Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade
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Authors: Richard A. Knaak
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Chapter III: In the Shadow of the Dead
Chapter VII: The King and the Demon
Chapter IX: Land of the Hill Dwarves
Chapter X: The Walls of Penacles
Chapter XV: The Ice Dragon’s Lair
Chapter XVII: Memories Stirring
Chapter XVIII: The Wizard’s Ploy
Chapter XXII: The Black Dragon
Chapter XXIII: Revelations of the Past
Chapter XXIV: Plots Within Plots
Chapter XXVI: Uneasy Alliances
Chapter XXVII: Lords of the Dead
Chapter XXVIII: The Sorcerer, the Dragon, and the Phoenix
Chapter XXIX: Beyond the Tower
For those who fight, fought, and sacrifice for us
THE SORCERER
IRILLIAN BY THE SEA
remained a prosperous city even during the uncertain times now spreading across the land. It was a major hub for import and export and its ruler was known for relative fairness to his subjects, be they of his kind or of other races.
Not
all
dragons were so benevolent.
Tall, three-masted ships filled the harbor, many of them loading or unloading cargo. A sleeker vessel with all the hints of being a state-sanctioned privateer began to pull away from the dock. Workers and sailors in free-flowing garments designed for quick movement went about a multitude of tasks as they intermingled with fishmongers, traders, and customers. Armed patrols marched through the throngs, wary guards keeping an eye out for any disorder. Children scurried among the adults, ignoring reproving eyes. At first glance, Irillian might have been any other city in all the world . . . save that many of its inhabitants were scaled.
Humans dominated in numbers, but it was clear that they did not dominate in power. While signs of respect did pass between them and members of the other prominent race, authority without a doubt rested in the latter. After all, were the drakes not the dragons’ children?
Most stood taller than the humans around them and appeared even taller yet due to the varying crests atop their slitted helms. The males all appeared as armored warriors, even those obviously part of the ships’
crews or occupying positions as traders and dockworkers. Yet, while the crests of the guards and their captains were intricate—nay, almost
lifelike
—representations of fierce dragon visages, those of the drakes performing more mundane tasks were crude, even in many cases non-existent.
What was consistent was that all the adult males were of a sea-blue coloring and that the faces hidden within the helms were scaled in a manner identical to the drakes’ mail armor. The eyes were reptilian and the lipless mouths contained the sharp teeth of a carnivore.
If it appeared that there were no drake females within the crowds, that was due to the fact that what seemed a number of exotic, azuretressed elven women were, in fact, the counterparts to the males. However, though superficially they seemed much more akin to the humans, evidence of their true nature was revealed each time the mouths opened and the smaller but still no less sharp teeth of a predator were displayed.
The humans among them treated all of this with much disinterest. For generations, both races had served the Blue Dragon and his predecessors, and while in other lands drakes and humans were bitter foes, here they lived in relative harmony, with generally the ambitions of outsiders their major concern.
And into their midst came one such outsider.
He formed in the black shadows of an alley and seemed to remain a part of them even when stepping away, so enshrouded was he by his dark hood and cloak. The deep hood obscured his face entirely, making it appear as if only emptiness existed within. The sorcerer, for he could be nothing other, straightened, then cautiously peered around. Seeing no witness to his arrival, the figure glanced toward the direction of the nearest street. There, far beyond him, he watched with brief interest as a drake captain astride one of the large lizards called lesser drakes that were used as mounts gave orders to a human complement more than a dozen strong.
Their orders received, the sentries dispersed. The captain surveyed the area, his burning eyes finally fixing on the alley.
But by then, the sorcerer was gone.
The shrouded spellcaster materialized next in the midst of a shop not far from his initial point of arrival. He had no trouble finding his way around the darkened shop. From previous observance, he had determined that the shopkeeper closed his place of business immediately upon the arrival of the fifth hour after noontime, as did many here. The clientele for a place such as this generally went to dine at that hour and no practical merchant wasted time and money on the slim chance that there might be a late peruser.
What light glimmered through the drawn curtains of the establishment was just enough to illuminate a vast, eclectic collection of wares that seemed to have originated from every point on the compass. There were statuettes of tree nymphs that might have come from the vast Dagora Forest, intricate vases from Gordag-Ai, fine horsehair brushes created in Zuu, and ancient, crested swords probably forged by the reclusive dwarves on the far northwest part of the continent. Other items could not be identified as being from any of the thirteen lands that made up what had been for centuries referred to individually and collectively as the Dragonrealm. Irillian benefited from its vast natural harbor and strategic location on the eastern shore. Both traders and privateers brought riches and unique items from every civilized and uncivilized place in the known world.
And it was for just this reason that that sorcerer had come. The castings had all pointed to this place as holding the possible key to his quest, a quest upon which he had been on far, far longer than most could imagine and even fewer could appreciate.
At last, there was hope that he might free himself of his curse.
From the voluminous robe emerged two nimble hands gloved in grey. They matched well the intruder’s stance, marking him as one apparently in the bloom of life. Yet, as with so much else about him, that was misleading. With perhaps a few exceptions, he was far older than anyone or anything else alive.
A simple gesture brought forth a tiny, emerald light. A twist of the
left hand sent the glowing dot darting about the overfilled chamber. Now and then it would hesitate near some object but then move on. While those other items evidently held some interest to his studies, they were not that for which he had come.
The sounds of activity increased outside. The deep hood turned briefly to the window, then ignored all but the search again.
The light abruptly stopped over a decorative box. Even when the sorcerer signaled it to move on, it remained frozen over the piece.
The shrouded spellcaster vanished, then reappeared next to the table upon which the box and several other antique pieces sat. His gloved hand hovered between the light and the box. A faint white glow stirred from his palm, then quickly faded.
This is it . . . but what is it?
he wondered. Even after so much research, he barely knew more than any of those walking past the shop. As gingerly as a mother picking up her newborn, the sorcerer lifted up the small box. He gently opened the lid.
The box was empty.
A primitive growl escaped the recesses of the hood. Pent-up frustration nearly made the sorcerer throw the box across the room. However, at the last moment, reason returned and instead of destroying the offending container, he curtly pointed at the interior.
The light darted inside, spreading over bottom and sides before reforming. Immediately, it shot upward, then raced farther back into the shop. The sorcerer followed on foot.
In the back of the shop, the light flew directly toward a side wall. A few small and rather mundane illustrations decorated the wall. The light appeared to notice neither the decor nor the wall itself, soaring toward them at its greatest speed.
The emerald point struck.
The wall flashed bright green, and as it did, it also became transparent.
In the center of the wall stood a hinged metal door three feet by three feet.
The image faded away as the light vanished. The sorcerer did not
care. He reached for the wall where he had seen the door. His hand sank into what appeared stone, then touched what felt like the handle he had briefly seen.
The momentary revelation had also shown that the door required a key, but that hardly disturbed the cloaked form. Concentrating, he tugged on the unseen handle.
The wall flared. The illusion dissipated, revealing the shopkeeper’s special vault. It was not unknown for prosperous merchants these days to pay for a few magical safety measures. While magic utilized by humans was still frowned upon in most of the lands ruled by the Dragon Kings, Irillian was more like the freed kingdoms, where such abilities were now rising again and, in the process, making some of their possessors wealthier for offering such services.