Anthology - The Search For Magic

Shiv knew an old man’s luck would not last forever. What mattered to him now was how long hers would hold out. He realized now he’d become undone that first night he saw her, when he peered through the crack in the shuttered window and watched the firelight dance across her selfless, determined face. He had a new contract now, one he’d made with himself-he would protect her as long as he could.

“Till my last breath,” he said as he walked.

“Massster Brudasss! Massster Brudasss! May I beg of you leave to enter?”

Brudas looked up from his work, barely containing the rage that had swelled up the moment the irritating voice of the Baaz had grated on his sensitive ears. If he could have fulfilled this mission without the aid of the lowest of all draconian kind, he would have done so, but that would have meant muddying his hands himself-something the Bozak would only do for his mistress, the great black dragon Sable. Digging in swampy mud was definitely work for Baaz, and they were welcome to it.

“Enter, you fool!” Brudas snapped, eager to get on with his own responsibilities.

He and a trio of Baaz had come to the half-sunken ruins of the city of Krolus on a quest for their mistress. Sable had come across scraps of information that led her to believe that some powerful relics, including those created by a dark wizard of the Third Age known for his trafficking with the undead, still lay buried somewhere in the heart of the old kingdom. In the past, her minions had comhed the devastated area for such items without success. Brudas, however, hoped to change that. He had uncovered old scrolls that hinted of places missed hy his hapless predecessors and had convinced the black dragon to let him lead this latest hunt for the elusive artifacts.

Success would further the draconian’s own ambitions. Of course, at the time he volunteered, he had not considered that there was no more stench-infested, waterlogged region in all the overlord’s domain than this one.

Bowing as he entered, the Baaz hurried to the bench and table where his superior sat glaring at him. He quickly fell to one knee. Brudas eyed the newcomer with distaste. Baaz were the least of the draconian races, a far cry below the elegant Auraks Brudas so admired and emulated, and certainly not nearly advanced as the Bozaks, of which he himself was a sterling example. The stinking, mud-encrusted figure before him was typical of his kind.

They were a contrast, these two, whose only connection was the fact that they, like all draconians, had been created full-grown by dark magic from the stolen eggs of metallic dragons, the so-called dragons of light. Baaz sprang from the eggs of the brass leviathans and their scaled hides showed a tarnished hint of that coloring. Pathetic in so many ways, Baaz had wings that would not even let them fly. They could merely glide. Once they had been the most numerous of the draconians, but as even the Dragon Highlords had seen their uselessness, many had perished fighting in the front lines in the War of the Lance. True, Baaz were more muscular than the taller, slimmer Bozaks, but they lacked the quick wit of the latter. Little wonder, since Bozak sprang from the magnificent bronze dragons and had been granted a great gift-the ability to wield magic in a manner that all the other draconians, (save the imposing Auraks, of course) could only dream about.

The Auraks. As much pride as Brudas felt concerning his own heritage, he dreamed of being as skilled and advanced as the tall, wingless ones. The Auraks were the epitome of draconian superiority, the creations of corrupted golden dragon eggs. They could cast better spells in swifter fashion, were taller, sleeker, and spoke eloquently, boasting intelligence and wisdom.

Brudas tried his best to emulate Auraks, even to the point of dressing in sorcerer’s robes and practicing his speech so he didn’t sound like one of the lesser draconian races. The Bozak felt, with some justification, that he could now number himself among the most gifted of his kind, yet still he felt inadequate in comparison to the Auraks. To add to his frustration, his sorcery had begun to fail of late, a horrible thing to happen to one born with the gift. He hadn’t told anyone, hoping that he might manage to find and ferret out a magical artifact for himself in the ruins of the city of Krolus. The expedition had to succeed…

“Get up, you imbecile!” he snarled at the crouching Baaz. Other races occasionally confused the two draconian types because of the similar coloring of their scales, a fact that always irritated Brudas. Could not the color-blind fools tell the difference between tarnished bronze and knavish brass?

The Baaz rose. Brudas recognized him as Drek, the lowliest of his lowly kind, perhaps the stupidest of the three draconians who accompanied him on this quest.

Drek had the ambition and intelligence of a rock, perhaps even less. To Drek, the Bozak tended to delegate the most menial and disgusting labor.

“Forgive me, Massster Brudasss!” Drek hissed. “I did not mean to disssturb you.”

The sibilant hiss annoyed Brudas even more than the Baaz’s blunt snout. Even though sitting, he managed to stare down his own sleek, narrow snout-more akin to a true dragon’s than Drek’s swinish nose-and, with perfect enunciation, he retorted, “You disturb me simply by existing, Drek! If you have something to report, report it and get out of my sight! I still hope to find out if one of these artifacts-” he waved a slim, taloned hand at the table, upon which lay nearly a dozen supposedly magical items- “has any latent power, something that will please our mistress!”

At mention of Sable, the Baaz cringed. His kind feared Sable utterly. Brudas feared her, respected her, and hoped to betray her when the opportunity presented itself-which was why he had suggested this odorous and, so far, futile expedition.

Something had happened to the magic of Krynn, to all spellcasters, not simply Brudas. The sorcerers and other mortal spellcasters had noticed it first. Spells began to falter, then fail completely. Attempt after attempt left nothing but the taste of futility in the wield-er’s mouth. The sorcerers, of course, blamed it on the overlords.

Soon, though, the overlords too began to complain of the loss of their abilities. Brudas still recalled how Sable had for weeks blamed one rival or another for her faltering spells-until she had learned that her fellow dragons were having troubles, too. With that realization, she had turned to the same desperate remedy sought by the sorcerers-Sable sent her minions out to find whatever magical talismans and artifacts they could so she could drain the relics’ power and use their ancient magic for her her own magic.

Only a handful of her most trusted servants knew the complete truth and, of them, only Brudas knew the full extent of his mistress’s weakness.

“Many, many apologiesss, Massster Brudasss,” Drek babbled again. “It’sss jussst I think I may have found sssomething!”

“You found something?” Quickly, Brudas’s ire faded. He rose from his chair, his nearly seven-foot frame towering over the more compact Baaz. “Where is it? What is it? Bring it in, you dolt!”

“We can’t! Not… not yet! It’s in a chamber. We’re still excavating the entrance, but-”

“Lead me to it immediately!”

“Yesss, Massster Brudasss!” Drek turned and darted out of the tent.

Seizing his staff, Brudas followed after him. The Bozak momentarily decided to forgive the lowly creature for not holding the tent flap open for him. If Drek and the others had found something of value, it would be the first silver lining to this black-cloud of an adventure since their arrival more than two weeks before.