Richard Knaak - Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

There had been a small rise where the beasts had struck with their sorcery, a small rise populated by a few scraggly plants and, at the moment of the attack, likely a dozen or so soldiers. Now, the rise was a flat, iron-hot pool of glass and the plants and the men unfortunate enough to be there at the time . . . were nothing.

Yet still the raider force moved on, for they had been given a command and that was all they needed.

“Magnificent . . .” the Aramite commander whispered again. His hand twitched as he once more sought the talisman that would have let him manipulate such power.

The same sensation swept over him. A second flash burned away the world in a sea of light. D’Rance and the others were forced to fall back and shield their eyes, but Lord D’Farany barely noticed. He breathed in the holocaust air and felt a strength he had not felt in years.

With an almost wistful expression on his ravaged countenance, he slowly turned toward the blue man and quietly commanded, “Bring me the box now, Kanaan.”

Still blinking, the bearded northerner reached into the depths of his cloak and pulled out a tiny, rectangular container. The Pack Leader nodded pleasantly, having known all the time that the blue man would have it on him despite orders to the contrary. He forgave D’Rance such things, because it pleased him to do so. There would come a time when he overstepped himself and when that happened D’Farany would either punish him properly or turn him over to D’Marr, who had never made it a secret that he wanted the blue man’s skin.

The Aramite commander liked to think of himself as a fair man. He was also perfectly willing to give the younger officer to the northerner if circumstances warranted it.

He removed his gloves and, with great respect, took the tiny black box from D’Rance. The former keeper ran one finger over the lid, outlining the wolf’s head engraved there. It had taken him much effort and time to gather the forces stored within and he treated them with the care they deserved.

A third burst of light raised anew the shouts and screams, but the sounds were merely insignificant irritations to him as he opened the top and admired his prize.

In the days of the keepers, it would have been called the Ravager’s Tooth. A curved artifact shaped to resemble a hound’s fang, it was small enough to fit in his palm. He had once had one like it, before the day of emptiness. With great eagerness, Lord D’Farany removed the talisman from the box and cupped it in his left hand. The terrible smile stretched tighter as he allowed himself to briefly become ensorcelled by the tooth.

My master, why have you forsaken us? In the talisman was the residue of the Ravager’s unholy will. Long ago, a younger D’Farany had discovered that although their god had vanished and taken his power with him, there were traces in the talismans of the keepers . . . even traces in the keepers themselves. It had meant dark work, locating the artifacts and the bodies and drawing the lingering power from them, but he had prevailed. Yet the power this piece contained was limited; each use drained the talisman. It would soon be as empty as he was.

“But not for long . . .” The Pack Leader cradled the piece in his hand and returned the box to the blue man. He then turned back to where his men fought to survive and held out the talisman toward the gleaming landscape where he supposed the cavern entrance was.

Yet again the earth was shaken by a burst of deadly light. The Quel might no longer be masters of the realm, but they still wielded power. Their strikes were also systematic; each time the raiders shifted away from the previous blow, they were attacked anew from the opposite direction.

A silence seemed to surround the former keeper as he held the talisman up to the sky. The only one still daring to stand near him was D’Rance, who eyed his commander with both anticipation and envy.

D’Farany whispered, “Behold the legacy of my Lord Ravager. Behold his glory.”

The carved tooth glowed bright.

Its effect was not something that was seen, not, at least, by the wolf raiders who were there. At most, a few who were sensitive, such as Orril D’Marr, felt a rippling in the fabric of the world itself. The rippling washed across the area like a tide coming into shore. It passed through rank after rank, moving swiftly toward the front and then beyond.

“Mustn’t destroy,” muttered the Pack Leader to himself. “Mustn’t take the chance. Merely take the fight from them.”

The silence around D’Farany spread as well. Even the screams and shouts seemed to fade away as the power unleashed by the talisman blanketed the land. Those who did not have the touch of sorcery within them still could feel that something was different.

At last, the tooth ceased to glow. Lord D’Farany looked at it with great sadness. The spell had drained it of everything he had collected. Now, it was no more than a useless trinket. Nonetheless, the Pack Leader did not throw it away, but rather returned it to an overawed D’Rance, who gingerly placed it back in the box.

“They may advance again.”

The command proved to be unnecessary. Already, soldiers were reorganizing and moving forward. D’Marr had understood what had happened. The Aramite leader nodded to himself. It was an example of why the young officer was one of his favorites.

Now the raiders moved unimpeded. Even Lord D’Farany did not know what he had unleashed, but he knew that the Quel would be helpless now. Their power had been negated for a time and that time would be enough to ensure total Aramite victory.

“Come, Kanaan. It’s time to join them.”

The blue man bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

As they trailed slowly after the advancing troops, D’Farany contemplated what he would do with that power now that it was his. Building new ships was a possibility, but what sense was there in returning to rescue the fools who still fought back home? How much better to claim a portion of this realm and begin expanding here. How much more satisfying to take from the Gryphon’s friends the same thing the birdman had taken from the Aramites.

D’marr peered into the darkness of the cavern entrance. The walls gleamed faintly from the torch he had directed one of his men to throw inside. There was nothing to be seen, but that did not mean that there was no danger. D’Marr was not that naive.

He turned to the man nearest him. “Inside. Double file. Do watch the ground and the walls. . . . and the ceiling, for that matter. They could come from anywhere.”

The raider blinked, then hurried to obey as D’Marr’s free hand slowly shifted toward the rod hanging from his belt. The Aramite officer nodded and watched as two ranks quickly formed. He allowed the first three pairs to enter, then tightened his grip on his sword and entered with the next.

Where are you, my little beasts? Even with the intervention of Lord D’Farany, it could not be this easy. There had to be resistance. There had to be battle.

Farther and deeper they marched and yet still they did not encounter the creatures whose lair this was. A sense of unease spread throughout the lines, even infecting D’Marr. No enemy gave up so easy. Lord D’Farany’s magical counterattack, while potent, should not have been able to eliminate all opposition.

He was almost pleased when the first man finally died.

He had commanded them to be wary of all directions, but no one save those who had been involved with the capture of the first Quel could have understood the speed at which they could burst through the earth and strike at their foes. Suddenly there was a huge, taloned hand erupting from the tunnel floor. It took hold of the ankle of the nearest soldier and withdrew as swiftly as it had come. That the hole that had been created was far too small for the human form did not matter. The helpless raider was pulled as far as the gap in the floor allowed and then pulled farther.