Legends of the Dragonrealm Page 12

  It made no sense to keep her alive...unless.... “You’re keeping her alive in case the king’s willing to sacrifice his second son.”

  “He may be capable of that...but will also he suffer the loss of his cat and the last of their get?” Juren shook his head. “Even the vaunted Gryphon has his limits, general.”

  Too true. Darot would be the example that would prove to the king that he had no choice. If he did not give them what they wanted, they would then have Troia kill herself...and slay the third son in the process.

  “Twisted minds,” he murmured. Marner turned his arm slightly, feeling the hidden blade position itself. He expected no aid from the palace guard; Juren had chosen the most secluded spot for his deviltry.

  The wolf raider edged closer to the queen. He held up the stone so that Marner could see her blank expression. The general could also make out the drying blood on her clawed hands.

  Juren had used Queen Troia as the means of murdering her own bodyguards.

  “ ‘Tis nearly time, general. I thank you for giving me something to distract me, but now the game’s ended. She’s got just a few minutes left to her...more than enough for one last hunt.”

  He held the crystal toward General Marner. To the latter’s horror, the cat woman turned and stared at her subject.

  “Which will it be, general? Can you kill your queen...or will you let her slay you?”

  With that, Troia raised her hands. The bloody claws extended to their fullest...and the queen leapt at Marner.

  X

  Orril D’Marr stood in the glittering chamber, gaze fixed upon the macabre timepiece the Quel had made at his request. In his palm rested the final triplet. Only one blue stone now hovered, a stone whose slow descent he watched avidly.

  That still did not prevent him from noticing when he was no longer alone.

  “I thought you’d come sooner,” he remarked without turning.

  The Gryphon crept out of one of the dark tunnels. He had spent the past hour evading the pursuing Quel and Aramites. Several of each lay dead and the rest followed false trails. The Gryphon had utilized valuable time just so that he and his nemesis could be left uninterrupted.

  “Slay me and she dies,” D’Marr commented, turning slowly toward him. His ruined arm he left hidden under his cloak. “My agent will know the mission is lost and will therefore take action.”

  “You plan to kill her, anyway.” The Gryphon strode toward the wolf raider, gaze shifting constantly as he sought traps. Orril D’Marr was too calm, even for him. “That leaves me with little inclination to save your own miserable existence, cur.”

  “But one word from me and she will be spared. She...and your unborn.”

  “One word that you’d never give, D’Marr.”

  The wolf raider bowed slightly, keeping the crystal visible. “You do know me...”

  A sense of dread filled the Gryphon.

  He leapt up just as the floor exploded.

  The Quel leader burst through, savage claws nearly ripping off the Gryphon’s leg. The Gryphon landed just as the huge creature fully emerged.

  Orril D’Marr actually laughed. “I imagine you think you were responsible for the rest running off on fools’ chases! We knew you wouldn’t show yourself unless we made it clear that I was alone.”

  But suddenly the Gryphon bounded toward the Quel, taking him by surprise. Out came the blade the king had seized from the dead Aramite.

  The leader of the underdwellers tensed, awaiting the inevitable assault. D’Marr watched in amusement as the Gryphon sought to take on an opponent far larger and better prepared than him.

  As he dropped upon the Quel, the Gryphon suddenly twisted. His feet came first, striking his gigantic adversary hard. The Quel shook but held his ground.

  Using the beast as a launching board, the Gryphon flung himself on top of the Aramite.

  Startled, Orril D’Marr thrust the crystal into his belt and reached with his good hand for his mace. He succeeded only in loosening it before the two of them collided.

  Releasing his grip on the blade, the Gryphon seized the mace. He struck the wolf raider hard in the jaw, then rolled away.

  The Aramite lay still, stunned by the attack. The monstrous Quel hooted as he charged.

  Praying that D’Marr’s new mace acted like the old, the Gryphon twisted part of the handle, then thrust.

  As the glittering head sank into the armored hide of the Quel, a flash of crimson lightning coursed over the huge form. The Quel shrieked, but could not pull away.

  The Gryphon had only hoped to stun the leader, but what happened next astonished him. The back of the Quel began exploding, one burst after another resounding harshly in the chamber.

  It was the way of the Quel to plant crystals of various significance and power in the folds and creases between their armored plates as they matured. With age, the folds tightened, keeping the crystals forever held in place. The Quel used them not only to somehow ward away much of Legar’s oppressive heat, but also to absorb and adapt the natural magic of the world and use it.

  And now, years of potent power stored by their leader had been unleashed.

  Fire raked the Quel as he struggled to free himself. The Gryphon pulled back, but the fury continued unabated. Still shrieking, the Quel leader stumbled into one wall of the chamber—and set that too into magical combustion.

  An arm suddenly snaked around the Gryphon’s throat, cutting off his air. Orril D’Marr’s maddeningly calm voice whispered, “You’ve chosen death for her...and your offspring.”

  For a human with one arm, D’Marr was surprisingly strong. The Gryphon had no doubt that the Aramite had been strengthening his remaining limb since first the Quel had discovered him, but it was more than that. Now he understood what his foe had meant about being ‘enhanced.’

  Instead of struggling against the impossible, the Gryphon propelled both of them backward. He heard a startled gasp from D’Marr just before the latter collided with the nearest wall.

  The wolf raider let loose with a grunt of pain. His arm shifted, allowing the Gryphon all he needed to free himself.

  The chamber still sparkled with unleashed energy, but the Quel leader, although burnt badly in several places, now appeared to have recovered. Meanwhile, from the tunnels emerged several Aramites and other Quel, all intent on seizing the Gryphon.

  He twisted around, pulling D’Marr in front. Thrusting the head of the mace just under the wolf raider’s chin, the Gryphon shouted, “Get back! No one comes closer or I use this on him!”

  The Aramites immediately obeyed, but the Quel were less inclined. They moved cautiously, seeking to avoid the harsh injuries that their leader had suffered.

  “Your allies seem not to care a whit about you, D’Marr. Remind them of your importance.”

  He expected his foe to reject his suggestion, but D’Marr called out, “Do as he says. Stay back.”

  The underdwellers looked to their ruler. Leaning against one of his followers, the stricken Quel eyed the two with blazing orbs. A sound more like the hiss of a snake than a hoot finally erupted from his blackened snout.

  The others surged forward.

  Orril D’Marr’s men looked to him.

  “Stop them, of course, you fools!” he snapped, revealing more emotion than the Gryphon had ever noted before.

  The wolf raiders threw themselves on the larger, brawnier Quel. The Gryphon expected the humans to be slaughtered, but D’Marr had evidently planned for such a contingency, for his fighters maneuvered with purpose about the slower beasts, aiming for those specific spots where the armored hides gave way to soft flesh.

  This by no means meant that the Quel were instead cut down. As one fell to the twin blades of two Aramites, another Quel seized the first of the pair, raised him up over his head, and threw him across the chamber.

 
Mayhem filled the cavern. With no knowledge of numbers, the Gryphon could not estimate who had the upper hand, but that hardly mattered. All he cared about was escape. Troia and the baby might be dead, but Darot still needed his father.

  “Come!” he snapped in D’Marr’s ear.

  As he steered his prisoner toward the exit leading to the surface, the Gryphon noticed the one-armed wolf raider try to toss something aside.

  The emerald. The king almost ignored it, certain that he could do nothing to save his mate and unborn child, but then wondered why D’Marr should go through the trouble of trying to surreptitiously dispose of the supposedly-useless crystal.

  On a hunch, he shoved the Aramite forward, then used the moment to sweep up the crystal. D’Marr tried to run, but the Gryphon seized him again, using the mace to keep him under control.

  As they ran through the passage, he evaluated everything he knew about D’Marr’s twisted mind. If the raider still needed the crystal to slay Troia, he would have kept it secreted on him. If he no longer needed it—meaning that Troia was already dead—the Aramite would have simply let it fall, not tossed it aside so carefully.

  But if Troia still lived...

  Behind them, a human scream echoed. The clash of arms resounded like thunder. A frantic hoot cut off suddenly. Despite the danger still nearby, the Gryphon abruptly halted, tossing his captive against one side of the tunnel and putting the mace as close to Orril D’Marr’s bland countenance.

  “The crystal. How does it work?” When D’Marr said nothing, he touched the wolf raider ever so slightly with the mace. The Aramite flinched, his eyes if not his expression revealing the pain he had just suffered. “Tell me now.”

  D’Marr remained silent.

  The Gryphon had neither the time nor the stomach for torture. The sounds of fighting grew closer, possibly meaning that the wolf raiders had begun a retreat out of the chamber toward the surface.

  Searching his memory for all he knew of crystal magic, the Gryphon came to a dire decision. He might be condemning Troia to the death she had so far avoided, but he had no other choice.

  Dropping the stone, the Gryphon turned the mace so that the hilt hovered above the former.

  With all his might, he smashed the crystal. A brief flare of power brightened the tunnel, revealing only Orril D’Marr’s guarded countenance.

  Pressing his beak close to the Aramite’s face, the Gryphon snarled, “If she’s dead, I’ll rip your flesh from your skull with one snap!”

  Shoving the wolf raider forward, he went in search of the exit and Darot.

  XI

  “Rip his throat out,” Juren commanded, sneering. “Rip it out!”

  But as she leapt, the queen suddenly twisted in mid-air. Even her pregnant state did nothing to lessen her agility as she came around and turned the claws that had been about to slash Marner across the face and throat against the traitorous guard instead.

  Troia ripped open the right side of Juren’s cheek. He cried out, stumbling back and dropping his sword. His hand immediately went for a dagger in his belt.

  Troia landed in a half-crouched position, for the first time showing some awkwardness. She pressed one hand against her stomach, clearly fighting to keep her baby safe.

  Juren drew the dagger.

  General Marner threw his first.

  The blade sank into the Aramite’s throat. With a gurgle of astonishment, Juren dropped both the knife and the crystal, then staggered back.

  And over the rail.

  Marner heard the inevitable crash, but paid it no mind. He knelt anxiously beside his queen.

  “General...” she gasped. “I think I’m about to give birth.”

  He studied what remained of the pendant, curious as to its demise. The emerald gem had cracked, as if some great force had struck it. Marner had no doubt that only that had prevented the queen from attacking him instead of Juren. The king had promised to explain it to him, but with so much else going on...

  “She fares well,” a familiar voice suddenly announced.

  “Praise be,” returned the general, looking up.

  It had been rough going for the queen, the birth of her third son more strenuous thanks to events. She had managed the actual act quickly enough, but then had fallen ill. Over the next week, she had eaten little. Her condition had been no better when the king and prince had arrived. The Gryphon had immediately ordered everyone away from her, then had ministered to his mate himself.

  Two days later, the queen had begun to show recuperation. Now she not only fed herself, but her newborn as well.

  “And the child, your majesty?”

  “Trajan has good lungs.”

  The baby’s lusty voice now filled this section of the palace. To Marner, he seemed to be declaring his place in the royal family, a place nearly stolen from him by Juren.

  Thinking of Juren made him think of another, more foul personage. “I’ve done as you commanded, my liege. His cell is solid rock not only in terms of the walls and ceiling, but also the earth. It’s been doubly-reinforced there, in fact. Nothing could possibly dig through.”

  The Gryphon nodded darkly. “Let us hope so.” The avian countenance brightened again. “You have my gratitude, general. You risked your life for Troia.”

  “ ‘Tis my duty, your majesty. I could do no less than my predecessor would have.”

  “Marner...Toos was a friend, a comrade, from well before my reign. He wielded a magic of sorts, too. I do not expect you to be him. You have your own skills and I wouldn’t have chosen you to replace him if I hadn’t agreed with his judgment. You are deserving of the position.”

  Touched, Marner knelt. “I thank you my lord.”

  The lionbird shook off the matter. “Now we must return to the matter of D’Marr.”

  “He will be executed, of course.”

  “Not until he’s told us all we can drain from him. This new resurgence of Aramite activity bodes ill. I expect that there are others with plots akin to his. They want their god back, Marner, and I intend to thwart them in that effort.”

  “You can rely on me,” the general offered. “Come the morning, I shall begin in earnest on the wolf raider.”

  “Let’s hope we have that long.”

  “Your majesty?”

  The Gryphon blinked, then shook his head. “Just anxiety. I know where you’ve buried him. D’Marr won’t be going anywhere.”

  A child’s laugh caught their attention. The Gryphon’s form immediately shifted, becoming that of the noble, silver-haired man. He smiled warmly at the sound. “Darot plays with his brother. It’s good to hear them both! Come, Marner! Let me show off my son...both my sons!”

  His hands were bound so that he could do no harm to himself. He could not eat without aid. They kept him chained against the wall, with no light by which he could study his surroundings.

  Even in the deep cell under the palace in which they had put him, Orril D’Marr could hear the faint sounds of the infant son of his enemy. In the dark, his face could not be seen, but for one of the rare times in his life, the Aramite wore a frown. That frown, along with eyes also hidden by the blackness, barely hinted at the intense venom he felt for those above.

  They planned to come for him in the next day or two, using what methods at hand to pry knowledge from him. They would seek to find out more about what others like him intended, what others were doing to restore the glory of the empire and find their stolen god.

  They would learn nothing from him. Nothing. He was loyal to the Ravager. He would not betray his god.

  A sound, a so slight sound, reached his ears. He had heard it more than once since his recent incarceration.

  The sound of claws digging at rock.

  They had followed. Whether or not as allies, the Quel had followed him. He had learned that the creatures were very vengeful an
d they likely blamed him as much as the Gryphon for the debacle. Their leader certainly had no love for the Aramite, not after the injuries suffered because of D’Marr’s weapon.

  Orril D’Marr welcomed them either way. They would keep him from the Gryphon’s interrogators and there stood a chance that, given the opportunity, he could convince them of his continued value alive.

  If not...

  Expression once more emotionless, the wolf raider set his head on the stones near where he heard the scratching. He shut his eyes and listened.

  And waited...

  A GAME OF GHOSTS

  THE PAST WILL ALWAYS CATCH UP...

  I

  She watched the three drake warriors rummage through the remains of what had been some twenty-plus years ago a merchant’s grand home. The ruined estate—now enveloped by forest—lay on the outskirts of an even more vast ruin, that of the kingdom of Mito Pica. Outwardly, There was not much left of the once-stately house, mostly a scorched foundation and a crumbling, crushed roof. The rooms, the riches, the inhabitants, they were buried deep under that refuse, untouched even after so long.

  There were few foolish enough to intrude into this accursed land and drakes were not among those Marilee Cord would have expected. Even more curious, they did not even seem all that interested in the burnt, overgrown rubble. It was as if they were just biding their time.

  Marilee started to retreat to the others, only to hesitate when one of the drakes’ savage mounts let out a low hiss. The reptilian beasts peered behind them as the three armored figures held their long, sharp swords ready.

  But the interruption proved to only be the arrival of a fourth warrior. While the helms of the first three drakes were dramatic enough with their savage, dragon head crests—crests that were, in fact, representative of their true natures—that of the fourth was startling in its intricacy. The blood of a Dragon King flowed through this one, even if by being here the egg from which he had hatched had clearly not borne the royal markings needed to become an heir.