Richard Knaak - Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

Morgis swung his good arm up, shoving D’Kairn’s stone into the unholy face.

Nothing happened.

His grotesque captor laughed at his antics and one pointed blade went up to brush aside the hand obscuring its view.

Dropping the amulet, Morgis quickly seized the appendage, twisted it around, and, with a force no human could muster-shoved it into the monster’s throat.

A gagging hiss escaped the creature as it struggled to remove the limb. Thick, dark red ichor escaped from the edges of the wound.

It convulsed. Morgis suddenly found himself slipping free without any hope of grabbing some other support.

The stone had only been a decoy. He had understood just enough of the Aramite’s sorcery to know he would not be able to figure out how to use the talisman in time. However, it had drawn the creature’s attention and elicited the overconfident reaction he had needed.

And there and then Morgis had used the only weapon he suspected could readily pierce the hard hide of the monster-the thing’s own bladelike appendages.

He hit the floor hard and was at first unable to move. Fortunately, surprise and his inhuman strength had enabled him to shove the appendage in so deep that a good portion of it also thrust out of the back of the neck, leaving him the least of the creature’s concerns.

A slight gleam shook him from his stupor. He blinked. The keeper’s stone. Morgis seized it-only to have it break into several pieces. The drop had cracked it open, ruining it. Worse, despite its destruction, the drake could still sense that D’Kairn’s treacherous spell remained intact.

A hacking sound reminded him that his ability to transform would be a nil point if he did not move fast. Morgis dragged himself forward, expecting each moment to be skewered.

He reached the area of the mirrors and glanced in one. Behind him he saw the monster-now turned away from him-still struggling, the floor around it covered with its foul fluids. The remaining limbs sought to pull the one free and looked to be finally managing some success.

Knowing he could not allow that, Morgis pushed himself up. He braced himself as best he could, watched the creature’s back-and then leapt.

Weakness made his jump less than what he had hoped, but momentum was on his side. With a mass almost twice that of most beings his size, the drake struck the hellish beast.

They fell forward.

The skin walker hit the floor face down, driving the blade all the way through. It convulsed again, throwing Morgis aside, Choking harshly, the monster rolled to the side, colliding with one of the standing mirrors. The mirror tipped over, hitting a second… which in turn hit a third.

Glass shattered everywhere. Morgis collapsed against a cabinet.

A silence settled over the chamber.

When at last the battered drake could move, he saw by the light of the fallen torch that the monster lay dead. Driving the blade completely through had sealed its fate.

Its own mad desires had led to its destruction. Had it simply slain him early on instead of putting so much value in the pristine quality of his scaled skin, Morgis knew that his face would be hanging in a cabinet even now.

And that thought settled for him what he needed to do next.

Dragonflame would have made the keep burn well, but dragon flame was beyond him. He found what kindling and oil he could and, though it took him a full day, dragged everything-and every body-to the chamber of mirrors. Then, using a fresh torch, Morgis lit the huge bonfire.

He waited and waited while it burned, leaving the door open so that lack of air would not smother it. A being of flame, the smoke did not bother him as much as it would have most other races. That enabled the drake to make certain that everything was destroyed.

And while he watched, he pictured those who had died, especially one in particular. Likely that had indeed been her body that he had found near that of the Gnor. Had she done as the creature had described? Had Kalena run, praying that she would escape-and failing in the end?

Morgis still did not know the origin of the keep’s cursed resident, but he could guess some of it. Vanity, obsession, and yet, some strange lack of self identity. The drake really did not care. What mattered was that the evil was dead and would no longer make a mockery of its victims’ lives.

When it was done, Morgis closed the hidden chamber. He would have sealed the room or, better yet, razed the ruins to the ground if his powers had been his, but so long as D’Kairn’s spell held, hiding the secrets so was all he could do.

The animals were still waiting for him, both those of his party and the Aramites’ own dark steeds. He still found it interesting that the monstrosity had let them live, but of course they were harmless and could have been slain at any time later once they were no longer useful as bait.

That… and their skins had been worth nothing to it.

Injured as he was, Morgis could not control the small herd. He released all but four of the animals into the wild, keeping his, those of his comrades, and the one he was certain had been ridden by D’Kairn. Both D’Kairn and the captain had carried documents with them that hinted of other enclaves of Aramite resistance. The Master Guardians would appreciate those papers. They would also see to the honoring of Awrak and Leonin, fallen warriors in the struggle to free the lands. Likely the Guardians would also have the wherewithal to remove the spell on him-at least, so he hoped.

Of the keeper’s research into blood sorcery, Morgis made certain that every shred had burned with the bodies.

The day had nearly vanished by the time he rode off, the ever-present cloud cover promising an early darkness. Perhaps it might have been more prudent to stay one more night in the now-safe keep, but the drake wanted to be far away from the place.

And as he rode off, his memories drifted to a time when he had wanted to wear another’s skin, when he had wished he could have been the right one. A beautiful, feline face that he had pictured many times before formed in his mind, but this time another face, also beautiful and feline, overlapped it, blurring both.

Unable to separate them, Morgis finally dismissed both, concentrating instead on the present. There was still a war on and he had a part to play. There were foes to fight and lands to explore. Tomorrow he might find himself doing battle with an Aramite patrol or hunting another sorcerer…

Anything to keep him from ever again wishing to walk in someone else’s skin.