Part 24 (1/2)

Collecting himself, D'Marr stepped back to the tent opening. He looked from his adversary to the sentries, his frustration revealed only in his eyes. ”Finish the rest of those beasts and make him ready for travel. I want this tent struck immediately after. We march in one half hour. Anything or anyone not ready by then will be left behind.”

With one last glance at the Gryphon, D'Marr vanished through the tent flaps. The two soldiers matched gazes, consulted among themselves for about half a minute as to how best to dispose of the bodies, then turned with grim purpose toward the captured Quel.

The Gryphon felt the ground beneath him rise and braced himself for another tremor. When that did not immediately happen, he looked down and saw that he now sat on one end of a spreading rise of dirt much like a mole's trail. The width of the rise spread as it neared the soldiers and their victims, in the end becoming twice as wide as either man.

Throwing himself to one side, the lionbird braced himself.

His sudden and peculiar action caught the attention of the two raiders just as they were about to dispatch a pair of the Quel. One of the guards sheathed his sword and started after the Gryphon.

The Aramite was thrown screaming into the ceiling of the tent as the ground before him burst skyward and several hundred pounds of armored destruction erupted from the depths of the earth.

The Quel was huge, even by the standards of the race. In one ma.s.sive paw he carried a wicked, double-bladed ax that somehow he had managed to drag with him even while tunneling. The first soldier had still not recovered, but the second was already attacking. Much to the raider's misfortune, though, he thrust his blade too low and it shattered off of the rocklike sh.e.l.l of the newcomer. The Quel, completely silent throughout all, brought the ax around and proceeded to nearly cleave the armored soldier in two. Blood and much too much more decorated the interior of the tent, but only the Gryphon seemed to care.

Turning, the armed creature stalked toward the remaining raider and buried one edge of his deadly weapon in the chest of the still dazed man, who managed another short scream before he died.

The Quel threw down his weapon and began freeing the other prisoners. Dragging himself along like a snake, the Gryphon tried to move as far from the sight of the Quel as was possible. So far, they were all ignoring him, but one of them might decide to leave no witness to the escape.

A soldier stepped through the flap. ”What goes-?”

Reaching for his ax, the rescuer rose to face the stunned newcomer. Two Quel whose hands had been freed hurried to undo the bonds around their legs. The Aramite was not so caught off-guard that he was not able to defend himself. His blade was out and biting before his hulking adversary was able to bring his own weapon into play. This time, the Quel was not as lucky. The wolf raider caught him in a fairly unprotected area near the neck and managed to slice off a good piece of flesh. The Quel fought back a hoot of pain and swung. His ax pa.s.sed through where the human's chest should have been, but the wary raider had fallen to a crouch. The soldier started to shout at the top of his lungs.

Meanwhile, the lionbird, who had continued to move away from the battle, found himself against the side of the tent. He rolled over so his face was toward the material. Seizing the heavy cloth in his beak, the Gryphon tried to either tear a hole in it or pull it free from the ground. There was no other way out.

A true tremor struck. He lost hold of the material but quickly regained control. Unfortunately, the tremor continued to grow in intensity. It was all he could do just to hang on.

Then, someone tugged on the tent from outside. The Gryphon was so surprised that he lost his grip again. A figure in a robe peered inside.

”Gryphon?” asked a not-so-silent voice. The quake rumbled on, making it hard to hear anything below a shout.

He looked up into the worn but ready countenance of the warlock Cabe Bedlam.

”It would be nice to occasionally meet under more pleasant circ.u.mstances,” the imprisoned lionbird managed.

That brought the shadow of a smile to the visage of his old friend. Cabe started to crawl in, but the Gryphon shook his head. ”Pull me out! There's Quel in there!”

Cabe glanced past him and nodded, likely having known already. The Gryphon was glad the tremor and the anxious work of the wolf raiders was keeping most others from noticing the battle yet, but was certain that that would change in the next few seconds. The warlock seized him and dragged the lionbird out. Then he pointed at the ropes around the Gryphon's arms and legs. The bonds loosened and fell to the ground. Rubbing his wrists, the former mercenary tried to remove the collar from around his throat. A sharp, immediate pain on each side of his neck made him cease his efforts.

”Let me.” The warlock reached forward and touched the sides of the collar with his index fingers. There was a brief, reddish glow. Cabe took hold of the Aramite creation and pulled it apart.

”My grat.i.tude.” The Gryphon rubbed his sore neck. He noticed Cabe glancing at his maimed hand. ”A gift of the war. A gift I blame on men such as Ivon D'Farany and Orril D'Marr.”

”I've met the first. Is the second a shorter, younger officer?”

”The same. There's a blue man from the north of the empire that completes the set.”

Cabe shook his head. ”That one's dead. Would-be sorcerer. Killed himself with overconfidence, I think. These tremors are the result of that.”

The Gryphon straightened, the news bringing him some little pleasure. Still, there was no time to savor the death. ”Tremors aside, we cannot remain here. The battle will draw others.”

”I have a spell. One that makes others ignore me unless I confront them. Let me include you under its s.h.i.+eld.”

Tired as he was, he only nodded in reply to the warlock's suggestion. Cabe blinked and, a moment later, smiled in satisfaction. Then, his face clouded again. ”Now we have to return to Darkhorse and rescue him.”

”Darkhorse?” The Gryphon was too ashamed to admit that he had been thinking of searching out D'Marr and his master. It seemed that the eternal was not the only one with an obsession.

”He's not far. Over there,” the warlock continued, pointing. ”I came across him first, but the trouble is I can't release him as easily as I did you. The harness device they have on him is linked to his very being. I've not seen its like before.”

”I have. They call it a dragon harness in the empire. It saps the power and will of the minor drakes and makes them docile. The wolf raiders also use it on other, more intelligent creatures. I was fortunate that they thought the collar was sufficient. Evidently they wanted me hale and hearty for my prolonged execution.”

”Can you release him?”

”I think so. I think I know how.”

As he started in the direction that the mage had indicated, Cabe grabbed his arm. ”Wait! There's something you should know about these tremors . . .”

”Tell me. Quick.”

Condensing the story to only the most basic details, the tired spellcaster told of his meeting with the Crystal Dragon, the battle of wills between the Dragon King and the keeper, Cabe's ouster from the drake lord's realm, and, lastly, his discovery and duel in the cavern.

”And as the hole grows more unstable, this region of Legar grows more unstable as well,” the Gryphon commented. The quake had begun to subside, but both knew that the next would not be long in coming . . . and it would probably be the next one that they would have to fear the most. There was a point of no return that had to be fast approaching. ”Is that everything you know?”

”All that's necessary.” Cabe Bedlam was hiding something, something that concerned the Crystal Dragon, but the lionbird a.s.sumed that whatever it was, the warlock felt it was not important to their immediate danger. He knew Cabe well enough to trust that decision. Later, they would talk.

”We'll worry about-Dragon of the Depths!”

The ground exploded, tossing the two in opposite directions. Even as the Gryphon landed hard on his back, he knew what was happening. This was no tremor, but a much more localized threat.

Another Quel had burst through the rocky soil. The Gryphon continued to back away . . . only to find the earth behind him sprouting into a new mound. He rolled aside just as a second Quel tore his way through to the surface.

All around the Aramite encampment, the same thing was happening. Mounds formed, became craters. Bursting forth from each of those craters was a Quel. Wherever there was a trail of dirt coursing through the wolf raiders' camp, there sprouted the armored, hooting figure of one of the subterraneans. One by one and then a dozen by a dozen, they burrowed from the deep to the day. Many carried large war axes, but others were satisfied to use their claws. It mattered not where they rose, be it open ground or beneath a stack of weapons, the Quel came on and on and on. The Gryphon knew that there would be hundreds of them, hundreds of tawny, hulking behemoths whose sole intention was to rid themselves of the surface dwellers. Like an army of the unliving released by the Lords of the Undead, they kept coming.

The sleepers were not only awake; they were angry.

Few folk alive knew the full story, although the legend had spread across the Dragonrealm. Once, before the Dragon Kings and before the Seekers, the land had been ruled by the Quel. Their race had prospered for a time, but like so many others preceding them, the armadillolike creatures had watched their empire decay. The avian Seekers became dominant.

The Seekers and their immediate predecessors shared one common trait. They could not accept a rival for power. The bird folk sought to eliminate the last bastion of Quel domination, the peninsula. What the Seekers did instead, however, was unleash a spell so terrible that not only did it nearly succeed in driving the Quel to extinction but also the avians. The bird folk retired to what few rookeries remained to them and tried to rebuild their depleted population. They would never succeed in raising the numbers, for many of their females would die.

As for the Quel, they sought a different solution to the disaster. Their already inhospitable land ravaged and the neighboring regions little better, the survivors devised a plan by which the race, through high sorcery, would slumber until the day would come when they could reclaim their realm. The notion had been suggested even before all the destruction, but the Seekers' monstrous spell made its casting a necessity.

So the Quel race, excluding the sorcerers who had devised the spell, gathered into one of the largest of the underground chambers. The sorcerers and their apprentices would remain awake long enough to complete the grand spell and train successors, for there had to always be a handful to monitor events, keep the sleepers safe, and know how to awaken them when the glorious day came.

Something went terribly wrong, however, and those who knew how the spell worked perished in the process of casting it. It did put the race to sleep, but the secret of awakening them was lost. One other part did succeed; for each Quel who died, a successor was brought back to waking. There would be guardians, watchers, but none who understood what had happened. Over the centuries, the Gryphon knew, the Quel tried an endless variety of methods to bring their race back to life. They had never found success.

Until today.

Trust Nimth and the wolf raiders to wake something as unsavory as the Quel race! he thought. What would happen to the Dragonrealm with the Quel awake, the lionbird could not say. In his opinion, it could only be ill. He doubted that their long slumber had taught the overgrown armadillos the concept of sharing their world.

Around the Gryphon's vicinity alone more than a dozen Quel had already risen. He looked for Cabe but did not see the warlock. That was not too surprising. The Gryphon had been thrown back several yards. It was a credit to the lionbird's astonis.h.i.+ng const.i.tution that he was able to rise relatively unharmed, albeit more than a little dazed, by his flight and landing. Much to his dismay, though, the same Quel who had knocked him aside desired to change his good fortune. Heavy, taloned paws reached out for him.