes half-shut while he occasionally took a sip or a bite, but in truth, the wizard now reached out with his senses, trying to detect any disturbance along the invisible, intangible lines of force that crisscrossed everything and everybody. Even the slightest hint of magic would register.
But after a good hour, he detected nothing. His
food gone and his ale nearly down to nothing, Cabe focused his will in the direction of the king’s palace. He had seen it from afar as he had entered, a towering, slim structure that gave its monarch a view of everything for miles around. Cabe wondered about the safety of such a needle in the wind-thrashed regions of the northwest, but the tower seemed to take each blast in stride.
The one question remained was how often the king made his way up to the top, certainly a feat requiring exceptional health and patience.
From the palace, he at last noted a slight hint of magical action. The spell, however, was of such minute proportion as to be almost nonexistent. Cabe would have used more magic simply to douse the oil lamps that illuminated the room. Ignoring the faint signal, Cabe turned his focus elsewhere—
Without warning, a force of such magnitude that it made his head feel as if it had been kicked by Darkhorse’s hooves overwhelmed him.
Groaning, Cabe nearly fell forward onto the table. Everything swam. The other patrons glanced his way, although none rose to help.
Brode, just coming from the back, noticed the wizard’s agony. Cabe managed to pull together as the innkeeper approached.
“Are you not well?” the young man asked anxiously.
“Too long on the road, that’s all.” The wizard paid for the meal and drink. “I’m all right. I’ll be going.”
“We also have some fine rooms—”
“Perhaps later, I—” Cabe paused as he sensed the aura of magic approaching.
Through the doors entered three helmed men, soldiers of Gordag-Ai. On the breastplate of the leader, a stout but ready veteran with a thick beard, hung an amulet...the source of the aura.
The commander looked directly at the wizard, pointing.
Brode immediately backed away from his guest. The other patrons removed themselves from the premises.