Tomorrow would be soon enough, Sharissa decided. At the very least, she deserved one day of relaxation, one day to rebuild her strength for the coming onslaughts of change. She hoped Faunon would not regret coming with her.
Sharissa hoped she would not regret coming back.
“Shall we find the others?” her father asked, perhaps thinking that she was so tired that she was beginning to drift off in his arms.
“Let us do that,” the sorceress said, stirring herself and smiling at the elder Zeree. “And promise me that today we will all do nothing! Absolutely nothing!”
“If that’s what you wish. Now that you’re home, however, you will have all the time you want to relax and recover.”
Her response was to kiss her father on the cheek. As they departed the courtyard in search of the two elves, Sharissa thought that between family and the future, she would hardly have time to relax and do nothing after this day was over.
For some reason, it did not bother her that much.
XXII
In the Great Tyber Mountains, the golden dragon roared. Frustrated and angry at himself, he again took out his anger upon the tattered remnants of a banner and other bits abandoned weeks ago by the few frightened little creatures who had escaped him and his kind. They had fled to the south, but he had chosen not to follow them once they departed the mountains. The Tybers, his struggling memory recalled, had been given to him. He was lord here.
So many things strained to burst forth from the fog in his mind. He knew of the sorcery that was his to control, but actually doing so was still beyond him. It was beyond all of his clan. Each day, however, the dragon king knew he grew a little closer to understanding the magic. It was the same with the wings. They had only started growing out of his back in the last few days. Pathetic little things, they would someday aid him in claiming the heavens.
Wings and magic were things he desired; many of the other bits straining to be recognized only confused him. A name, something he, as monarch of this drake clan, did not need. All knew who he was. He had killed two others to establish that claim.
Reegan. Why did it seem so familiar? What were Tezerenee? And who was the tiny two-leg that dared be where no other of his kind did? The little creature wrapped itself in a cocoon of sorts and stared at the dragon king as if they knew each other. For reasons his mind could not cope with, the dragon found himself unwilling to chase this little morsel. Since it kept a respectable distance, he let it be. It was a sign of his greatness that he allowed it to live, of course.
The dragon tore at the banner again. There was not much left of it, but he was always careful to leave something. He found he enjoyed mauling the tiny piece of cloth, though why was beyond him. Being what he was, it did not seem important.
Sharp, reptilian eyes noted the shadows that suddenly covered the ground before him. The dragon that had been Reegan looked up and, seeing the winged ones he knew to be mortal enemies, he roared his challenge. Within the vast confines of the mountains, other drakes responded to his summons. The winged ones had taken some of their brethren for slaves, and that was something he could not tolerate even though the bird folk’s days were numbered. They might hold a thin advantage now, but the more time that passed, the sooner it would be to the day when the drakes ruled all.
The avians were descending around him. They meant to take him this time, it seemed. He roared yet again, calling his people and challenging the birds at the same time. When they were close enough for his tastes, the huge dragon charged.
As with the future itself, he would not be denied his place in this land.
SKINS
(A Tale of the Dragonrealm) Life is only skin deep…
I
Kalena’s nose twitched. Perhaps it had only to do with the constant smell of decay around them, but the tawny cat woman somehow felt otherwise. She pulled her cloak tight. This place disturbed her, set the very fur on her neck standing on end.
“There’s an old keep up on that hill,” the bearded human Brom pointed out. “Be as good a place as any to stay.”
The third of their party, the hulking, beaked Gnor, simply grunted. Like all Gnor, this seeming cross between an avian and a bear spoke little. Gnor were hired for their brute strength. They had no individual names and did not accept any nicknames from their associates. A Gnor was a Gnor and that was it.
But even the presence of the mountainous creature did nothing to assuage the slim feline. She tugged at her short, black mane, then cursed herself for such a childish action. She, Brom, and the Gnor had spent three years together as successful smugglers and had faced adversity in many shapes and sizes. They had slept in far less appealing locations than an old, abandoned keep.
“We’ll have to walk the animals the rest of the way, though,” Brom continued, already dismounting. The old breastplate he wore over his shirt rattled. On the front could still be seen the scratched-out shape of a wolf’s head. When Brom had relieved the Aramite’s corpse of it, the first thing he had done was to remove the hated symbol. No one, not even a smuggler, wanted to be mistaken for something as foul as a wolf raider.
Once they had ruled the continent, but now only a handful of lands still suffered under their command. Centuries of tyranny had been broken by a visitor from beyond the western sea-a magical, shapechanging warrior called the Gryphon. Under his leadership, the stricken realms had risen up and swarmed over the black-armored Aramites, sending most fleeing to their ships.
Neither Kalena nor her companions had played any role in the war, but they felt great gratitude to this Gryphon. After all, the downfall of the empire made business much easier and more profitable for those like herself. The Aramite had only had one simple rule for dealing with smugglers-if they were not sanctioned, they were hanged on the spot.
The Gnor dismounted from his own beast, a six-legged, broad-muzzled creature that passed for a horse among his kind. Kalena grudgingly followed suit, still wary. The overcast sky had already darkened the dank landscape and now the night promised to be completely black. Even her own exceptional vision would only be able to make out objects a short distance away. She wanted to suggest they move on, but knew that Brom and the Gnor would simply look at her as if she had turned coward.
What life remained in this region looked as sinister as the ruined keep. The trees resembled grasping fingers and the weeds teeth. The only sounds of animal life were the calls of the carrion crows. As they neared the stone edifice, Kalena again had the desire to turn around and ride off as quickly as she could. The animals, too, seemed anxious to go elsewhere, for they struggled against their masters.
Swearing, Brom finally tied his own mount to a hideous tree just beyond the wall. The Gnor did the same, then removed a huge ax from his animal’s saddle. The sight of the seven-foot-plus behemoth wielding the sturdy weapon erased some of the cat woman’s concerns. What in its right mind would face up to a Gnor?
“Light some torches,” Brom ordered her.
Happy to be busy, Kalena obeyed. She had the fire going quickly and soon handed the others their torches. Seizing the last, the cat woman gazed around at the entrance. A somber-looking gargoyle, one wing broken off, stared down at the intruders. Moss filled most of the cracks between the stones. The wooden door had fallen off long ago and what had not been eaten by termites and worms lay off to one side.
“Looks to be pretty empty,” the bearded smuggler commented. He eyed the interior. “A stairway and some back rooms. We should check those out. Gnor, you take the downstairs”-Brom did not mention that the Gnor’s weight might make the stairway collapse-“we’ll go up.”