The Necri bared its long, glistening teeth, but it did not argue. Their masters were not ones to debate the reasons for failure, they would merely execute punishment. Still, both knew that it was just as likely that they could find fault with Xabene. After all, it had been her duty to back up the Necri in its mission.

Yet, she too, only came up blank when she sought to tear away the darkness that had enveloped the outsider leader.

At least we have your face, she thought. The Necri had been able to relay that much to her. A short man, true, but not unsightly. A learned man from what the Necri's sensitive ears had picked up during its visitation to the men's camp.

Also a man who wore the mark of the warlock, the sorcerer, yet did not display any power whatsoever.

You will be so much more entertaining then most, she thought to the mind image of the one called Wellen Bedlam. She hoped that her masters would leave something of him when they were done; it was rare that she encountered a man who wanted more than conquest, riches, or even women. Here was one that wanted knowledge, too.

Certainly he would make a better companion than that! Xabene decided sourly, giving her monstrous counterpart a glare that would have chilled most mortal creatures. The Necri only twitched its long ears and waited for her to return her attention to it. She buried all personal thoughts of the missing outsider in that secret part of her mind that no one, not even the Lords of the Dead, could touch.

"He has to be somewhere," she told the Necri.

Its nose wrinkled as if it had smelled something unpleasant, though what a carrion beast such as this could find unpleasant was a good question. Xabene knew what the response truly meant; the Necri was not one for the nuances of human speech and thought. Its kind had no use nor could even comprehend the use of obvious statements such as the last.

"We have no choice but to search until we find him."

This time, it shook its head. Searching the hills would take it days, perhaps weeks, even with the use of its sorcerous powers.

"Would you rather we go to the masters and tell them of our-"

The Necri had begun to vehemently shake its head, but then something beyond Xabene made its soulless...o...b.. widen in outright fear.

The sorceress whirled about, thinking that perhaps the Dragon Kings had seen past her spells of concealment.

An odd, greenish hole had opened up behind her, one that stood in open air. It was nearly a third again her height and twice as wide as the Necri. Though nothing was visible within, she could already detect the sweet scent of decay emanating from the hole.

Now beside her, the Necri hissed. It was not a challenging call, but rather a meek, fearful response to something they both recognized.

The Lords of the Dead already knew of their failure, and they had come to their own decision concerning the twosome.

From within the hole, a second Necri emerged.

"Awake, are you?"

Wellen opened a pair of protesting eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. For a time, there was little more than a vague light. Then, things slowly began to take form.

To say he was in a cavern was to understate matters. This simple cavern was tall enough to house a castle in its midst. Much of it did not seem natural, as if some ancient had carved out most of it, then left a good deal abandoned. He wondered whether it was the same being that had possibly shaped the landscape.

"No, the cavern is not the work of any Dragon King."

The scholar rose quickly to a sitting position, then waited for the wracking pain to punish him for his transgression. When nothing happened, he looked down at himself. Not only were the blood, scars, and dirt gone from his hands, but his garments looked new. Wellen put a hand to his nose and delighted in the sensation of skin touching skin. There was no blood when he pulled the fingers away. A quick inspection of his forehead wound revealed that it, too, neither bled nor pained him.

He finally recalled the voice and also remembered the murky figure that had rescued him from the minor drakes.

It . . . he . . . was seated on a stone throne overlooking much of the cavern. Only the voice lent any clue to the ident.i.ty of the figure and that only of the gender. The hood and robe obscured so perfectly that Wellen Bedlam would have almost a.s.sumed he was staring at a pile of clothing rather than a man.

"I took you for another," the cloak said. "I sometimes forget that so much time has pa.s.sed. He's likely dead by now, don't you think?"

"Who?" the confused Bedlam asked. He thought of Yalso, but the figure surely did not mean the sea captain.

"Dru . . . but then, you didn't know him. Still, I see him in you."

"Who are you? I mean . . . I thank you for what you've done, but I don't know where I am or why you-"

The robe waved him to silence, revealing by the act the fact that the figure did indeed have a hand. A gloved one. Like the robe, it was dark gray. Everything about the figure seemed to be gray.

"I've watched you for the past day. You're here because I thought you someone else . . . then it was too late. I decided to continue rescuing you, after all."

Wellen began to wonder whether his host was completely rational.

"No, sometimes I lapse and forget where and when I am." The hood leaned forward, revealing just a bit of proud chin and stern mouth. "The forgetting of when is by far the worst, I warn you."

"Are you reading my thoughts?"

"Something like that. It is so much easier when you are conscious, though. Besides, you've hardly kept them hidden, now have you?"

Though he had never manifested power, Wellen did know of mental shields from his studies. He raised one instantly.

"Now is that any way to build trust?" The hooded warlock rose, but made no threatening gestures. "Well, I've always believed in the sanct.i.ty of one's privacy, so I have no qualms if you desire to protect yourself." The hood tilted to one side. "Besides, I'm certain we'll come to an understanding before long."

"Who are you?"

The warlock turned from him, seemingly caught up in other matters now. He moved to a table where a collection of artifacts and drawings were scattered and began to collect the latter. The table, as far as Wellen was concerned, had not been there a moment ago.

The cloaked figure finally managed to respond to the scholar's question. "I am the shadow of the past, a ghost of your past . . . and even mine. Whatever name I had, it hardly matters now. Those who knew it are dead. Dust. My people live on in you and those above, but the memory of greatness has been forgotten." The warlock shrugged, his back still to Wellen. "You may call me Shade; it's appropriate as anything and I have become attached to it over the past few centuries."

"Past few-" Bedlam cut off the remainder of his stunned reply. He knew that spellcasters could extend their lives, but that was generally limited to three or four hundred years. Though the one called Shade had not indicated otherwise, Wellen suspected that he was speaking of much more than four hundred years. There was a presence about the warlock so alien, so ancient, that the expedition leader would have been willing to judge the sorcerer in terms of millennia rather than centuries.

He realized that his fantastic host had turned to him once more. In the left hand was a plate upon which fruit had been piled. Wellen was aware that the plate had been nowhere in sight, just as the table had been earlier.

"It would be best if you ate. I have tended to your wounds and replaced your clothing. You will need to be at your best when the time comes."

The temptation to ask the warlock exactly what it was the scholar had to be ready for was great, but Wellen decided to wait until after he had eaten. The food would give him strength he might need in case his host proved to be too unstable. The shorter man did not know how he might defeat a master warlock, but he was prepared to try, if necessary.

"I thank you. I could use food."

The plate floated from Shade's hand and landed in Wellen's lap. "When your const.i.tution is a bit stronger, then perhaps you can try something other than the fruit. For now, it will serve to revive your strength."

Wellen tore into the food, finding his hunger suddenly growing into a monster as huge as the dragon that had slaughtered his men. Thinking of the drake made him pause. The warlock also paused, as if he, too, knew what his guest was thinking. Bedlam wondered just how strong the mental shields he had put up really were. Was Shade reading his mind again?

"Something disturbs you?"

"I was thinking about the dragon and the attack."

"Oh." The cloth-enshrouded spellcaster shrugged again, apparently deciding that the deaths of so many good men were of little consequence to him. "You find that such things happen here."

"Is that all you can say?" At last roused to anger, Wellen Bedlam rose, spilling the plate of partially eaten fruit all over the smooth cavern floor. "They died needlessly!"

Quietly, patiently, the warlock said, "I have seen more deaths in my life than there are fish in the seas. Only my own now concerns me . . . even after so many failures."

The scholar stood where he was, shaking in frustration. He could think of nothing to say to his host that would likely break through the apathy that had built up over a lifetime at least tenfold, possibly a hundredfold or a thousandfold longer than his own.

Bitterness growing, Wellen reached down and retrieved the fruit. There would come a time, he reflected, when the warlock would regret those words. When death finally came for the man, the angry scholar hoped Shade would recall what he had said now and how he had reacted. Wellen's men at least had their leader to mourn them; no one would ever wish to mourn for someone such as Shade.

For a time, he ate in silence. The dark spellcaster seemed satisfied to simply stare his way. He tried not to stare back, but more and more the shadows that hid the warlock's visage bothered him. What did Shade truly look like? What effects would living so long have on mortal flesh?

Wellen knew he would get no answers if he chose to question Shade about his past. It might be that the warlock barely remembered his own history.

As he completed his meal, something else began to nag at the scholar, something concerning the cavern. Wellen looked up and scanned the area, ignoring Shade's suddenly stiffening posture. What was it about this place . . .?

For the first time, he realized that he could see nothing of the cavern, save the walls, the throne, and the table. .. and the last only because the warlock had walked over to it. Every time Bedlam sought to focus on an object, he found his eyes turning away and seeking some view of less significance. With concentration, he was able to make out a series of tables, but what lay upon them, the curious explorer could not say.

"So you pierce the mists," his gray, nebulous host commented. "So there is a bit of Dru within you after all."

At the mention of the last, Wellen lost concentration. The cavern once more became a place of the almost-seen, the shadowlands. He hardly cared. Twice, perhaps more, Shade had made mention of the name "Dru." "Do you speak of Lord Drazeree?"

"Drazeree? Lord?" Shade chuckled. It was a dry sound, as if the warlock had only just rediscovered it now. "I speak of things long dead, my friend. I speak of myself and others."

A typical Shade answer, Wellen was realizing. There was no point in pursuing the matter. His speculations would have to remain just that. Still, if this warlock was what he claimed, a contemporary of the legendary lord, would that not make him over . . .

The confused scholar shook his head. No one could live so long.

Shade surprised him then by reaching up and pulling back his hood.

Perhaps, he amended, one could live so long!

From a distance, the warlock would have resembled an elder scholar, a man nearing the end of his term, but not yet ready to give up the fight. There was strength there, incredible strength. In any other being, that would have been all Wellen noticed . . . if not for the fact that Shade's skin looked so dry, he wondered whether it would turn to powder at his touch.

It was the skin of a man who should have been dead, but was not.

Tearing his gaze from the stretched, parchment skin, he met the eyes of the sorcerer. Too late, Wellen Bedlam wished he had not abandoned his previous view. The eyes of Shade were crystalline. Not eyes created from crystal, but actual ones like Wellen's own that merely exhibited perfectly the attributes of gems.

If the eyes were the mirror of the soul, then the warlock no longer suffered the existence of the latter. Outside, he might still live; inside, he had died long, long ago.

Why the words that came then should choose this moment to be blurted out was a question the explorer would wonder later, but Wellen suddenly found himself asking, "What do you plan to do with me?"

Questions like that had been the death knell of many a character in the plays the scholar had enjoyed back home. Under present circ.u.mstances, it would have hardly been surprising to find real life similar.

Again, the dry chuckle. Shade smiled, but it was forced, as if it, too, had only now been rediscovered and its true use still uncertain to the hermitic spellcaster. "I plan to help you. . . if you choose to help me."

He was acting much more lucid, but Wellen was hardly encouraged by that. What would a warlock of his host's obvious abilities need with a mortal who could only dream of casting spells? "I can think of no way that I would be of use to you," Wellen admitted, knowing he might very well be throwing away his life but unable to lie under present circ.u.mstances. "I ask again; what do you plan to do with me?"

Shade walked slowly about the cavern, and as he walked, the chamber grew more distinct. Tables and alchemical equipment filled the chamber. Crystalline artifacts flowed with power. Diagrams and patterns that Bedlam had never come across before were hewed into the very stone. The scholar within Wellen desperately wanted to inspect each and every artifact and experiment. He wondered why the warlock would be willing to reveal so much. Either he was extending his trust to his guest or he had no fear that anything Wellen did would be a danger to him.

"When I saw you . . . and I came to realize how lost my mind was then . . . I thought you another, a man of great courage and strength." The hooded warlock paused and stared at one of the blank cavern walls. He whispered something, a name, Wellen believed, then seemed to recall himself. "A man of ingenuity and determination. A man who could help me with a situation that prevents me from achieving my goal."

"And that is?" Daring the nebulous figure's wrath, the scholar purposely phrased his question so that it might be referring to either the problem or the goal.

The crystalline eyes narrowed and focused on Wellen as the warlock turned to him. Wellen had never thought to stare Death in the face before, but surely here was the closest earthly equivalent.

"You know as well as I. Your reason for journeying here was too transparent. I know the true reason was carefully buried within the folds of your mind." The crystalline eyes seemed to burn. "I know that you've come for the book."

"What book?"

Shade frowned, causing Wellen to fear that the warlock thought he was being patronized. "You know its appearance. A ma.s.sive tome with a stylized dragon on the cover. It is possibly green, though it may be another color. It is kept there by a gnome who is the only one who knows the way in and out."

The scholar hesitated, but finally asked the next logical question. "In and out of what?"

A sigh. "Beyond the western edge of the hills lies another field like the one in which you were . . ." Shade shrugged and let the last part hang. "In this field is a single structure, a five-walled place with neither doors nor windows."

The curious explorer wanted to ask what purpose was served by such a place, but he suspected that the gray warlock would not care for yet another interruption at this juncture.

"The tome lies within. The gnome has guarded it jealously for . . ." Glittering eyes blinked and Shade seemed to lose track of his present surroundings for a time. At last he shook himself and finished, " . . . for as long as I can recall."

"I know nothing about any book, gnome, or bizarre structure sitting out in the middle of nowhere," Wellen responded in flat tones. He took a step toward his host. "I came here only because I had grown up on legends of such a land. I-"

"Ridiculous." For the warlock, there seemed to be no answer but his own that would satisfy. He cut off yet another attempt by Wellen to explain, then slowly returned to the throne that he had been seated in when the scholar had first awakened. Shade pulled the hood back over his head, all but obscuring the upper half of his visage, and sat down again. His breathing was quick and short.

"We have . . . things to discuss . . . you and I. The book, your . . . being here, and what you are."

"What I am?"

The shadowy spellcaster settled back, seeming to sink into the very rock. "What the lands have made you . . . what sort of power . . . and, more important, what sort of monstrosity . . . hides within you . . . that I do not see."

The tone was cool, almost indifferent, but Wellen read a well-nurtured fear behind it, one the spectral sorcerer had carried for very, very long. It concerned not just his mortality, though that was a part of it, but something more, something at least equally important. He hoped he would not remain with the warlock long enough to find out. Shade was as dangerous to Wellen as the dragon, and the fear within the ancient figure might one day prove too much.

A mad man with great power was a man to be feared.

He dared to respond, not wanting Shade to think that his silence was an acknowledgment of the accuracy of the warlock's dark statement. "I'm no monster. I'm as human as anybody."

At that, the master warlock did laugh, but laugh so that Wellen feared for his existence. Only madness, never humor, tinged the laughter of his host. Bedlam had thought the chuckle dry and unnerving; the laugh made him wish to find a place to bury himself.

From the dark within his hood, the eyes of Shade gleamed. Though the cloaked figure had not moved in the slightest, it was as if he loomed directly over Wellen, so forceful was his presence. "n.o.body is human, anymore!" he informed his anxious guest, the authority in his voice almost making his words believable. "n.o.body on this forsaken world is human anymore, save for me! The lands have changed you all, no matter how you might appear!"

As if punctuating his insane words, a roar echoed throughout the cavern. The scholar looked about, trying to find the source and cursing himself for being impotent against the chaos around him.

The roar was followed by another and then another. WeIlen readily identified their source, the knowledge turning him as pale as ivory. He had heard dragons roar before.

"Pay them no mind," Shade commented in disdain, acting as if he had completely forgotten his outburst. "They often grow lively this time of day. Merely the clan males reaffirming their status with one another."

"Dragons?" Wellen stared wide-eyed at his host. "There are dragons here?" What sort of fool lived among dragons, especially ones like the horror that had killed his men.

"They never come this deep into the caverns. They fear the older magics." This satisfied the warlock, but not the scholar.

"You live beneath dragons?" Visions of the monstrosity in the air made the explorer shake. What if they chose now to start descending into this chamber?

"I live beneath the foremost of the dragon clans," Shade corrected him. Straightening just a bit, the warlock used his hands to indicate the entire cavern. "Welcome to the interior of Kivan Grath, emperor of the vast and treacherous Tyber Mountains!" The eyes glittered again, then faded into the darkness that was so much a part of Shade. "A most appropriate place, I think, for the dwellings of the Dragon Emperor. . . don't you agree?"