It did not strike this time, but the wind its streaking form caused was enough to send men falling to the ground. Wellen barely held his place in the saddle and even his steed stumbled in the midst of the blast. He still did not know what he intended to do, only that something had to be done.

"It comes again!" Prentiss Asaalk materialized next to him, the blue man's horse already panting from the combination of fear and its rider's great ma.s.s.

Even though he knew the leviathan was deadly, the scholar could still not help but admire its grace and beauty. The dragons of home were indeed dull-witted cattle compared to this monster. The vast, batlike wings spread so far that a dozen hors.e.m.e.n on each would have been able to stand their mounts ready and still have no fear that they and their animals would be cramped for s.p.a.ce. The scales of the beast shone whenever the sunlight hit it. Truly a wonder to behold . . . but not when it was trying to kill them all.

It was no longer possible to keep track of the men. They were scattered everywhere. Wellen wished he had the dragon's point of view. At least then, he could see where everyone--- A sudden image of landscape seen as though from a mountain peak, yet it kept changing. Tiny, silly figures scurrying about in blind panic, knowing that he was above them, their death. All merely prey to be toyed with except for one who rode, whose mind seemed to reach out . . .

Gasping, Bedlam found himself atop his mount once more. Had he dreamed that? Had his wish come true, albeit only for a moment, and granted him the ability to see as the drake did? How could such a thing happen?

You are the one . . .

The voice was in his mind and though no more was said after that, the cloying, inhuman sensation of it remained with him despite the scholar's best efforts to clear his head. He reined his horse to a frantic halt, surprising both Asaalk and Yalso, who rode several lengths past him before they could bring their own frightened animals around. As they rode back to him, the danger to both grew frighteningly clear to Wellen.

He rose in the saddle. "Go back! Ride away! Keep away from me!"

The northerner hesitated, slowing his steed a bit, but Captain Yalso continued on, his weathered visage deep-set in determination not to abandon his friend.

Wellen turned his horse and desperately urged it into motion. The sweating horse needed no encouragement; it broke into a gallop that left the other two riders quickly behind.

"Master Bedlam! Wellen!" Yalso would not be so easily deterred. Wellen, looking back, saw the seaman racing after him, a reluctant Asaalk close behind. He knew that the two men were unwittingly rushing to join him in death.

What the ma.s.sive beast's limits were, Wellen had no way of knowing. His only hope was to ride and try to block its thoughts. Somehow he and the monster had briefly formed a bond, one that had worked in both directions. He did not think the dragon could read his mind that easily, however; its thought message had seemed forced, as if it had struggled to break in. The frenzied scholar knew that he might be badly mistaken, that the dragon might even now be laughing silently at his suppositions, but there was little he could do about that.

Once more, it was the sudden plunge into deep shadow that warned him of the leviathan's nearness. The black shroud crept up rapidly from behind him. Oddly, his fears were not for himself, but for those who followed.

Someone screamed, "Jump!"

Wellen reacted instinctively and dove off his horse.

The animal cried out in horror and pain, but the rolling Bedlam saw only the dust and earth that rose and beat him mercilessly. He heard the thundering of hooves and a voice that sounded like that of the blue man, but little more. As he turned face down again, his nose was pushed against the ground. Wellen grunted as it bent to one side and blood splattered his countenance. The world took on an ethereal quality, fading into and out of existence. As he finally slowed to a stop, it was all he could do to keep from pa.s.sing out. The stunned explorer refused to give in to his injuries; there was no promise that unconsciousness would save him from the dragon's claws. Wellen, despite his upbringing, was one who preferred to die, if he had to, fighting the loathsome process to the bitter end.

He tasted blood on his lips as he turned over and tried to right himself. A broken nose and torn lips were miniscule wounds. He was thankful that nothing else seemed broken. Had the ground been rocky, it might have been worse.

The dragon was high in the sky, something large squirming in its claws. Wellen's mount. Beast and prey vanished into the clouds.

Captain Yalso rode to him, reining to a stop just in front of the bleeding scholar. "How bad are you?"

"Bruises, nothing more." That was a lie. There was dizziness, too, but he did not want to tell the mariner that. "Leave me; I'll go on foot."

"Don't be bigger fool than you've been! Climb aboard!" Yalso stretched out a hand.

Wellen eyed the captain's mount. It suffered from the combination of the weight of the sailor and the frantic pace it had already been put through. Adding a second body would only kill the animal in short order at this rate. At the very least, it would quickly grow useless for both of them.

The dragon was still above the cloud cover, no doubt finishing off his snack. There could only be seconds before the leviathan returned. "Captain Yalso, if we ride together, we're both lost! If we keep separate, one or both of us could survive!"

"Listen-"

Bedlam would not be silenced. "Go now! You can make it to safety! He wants me! Our minds, our thoughts, touched! He will not rest until he has taken me!"

It was obvious that the captain did not understand anything that Wellen was saying, but the grim determination in the scholar's eyes could not be denied. Yalso sighed and gave his companion a weary smile. "At least take the horse!"

"You need it more than me!" Strong the mariner might be, but running was not something his monumental girth allowed him to excel at. "Go!"

Yalso blinked, then nodded and rode back in the direction the column had originally traveled from.

Dirty, disheveled, and wracked with pain, Wellen chose a path going opposite that of the captain. By leading the dragon away, he hoped to give the survivors, including Yalso, a chance to make it to safety. Perhaps the drake would even lose interest in them once it had dealt with the one who had invaded its mind.

He was still not certain how he had done that. The silver streak in his hair had always lied; never had Wellen revealed so much as the most modest of sorcerous skills. Why now?

Any theory he might have formed was lost, for the dragon broke through the clouds and dove like an avenging demon toward the spot in which the scholar stood. Wellen broke into a desperate run, knowing he could not outpace a soaring beast such as this. He only hoped his sacrifice would not be in vain. If even a few of the men survived, it would be worth it.

The shadow blanketed the field around him. Wellen stumbled and fell. There was no time left. He had hoped to get farther, to draw the dragon's notice for a bit longer, but such was not to be. He rolled onto his back and watched the descending form grow. What madness made him desire to face his scourge he could not say. Some insane hope, perhaps, that a miracle would yet save him.

Only a short moment from his victim, the dragon suddenly veered off.

The confused and unbelieving human rolled over to watch the monstrosity fly around. The dragon's pattern was erratic, as if he did not know where he was going. Wellen touched the silver in his hair without realizing it. A tentative smile played at his lips as he marveled at his astonishing escape.

Rising once more to a great height, the green and purple leviathan scoured the earth. Reptilian eyes scanned the very region where Wellen Bedlam lay, but still the beast did not return for him.

"Wellen!"

The horrified voice made him whirl about. He stared in knowing fear as the captain, thinking that the dragon must have injured but not taken the scholar, rode back.

"No!" His shout went unheeded. He was as invisible and silent to Yalso as he was to the drake.

The rider, unfortunately, was not invisible to the menacing form above. Frustrated at losing his prey, the leviathan turned in the air and dove. Captain Yalso realized his mistake at the last moment and tried to leap from his mount as the dragon neared. The winged monstrosity was not to be fooled this time, however. It watched the man and not the beast and when the seaman jumped, unleashed another deadly cloud.

Already knowing it was too late for his companion, Wellen blindly ran west in order to escape the onrushing cloud. Behind him he heard the startled cry of the horse and a mortal cough that could only have issued from a human throat. Wellen did not look back.

The dragon remained low after the attack, evidently searching for its escaped victim. The shadow fell over WeIlen and the wind nearly wrenched him from the ground, but still he ran free. Better to just keep running and hope that somehow he might live through this nightmare.

How long he ran, Bedlam could not say. Always it seemed as if the dragon was just behind him. The hills loomed closer and closer. Wellen briefly wondered what had happened to the scouts. Had the dragon caught them sooner? Had something else taken them? Such questions only made him run harder, despite the growing pain in his body and the shortness of his breath. It might very well be, he thought, that he would escape the scaly predator only to die of exhaustion.

Something came charging toward him.

A horse. Saddled. One of their own. Wellen had lost his own mount and Yalso's had perished with its rider. That meant that this was Prentiss Asaalk's animal, but then where was the northerner?

He realized he had no time to worry about the blue man. The horse was a gift of circ.u.mstances; Wellen could hardly not make use of it. Calling to the animal in as quiet and smooth a voice as he could manage, the battered scholar tried to encourage it over to him. At first the horse was skittish . . . and with good reason, of course. . . but then it slowly trotted his way. When the animal was within arm's length, Bedlam reached out, stroked its muzzle, and carefully sought out the reins. There was no blood to be seen. Other than being frightened and exhausted, the steed was healthy. Again, he wondered what had become of the blue man. While Wellen had hardly cared for Prentiss Asaalk, he did not hate him enough to see him dead or injured.

A quick glance skyward revealed the dragon still searching fruitlessly for the tiny figure who had vanished before his very eyes. Wellen thanked whatever G.o.ds had chosen to protect him and mounted. He did not dare ride east, not with the poisonous mists still enshrouding most of the region, and his inability to return to the ships left him with few other options. Riding north or south would leave him too open for his own tastes. Wellen had no idea how long he would remain invisible to the drake and whether or not this protection extended to other dangers. The horse had not been blinded; other creatures might also be able to see him.

That left the west and the hills, the destination he had been fleeing toward already.

Turning the nervous steed about, Wellen rode. Now able to relax a bit physically, if not mentally, the scholar found himself fighting the exhaustion that his earlier panic had kept at bay. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts, never a.s.suming for a moment that he was free of danger. The drake might come in his direction and bury this part of the field under a cloud of death. It might finally pierce the mysterious barrier-one which Wellen could not believe he was responsible for-and once more be able to see the human morsel who had escaped it.

Sweat dripped down from his forehead, stinging his eyes. Wellen wiped his arm across. As he lowered his arm, he noticed a stain of red across his sleeve. The bleeding scholar knew it was a good thing that he could not see his countenance; between his broken nose and the wounds he had garnered during his fall, he probably looked more dead than alive. That he felt no pain from his wounds worried him, and for the first time he tried to take stock of his injuries. It was impossible to do so now, however, for between the horse's bouncing gait and his own exhaustion, the injured man could not keep track of what he was doing.

The first of the hills was nearly within reach when a second, louder roar shook the rider.

Wellen fought for control of the horse, then twisted, with effort, to an angle where he could study the cloudy sky over the plains.

Something moved about the clouds that dwarfed the leviathan that had destroyed the expedition.

Something purple?

He wiped his eyes clean again and stared. Whatever it was chose not to reveal itself again, but it was still there. He knew that, if only because the drake was rising swiftly to meet the newcomer. Yet, the monster's movements were not those of a beast about to attack, but rather those of a lesser creature answering the summons of a greater.

There and then, Bedlam knew he did not desire to remain where he was any longer.

With a last effort, he guided the stumbling horse into the hill region. The way was rough going at first. It almost seemed as if the same being who had shaped the hills with such uniformity had placed them so no path ever went straight, or remained level, for that matter. The path twisted and wound with such frequency that when Wellen and his horse finally reached a smooth, clear point, he paused and studied it. The thought of a subtle trap wormed its way through his clouding mind, but he soon rejected it. For what reason he did so remained unclear to him; the scholar could only recall that it seemed to make sense.

Wellen looked back on occasion, but after the first few minutes, the hills permanently blocked his view of the plains and the eastern sky. He could not hear either the dragon or the newcomer, which he a.s.sumed, with much trepidation, had to be yet another of the species. But that did not mean that they had departed.

The longer he rode, the more difficult it became for Wellen Bedlam to remain conscious. The leap and its aftermath had taken much more out of him than he had first supposed. Once in a while, Wellen found himself stirring from periods that he could only describe as blankness. He had been neither conscious or asleep, merely not there. When he tentatively checked both his broken nose and the forehead wound, he found both still bleeding profusely.

"I hope you can go on without my help," he muttered to the horse. The sound of his own voice, as dry and cracked as it was, kept him somewhat coherent. He began talking to himself more and more, not caring how mad he might sound. Besides, who was out here to listen to him besides the scholar himself?

"I had this dream once." Wellen forced himself to turn his head so that he could study the landscape around him. More and more trees were dotting the path. He vaguely wondered if that meant he was coming to the western edge of the hills. "I had a dream that I would become a great warlock, a sorcerer without corn-compare."

He coughed. The noise echoed throughout the area.

"Kept waiting for those magnificent powers to manifest them-themselves. They never did." Wellen glanced at his mount, as if waiting for it to respond. He started to think about what sort of life the animal had enjoyed before being picked for this expedition. "Bet you wished you were back in the stable. Nice and boring, but safe." A ragged laugh. "I had a life like that. . . and to think I wanted out of it."

The hills kept rising before him, shattering any idea that an end might be in sight. Wellen scratched his nose despite both the blood his hand came away with and the fact that since the nose was numb it had not itched in the first place. "Should I . . . should I stay here or go . . . go beyond the edge?"

Something fluttered about the trees, something fairly large. Wellen doubted that a dragon could hide itself so well, then thought of the young Seeker. Could one of the legendary avians be watching him? He leaned in the direction of the noise, and an owl darted out of the trees and off into the sky.

Wellen wanted to laugh, but there was not enough strength left for that. He satisfied himself with a brief smile, then once more concentrated on the myriad path running through the hills.

There had been no sign of the dragon or dragons for some time now, but not once did the scholar think to turn around. He was committed. This far into the hills, he was determined to at least complete the crossing. Beyond the sloping, turning land there was something so valuable that it needed dragons to guard it. Bedlam was certain that such had been the drake's purpose in being here, to guard what lay beyond the hills.

The horse shied.

Wellen twisted in the saddle, gazing up in full expectation of sighting a diving form.

He saw nothing. The sky that was visible here was clear, save for a few high clouds. Now, there was nowhere the dragon could have hidden. Frustrated and worn, he turned to shout at the skittish animal. . . and saw the grisly remains poking out from behind some high bushes.

They were recognizable as a horse and a man, but little more. From the shreds of clothing that still lingered on the b.l.o.o.d.y torso of the unfortunate rider, Wellen knew it was one of the expedition scouts. Some force had torn the man quite literally apart, much the way one might tear apart an orange.

Weakened as he was already, the scholar did not have the stamina to resist the sickening sight. Half falling from the saddle, he went to his knees and vomited. Little more than spittle and blood issued forth, but the act itself was nearly enough to make him completely collapse. Wellen succeeded in maintaining consciousness, but that was all. For more than ten minutes, the hapless rider kneeled where he was, trying to pull himself together.

No dragon had killed the man. If such had been the case, not a shred of clothing would have been found. This deed had been performed by a smaller but savage creature, something perhaps the size of a . . . of a Seeker? Wellen could not see the avians killing so, however. The legends and his encounter with the adolescent Seeker were enough to convince him that the bird folk, however dangerous they might be, were capable of more civilized methods of death. More likely, an animal of some sort had gotten the unsuspecting scout while he had been engaged in studying the landscape.

So where were the other scouts, and why had they left his body unburied?

He was afraid he knew the answer already. Dragging himself to his feet, Wellen took hold of his mount's reins and, forcing himself to endure the sight of the ravaged remains, continued down the path. Each step tore at his already fragile system, wracking him further. Nevertheless, Wellen continued until he found what he was looking for.

All in all, the other two had not gotten very far from their comrade before whatever horror had murdered the first had caught up to them. One of the figures, the man Bedlam recalled as the spokesman of the trio, was actually in recognizable shape. Perhaps the beast had tired by that point. What did matter was that Wellen was now absolutely alone in the Dragonrealm. The scouts were dead, Yalso had perished, and the scholar had found no trace of Prentiss Asaalk, save the blue man's mount. Any survivors from the column were undoubtedly on their way to the waiting ships. There had to be a few, despite the thoroughness of the dragon. He had no doubt that the acting commander would order both vessels underway once he heard what had happened to the grand expedition. With such tales to tell, it was doubtful that anyone would risk returning to this continent for years to come.

He would be alone in the Dragonrealm.

His dream had become a nightmare.

Wellen desperately wanted to do something about the remains of the three men, but he barely had the strength to stand, much less dig a grave or build a pyre. In fact, as shameful as it might seem, Wellen did not even want to remain in the same area any longer. In his present state, he could barely stomach the rising stench.

Disgusted with himself, the expedition leader tried to remount his horse. The animal was understandably nervous and Wellen's first two attempts failed miserably. Wincing at the pain coursing through his body, Wellen took a tighter hold on the reins and whispered to the beast. The voice calmed the horse to a point where the young Bedlam finally felt it was safe to try again. Carefully, he started to swing himself upward.

In the undergrowth near one of the bodies, a heavy form moved toward them. The horse shied. Wellen, caught midway, could only hold on. He did not even have the breath to talk to the shifting steed.

The creature in the undergrowth hissed and crawled out from cover. The scholar, turned to face it by the movements of his panicking mount, marked it immediately as a carrion creature, one of the lesser drakes that always seemed to have a nose for finding the dead. Unless there were more than a dozen, such beasts rarely attacked the living. They were possibly the biggest cowards amongst their kind.

The horse, already at its wits' end from everything else, saw only teeth and claws. It rose onto its hind legs and kicked wildly. Try as best as he could, Wellen could not maintain his grip. He fell to the earth, striking his head on the flattened path.

The drake hissed again, but held its ground, unwilling to give up the morsels it had found. Wellen had a blurred glimpse of hooves and then was bowled to one side as the horse, unwilling to contest with the newcomer, caught him a glancing blow. It galloped off even as its former rider rolled to a stop.

Wellen tried to rise, but much like the steed, he too was at his limit. Even when he heard a louder hiss and saw the second drake appear, the strength would not come to him. The drakes were cowards, yes, but not when it came to the helpless. Wellen had as much chance of fending them off as he did of casting a spell. The bitter irony that here his lack of true power would finally prove his undoing, made him curse the heavens for ever having created the silver mark as the symbol of sorcery.

"Such, such language," came a voice.

The drakes froze, then scattered as if one of their more violent cousins had come for them. Wellen tried to turn over and see his rescuer, but that was now beyond him.

"Where . . . who . . . ?"

Darkness coalesced in front of him, taking on the vague shape of a cloak and hood. In the deep shadows cast by the hood, he barely made out the general visage of a man. That was all he could tell about his rescuer. The ma.s.sive robe all but buried its wearer within.

"You should be more careful, Dru," the cloak said. Wellen tried to speak, but then even breathing became difficult and he pa.s.sed out.

Chapter Five.

Xabene stood by the long-dead campfire, her silence condemning the Necri in front of her as no words could. The Necri refused to be cowed by this mortal creature. It had performed its part as commanded.

At last, the enchantress turned on the monster. "You were caught up in your entertainment, weren't you? You were too busy with your playthings to keep an eye on the leader of the newcomers!"

The pale, batlike servant hissed. Through its own peculiar method of communication, it had let known all that had happened, but Xabene still did not believe it.

She shook her head. Time and time again she had warned her masters that the Necri had only limited uses. They were too savage, too single-minded. While it had vented its eagerness upon the outsiders' scouts, the dragons had struck at the column itself, slaying most and scattering the few survivors. The winged monstrosity claimed it had followed the short one who was leader, but somehow the two had become separated in the hills. The dark sorceress was certain that she would not have lost track of a man, but then men were her forte.

What bothered her most was the sensation she had felt at roughly the time the Necri indicated it had lost sight, both normal and magical, of the human. It was a feeling she had only a.s.sociated with two other forces, the gnome and the Lords of the Dead . . . yet she was certain it was neither.

"We have to find him again! You"-she stared into the white, dead eyes of her inhuman partner-"have to find him, or the failure will be on your head!"