XVII

 

Flesh and Blood

 

Your will is failing...your life is failing...

Hadrea moaned, trying in vain to ignore the voice.

You are dying...and I am growing stronger...

Hadrea could not deny what she was told. She had sensed it only minutes ago, in fact. The combination of trying to protect her child while keeping the dread spirit --- the name Melenea kept floating through the half-elf’s thoughts--- at bay had proven too much.

You may be the vessel, but I am the true mother...and I will do with him as I will...

No longer did the voice pretend to be her ally, as it had early on. Now the spirit pressed, constantly seeking a weakness in Hadrea’s defenses. Yet, despite having only been pregnant for a very short time, the half-elf remained as savagely-determined to save her baby as any caring mother.

You will not have my Cabe!

Wicked laughter thundered in her head. Your Cabe...

Hadeen’s niece knew that she could have saved herself by giving up her child. Cabe was important to Melenea’s plans. She needed his fresh life essence. With it, any vessel she chose could become her new body. That the infant would die in the process meant nothing to the spirit. He was only a means to an end...

No! Hadrea insisted again. I will not let you have him! Her fury pushed back the invading spirit for the moment, but the effort also only weakened the half-elf more. Hadrea cursed her ignorance; she had reacted exactly the way desired. The more she allowed herself to fall prey to the taunts, the more she hastened her death...and her child’s as well.

To her uncle or any other who saw her, she remained in a deep, deep slumber, her hands clutching the flower. Hadrea could feel the comforting power of the magical bloom, but knew that it also had its limits. It enabled her to maintain her unique sleeping/waking state, the greatest reason thus far for her managing to keep control of the situation. She prayed her uncle would soon be able to replace it, but Hadeen could have only so many. It astounded her that he had found these.

Whatever she hoped to do, she needed to do it soon. Hadrea was not far from birth. She had been unable to slow the spellwork Melenea had initially cast on her to so rapidly speed up the pregnancy.

I will save him! I will save him! She could feel Cabe kicking around. He was so full of life, so ---

In that instant, Hadrea knew what she had to do.

She opened her eyes, startling her uncle and Wiln. The presence of the servant concerned Hadrea, for she knew her father well enough to understand he would not be accepting of this bastard grandchild, especially considering that it was also Azran’s son. Nevertheless, when Hadrea met Wiln’s gaze, she did all she could to match the steel she ever saw in the Master of the Vale’s eyes. She was Hadaryn’s daughter. She would not be daunted by anyone.

Wiln finally looked away, giving her that much of a victory, at least. Hadrea remained well aware that her time was very limited. She had to make certain that everything was prepared. She would have only one opportunity to save her child.

“Hadrea...” Hadeen began.

She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. “Please listen, both of you. I have control, but not for very long. She has some disadvantages without the sword here ---” How Hadrea knew that, she could only imagine had to do with the fact that she and Melenea shared not just one body, but also one mind. The female half-elf had to pray that she had managed to keep her desperate plan from the dark spirit or else all was truly lost. “--- but she planned for that, just in case. One way or another, she’ll have my son...she’ll have Cabe...unless we do as I say.”

“I must inform your father of everything,” Wiln interjected, starting to step back. “He gave explicit orders ---”

“No. Please, Wiln! Trust me. Please!”

The servant scowled, but finally nodded. He resumed his place next to her uncle, who only eyed his niece with some wariness.

Daring to take Hadeen’s lack of response as agreement, Hadrea quickly continued, “Uncle, I need you to do exactly as dictated. I know I won’t have the strength to do more once I commit myself. I’m relying on you. If we do this, we can save Cabe!”

“Hadrea, I keep hearing you speak of saving this child ---”

“Cabe.”

Her uncle smiled sadly. “Cabe. Very well. Hadrea ---”

A sense of foreboding suddenly filled Hadrea. Melenea stirred again. She would come with more force than ever. There was no time left.

Hadrea took a deep breath. “Uncle. She’s pressing her will against mine. I have to begin now.”

“’Begin now’?” blurted Wiln. He glanced warily at Hadeen. “What does she mean?”

Her uncle, however, had already turned to his cabinet. She saw he already knew what she needed, what might help quicken events so that the ancient specter --- the Vraad --- would have less chance of seizing the situation.

Positioning herself, Hadrea began concentrating. Noting Wiln’s still-confused expression and suddenly worried that his confusion might yet lead him to seeking her father, Hadrea explained as simply as she knew how.

“I’m going to give birth, Wiln. I’m going to give birth now...and you of all of us have to be prepared in case you have to kill me.”

 

 

The Gryphon waited for several minutes, but when there came no hint that Nathan would soon be returning, he abandoned the libraries. The book that the wizard had been perusing sat once more on a shelf, the tome of no use to the lord of Penacles. The moment that Nathan had vanished, everything on the pages he had been studying had faded away. Try as he might, the lionbird could not make them reappear.

These libraries will be the death of me, just as they were Lord Purple, the Gryphon thought sourly. He wished that he could summon Samir to help, but feared for the other mage’s mental well-being. No...best to let him rest. He’ll need all his strength ---

The feathers and fur on the back of the Gryphon’s neck stiffened. He gave no sign that he sensed the other presence as he left the tapestry chamber and entered the main palace. The Gryphon’s right hand flexed, the claws quietly extending out of sight. He carefully sniffed the air.

“Azran Bedlam. Welcome back.”

Part of the wall to his left melted into the shape of the younger Bedlam. The Gryphon’s trained eye took Azran’s measure and noted two things. The first was the dangerously wild look in the mage’s gaze. The second was that for once Azran was without the black blade.

For some reason, the latter bothered the lionbird more than if Nathan’s son had been wielding the magical weapon.

“Your senses are every bit as sharp as they say,” Azran remarked much too cheerfully. “Very impressive.”

“Your father’s not here. He had to rush away.”

“Yes, that sounds like Father. Never around. The great hero to many, the parent to neither son.”

The Gryphon retracted his claws, but remained ready to summon them. “Is there something you needed? This isn’t a good time to visit Penacles.”

“Oh, so you know about the advancing armies?”

The Gryphon refrained from commenting that he would have been a fool not to know that the drakes were marching on Penacles, instead simply replying, “I expect the city to be attacked at any moment. Your aid would be invaluable, naturally. Is that why you’ve come?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

To the lionbird’s absolute surprise, Azran summoned a table. Atop the table he called forth the ancient chess set.

“Azran, this is hardly the time for games.”

“Chess is never just a game, my lord Gryphon,” the wizard remarked, picking up one of the intricate pieces. “There are those that say chess clears the mind. Prepares it for battle, too, so to speak.”

“And who said that?”

Nathan’s youngest grinned. “Me, for one. Just a single game. What do you say? I imagine you already have all your defenses set.”

“Of course.” The former mercenary had readied Penacles for invasion the moment he had taken over. Had he been the Dragon Emperor --- or the ambitious Duke Toma, if the Gryphon’s information on the young drake was correct --- he would have worked to retake the City of Knowledge as soon as possible.

“I thought as much...and you’ve go that sneaky-eyed second of yours to oversee them, too.”

The lionbird doubted that Toos would have appreciated Azran’s description of him, but let it pass. Azran seemed very eager for this particular game. The Gryphon calculated matters and decided he could afford to play. He needed to see just what it was that Nathan’s son actually desired. Unlike Nathan, the lionbird had little trust in Azran and that trust had eroded even more since last time.

He joined Azran at the table. “Very well. Let’s play.”

The bearded wizard grinned wider. He sat down, then gestured at the board. “Would you care to be begin?”

“No, that’s all right,” the Gryphon returned, also sitting. His eyes darted from one piece to the other, noting with interest that the one that looked like a massive wolf appeared to be damaged. Small bits of metal sprouted outward, almost as if something had burrowed out of it. “No...I’ll let you make your move first...”

 

 

Samir stirred uneasily, then suddenly opened his eyes. He heard the voice from the libraries, the voice that the Gryphon would have recognized as belonging to the mist dragon.

He is here...the accursed vulture is here again...

The swarthy mage rose from the bed the Gryphon had provided him. The lord of Penacles and Nathan Bedlam had brought him to a suite not all that far from the tapestry chamber. They would have brought him much farther, but Samir had been insistent that he had to remain near. The others had finally agreed just to make certain that he would rest.

But now...now he was summoned.

He wondered again why it was he who was called and not the Gryphon. Samir knew that there was some bond between the lionbird and the voice, but for some reason the mage had been chosen instead. He could only surmise that it had to do with his own extensive research concerning the libraries. With Lord Purple dead, Samir remained possibly the most knowledgable source concerning the mysterious depository outside of the gnomish librarians themselves.

He shrugged off the thoughts. What mattered was that he was called. Samir slipped out of the suite and headed to the tapestry chamber. The Gryphon had spoken about setting guards by the doorway, but Nathan had suggested they would have to be more than mere human soldiers. Samir believed that something akin to the guardians Lord Purple had used would be best, but it was not his place to make such suggestions nor, at the moment, did he care. The lack of guards made it even easier to reach the tapestry.

Well-versed in the use of the tapestry, it took Samir but moments to locate the symbol. He rubbed the mark and waited impatiently as his surroundings shifted to one of the countless corridors of the underground libraries.

A librarian immediately confronted him...only the wizard quickly noticed that the short, robed figure did not move, did not even breathe.

A faint black aura surrounded the librarian. The magical trace had a foulness about it that made Samir shudder. That the librarian was not dead was only likely due to the fact that his captor probably thought he still might need the gnome’s knowledge.

Some instinct made him turn to the nearest corridor to his left. As he reached the corner, he cautiously peered around. Seeing nothing, the mage quickly but quietly hurried down the passage, his shields building up as he moved. Even as he neared the next intersection, he knew that whatever was happening was very near.

He peeked into the corridor to his right...and beheld at last the sword.

Samir had seen the Horned Blade only once or twice, but he could never have forgotten it. He still wondered how, despite Azran’s clear skill, the younger Bedlam had managed to forge something that even a seasoned spellcaster such as Samir could not have done without far more effort and many, many years of experimentation.

Yet, there it was.

There it was. By itself. Floating point down at eye level and with violent magical energy crackling between the two curves of the hilt from which it had gained its name. Even as Samir watched, a fiery tendril of energy shot from the hilt to one of the nearby tomes.

Despite the force with which the tendril struck, the thick book remained untouched. Samir sensed the tendril drawing magical forces from the book, literally draining a part of the ancient libraries.

The thought struck Samir to his very core. The libraries had been his life’s study. When Lord Purple had exiled him from them, the loss had torn Samir apart. He had done all he could to continue his research despite the lack of access, but when the opportunity had at last come to return to their hallowed corridors, Samir had felt like a child again.

And now, Azran’s sword sought to wreak havoc on the legendary repository of magical lore.

It was more than the mage could stand. This near, he dared not try to reach out with his thoughts to the Gryphon or Nathan. Any creation of Azran’s would surely sense him act. Samir had only one chance, however risky that chance was.

He leapt forward and grabbed for the Horned Blade’s hilt, at the same time casting. Personal shields strengthened to their maximum, the wizard used his swiftly-wrought spell to create a magical barrier between the sword and the nearby books.

The Horned Blade reacted violently. It shook. It blazed. Samir felt the flesh on his hands begin to burn, but he refused to let go. He forced the enchanted weapon away from the nearest shelves, then fought to bring the accursed thing to where he could transport both it and himself from the libraries. Samir felt certain that if he could achieve that, he would conquer Azran’ foul toy.

But the Horned Blade appeared to have other ideas. Samir’s progress came to an abrupt halt. The sword floated frozen in place, neither it nor the mage able to gain advantage.

Samir focused. The barrier he had created to separate the weapon from the books now closed entirely around the Horned Blade, encasing it. The searing pain in his hands faded as the barrier also cut off the sword’s attack against him.

The mage allowed himself a slight breath of relief. He braced himself for another attempt to pull the Horned Blade to where the pair could exit.

The Horned Blade shifted again. The movement brought the hilt better into Samir’s view.

From between the hilt’s pointed ends, two inhuman eyes stared at the mage.

Startled by the malevolent gaze, Samir hesitated.

Without warning, the sword twisted.

With a gasp, the mage tore his gaze from the handle and glanced down at his chest.

The sword’s sharp blade lay half-buried between his ribs, somehow having gotten there without cutting through the rest of his body in the process.

An intense cold overtook the wizard. He felt his body’s inherent heat being sucked into the Horned Blade. Samir tried in vain to pull free, but the sword remained fixed in his chest.

Shuddering, he fell back against a set of shelves. Books spilled around him as he collapsed.

The Horned Blade glowed as it fed from him. Through blurring vision, the mage beheld a shadowy form briefly emanating from the area of the hilt...a shrouded, ghostly form all too familiar to any spellcaster who had once closely served the Purple Dragon.

Jekrith Terin.

The shadow faded. Samir sensed his life doing the same. He had but moments left. Despite aware that he was near death, he refused to surrender. The others had to be warned. At the very least, the others had to be warned.

With what remained of his strength, he concentrated.

At the same time, the voice that had first alerted him to the threat to the libraries whispered, I can still help...a little...

Samir felt himself disappear ---

 

 

The Gryphon moved a piece, then sat back. As a continually-smiling Azran pondered his next maneuver, the Gryphon continued his surreptitious surveillance of the palace, seeking whatever it was Nathan’s son had in mind. There had been one brief moment while considering his last move that the lionbird had thought that he had noticed some shift in the magical energies crisscrossing the area, but it had been so minute, so brief, that he could not tell whether or not it had been real or his imagination.

“Aaah.” Azran touched a piece ---

A tingle ran through the Gryphon. He suddenly glanced to his side and out of the corner of his eye caught Azran doing the same.

A kneeling Samir materialized just a couple of yards away. The swarthy wizard clutched a gaping wound in his chest. He stared at both players, then looked to the Gryphon.

“Be-beware! Libraries --- s-sword!”

Shoving away his chair as he jumped from the table, the Gryphon immediately spun on Nathan’s youngest.

A scowling Azran pulled from the chess set and raised his left hand. Suddenly, he wielded the Horned Blade, which flared darkly.

“Just nothing can go simply, can it?” remarked the bearded wizard with clear frustration. “Nothing.”

Claws bared, the Gryphon summoned his own power. Nathan had helped him learn how to better bring forth his abilities, but whether his skills were enough yet to take on Azran and the damned blade, he could not say.

Azran started to bring the point toward the lionbird, then hesitated as if hearing something. His scowl deepening, Nathan’s son disappeared.

The Gryphon took the moment to make certain that Azran had actually left Penacles, then rushed to Samir’s side. He barely reached the mage in time to catch Samir from falling over.

“L-lord Gryphon --- Azran ---”

“He’s gone. There’s nothing more to fear. We’ll alert his father ---”

Samir managed to shake his head. “No...much more...I know...”

“What are you talking about?”

“The --- the sword --- it has a purpose beyond Azran --- it will --- it will rule ---”

To his surprise, the Gryphon discovered he had no trouble believing what the stricken spellcaster said. The lord of Penacles wondered if Azran understood what he had created.

“Lord Gryphon...”

“Save your strength, Samir.” The Gryphon glanced down at the horrific wound. It was a wonder the human was still alive. The Gryphon was not certain if he could save the wizard, but he would do everything within his power.

As if reading his thoughts, Samir managed to shake his head. “No...that is what you must also w-warn the others about. The sword has t-tasted the life of --- of two spellcasters. It now knows --- it now knows. To --- to achieve its goal --- it will need to feast! To f-feast!”

“’To feast’?” the Gryphon muttered as his gaze shifted to his hands. Samir’s blood covered both. The wounds would not seal. The lionbird would have expected any wound made by the Horned Blade to cauterize, but these did not. He could only surmise that the wounds remained open because Azran’s creation had wanted them to stay open.

Samir’s words suddenly struck him harder. “’To feast’, you said. Feast on what?”

The wizard stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Quietly cursing, the Gryphon closed Samir’s eyes, then gently set the body down. Had Azran been within reach, the lord of Penacles would have attempted to throttle the younger mage, never mind that he was Nathan’s son. Azran had crossed into darkness.

To feast... Samir’s last words disturbed him more than ever. “Feast on what?” the Gryphon muttered again. “Feast on ---”

He gaped at the dead man as the answer --- so obvious now --- finally occurred to him.

A shiver ran through the Gryphon. Nathan Bedlam...what sort of monstrosity has your son created...and what sort of monster has he become himself?