Richard Knaak - Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

“You’ll never find them like that.”

Aurim looked up, his expression changing from one of frustration to embarrassment. Overall, he resembled his father, but fortunately, as far as Cabe was concerned, he had inherited from his mother’s side a more noble chin and a straighter nose. Although only a few years older than Valea, he was generally able to pass for someone several years into adulthood . . . except when failure reared its ugly head.

“You know.”

“I saw them. So did your mother.”

The boy rose. He could already meet Cabe at eye level even if he could not meet Cabe’s eyes themselves. “It was a simple thing! You and Scholar Traske are always telling me my problem is patience or concentration! I made the stick men to practice. There’s ten different routines I can make them do, all to prove I’m being more careful and concentrating better!”

“And so?” He tried to be encouraging. Unlike Aurim, Cabe had come into his powers almost full-flung. The experience and patience that his grandfather, Nathan, had literally passed on to him had given him an advantage no other spellcaster had ever had. Even then, his own inexperience and uncertainty had made for a constant battle of wits with himself playing both sides. He still had much to learn. His son had no such advantage; everything he learned he learned from the beginning. Sorcery, while it looked simple to understand and utilize, was anything but.

“And so I lost control again! Halfway through the second set. They just ran off.” A sullen look crossed the lad’s countenance. “And now you can lecture me again.”

“Aurim . . .”

His son clenched fists. “If that stupid vision hadn’t-”

“ What vision?” All thought of Aurim’s recklessness vanished.

“Like the other ones. The memories of the Manor, you and Mother say. Only this one was sharper. Men in scale armor. One big one talking to others. I think . . . I think they were all his sons.”

“And you were one of them. He spoke to you about loyalty. How he demanded it from you.”

The boy looked at him, wide-eyed. “You know it?”

“I had the same vision . . . probably the same time as you, in fact.” Cabe grew uneasy. Nothing like that had ever occurred before. The visions generally only appeared to one person, usually Gwen or him. Only lately had Aurim started to sense them and he, knowing of them from his parents, had had little trouble accepting them. If the things were changing, becoming more intrusive into the world of the present, would it mean that some day they would have to abandon the Manor?

Aurim, who knew his father well, put aside his own troubles for the moment and asked seriously, “Does this mean something?”

“It might.” He no longer had the memories of Nathan Bedlam to guide him, but Gwen knew far more about the whims of sorcery than anyone now alive save the Dragon Kings and possibly the Gryphon. She might be able to shed some light on this sudden turn.

Gwen! She was still hunting down the stick men! “We need to discuss this further, but first we have to take care of a little problem still running loose.”

The tall boy’s cheeks turned crimson. “I’ve been trying to think about what to do. Couldn’t we just summon them with a spell?”

“Have you tried a summoning?”

“Yes.” The defeat in Aurim’s tone increased tenfold.

“I was afraid of that.” In the heat of the moment, the idea had not even occurred to Cabe, but he knew that at some point Gwen would have thought of it. The warlock was doubtful it would have worked, anyway. Aurim’s creations were never easy to deal with. It was a sign of his great potential. “Did you maintain your concentration?”

“I did! This time I swear it!”

“Then they probably won’t listen to anyone . . . and we have to go hunting. You go after Master Traske; he’ll need the help. I’ll find your mother.”

“Yes, Father.” Aurim paused. “I still can’t get the vision out of my mind. Are there others so vivid?”

“Only a few. We’ll have to talk about how to shield yourself from them if they bother you so much.”

“Oh, I don’t mind them; any other time, they’re interesting. Who do you suppose they were?”

Cabe knew that his son was stalling now, mostly because Aurim had little desire to face his tutor after such an abysmal display. Still, for once it was a question that the warlock wished he could answer. “I don’t know. They remind me of something I’ve read, but nothing specific comes to mind now.”

“What’s the Legar Peninsula like?”

There were questions and there were questions and Cabe, who tried to be an understanding father even though he considered nearly two decades not near enough time to learn how to be one, had had enough. “I think Master Traske would truly appreciate your help soon, Aurim. Then, when you’re done, he can give you a lecture on the geography of Legar or anywhere else.”

Frustrated, Aurim grumbled, “I only wondered if it really glitters as much as it did in the vision . . .”

“What was that?” Stepping face-to-face to his son, Cabe repeated his question and added, “You saw Legar in the vision?”

Aurim swallowed, not knowing what he had done wrong now. He nodded slowly and gasped, “In the background. It was there sometimes. I . . . I thought it was. You’ve always talked about how much it sparkles and Master Traske said once it was covered with diamonds.”

“Not diamonds. Not exactly,” Cabe halfheartedly corrected him. “Crystals, yes.” He looked away. “And it does glitter; enough to blind a person during midday if you look in the wrong direction.” And I didn’t see it. Why?

The visions of the Manor had never extended to regions so far away. They had always dealt with the ancient structure itself or the lands it occupied. If Aurim had seen Legar, and Cabe did not doubt him, then this was more than a simple time-lost memory.

He could not say why or how he knew, but somehow, standing there, Cabe Bedlam was certain that the answer to this mysterious vision had to do with three black ships.

The beast was dead. It was not often that Orril D’Marr overestimated his prey, but the blasted creature had seemed so impervious to pain that he had pushed too hard. It was a pity. Lord D’Farany would be displeased, which was always a danger, but D’Marr was certain that what little he had gained out of the creature just before the end would more than make up for his error.

The young Aramite officer scratched his chin while he watched the soldiers drag the Quel’s body away. That it had been more than a simple animal had surprised him at first, but he should have known that when the blue man said something was true it was most definitely true. D’Rance was a fountain of knowledge and had, fortunately for the expedition, studied the history of this abysmal land in great detail. It was a shame he had not been born a true Aramite rather than one of the untrustworthy, blue-skinned folk of the northern reaches of the empire. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before one of his kind turned on you. D’Marr hoped he would be the one given the order to kill the northerner. It would be interesting to see how the blue man died.

The sun was going down rapidly. That was fine with D’Marr. The weather here was beastly, fit only for creatures like the overgrown armadillo he had just killed. The sun burned all day, making the black armor seem like a fire-hot kettle. What made it worse was that no one else seemed to notice it.

D’Marr turned and started for a ridge to the west of the camp. It was a long walk, but he knew that was where he would find the Pack Leader and possibly D’Rance, too, although the blue man was supposed to be leading the hunt for the cavern entrance now. One never knew about the northerner, though. What he did often went against what a wolf raider was supposed to do. No doubt only the fact that he achieved results kept Lord D’Farany from putting a rather permanent end to the blue man’s antics.