Wellen neither agreed nor disagreed with the warlock. He could only stand, stare, and once more curse the silver streak in his hair that should have promised so much but instead only mocked his continual helplessness.

Chapter Six.

Amidst the clutter, the gnome worked feverishly. Tables and shelves filled the tiny room that he had set aside for his research and upon each table and shelf were notes, discarded experiments, and miscellaneous artifacts that he had either created or located over the years. Once every hundred years or so, he cleared everything away in order to make room for more.

At the moment, the gnarled spellcaster was completing his notes. The feather pen, animated by his abilities, danced about the sheet of paper, scribbling down its master's every notion as he thought it. When that sheet was filled, the pen would lift and the paper would fly off to join those which had preceded it. The pile was already several dozen sheets high. A new piece landed below the quill, which dropped down and hurriedly resumed its momentous task. Even as swift as it was, the pen had to work hard to keep pace with the gnome's thoughts.

Time, be it measured in hours or days, meant nothing to him when he worked. He had long diverged from his original course, that being the possible explanation for the weak a.s.sault by the potentially deadly night creature controlled by the Lords of the Dead. When he had thought about that particular situation at all .. . and that had been rare. . . the gnome had decided that the attack was a ploy and that his adversaries had hooked a more subtle spell to his person. Locating it had been child's play. In the end, the short mage had chosen to leave it attached; while they watched him, he watched them. Besides, they now only saw what he permitted them to see.

The gnome had been at this game much too long to be taken in by a trick such as this. Once again, he marveled at his own brilliance.

"End," he abruptly informed the pen. It straightened, shifted to one side of the sheet it had been writing on, and laid down. He stretched out a hand toward the pile of papers, which leaped to him. With his free hand, he indicated an uncluttered spot on the table.

A book materialized on that spot. It was green, or perhaps red, or perhaps any of a number of colors, depending on how one looked at it. On the front was a stylized dragon.

Placing the sheets to the right of the tome, the wizened figure took hold of the book and carefully turned the cover over.

The front page was blank. Taking the first sheet of notes in one hand and the quill in the other, the gnome began to write. This part he always did by hand, for this would be the final version of his research, and because of that he liked to savor each and every word.

So used to this task, he finished the first page in only a little more than a minute. He pulled the pen back and allowed the page to turn itself.

A tug in his mind warned him that someone had activated the watcher spell planted during the attack. The gnome carelessly released a spell of his own, one which would give the faraway observers something to interest them. This time it would be him in the midst of some suitably brilliant experiment. Of course, if they tried to follow his work, their own experiment would somehow go awry. He doubted they would watch for that long, however. They were only concerned with books.

Finished with the second page, he began work on the third. The thrill of his own brilliant discoveries urged him on and on with his writing. That suited him just fine.

After all, he had an entire book to fill.

They stood atop the peak of one of the Tyber Mountains, Shade observing the land below and beyond and Wellen observing that he was going to freeze to death if he did not stumble to it first. The two of them were here, apparently, because the master warlock simply liked the view.

A day had pa.s.sed since Wellen had first woken in the cavern. The spellcaster had taken him to this place once before, shortly after his talk of how all those around him were monsters in disguise. He had still not yet explained that insane statement, nor had he "decided" about Wellen himself, who was supposed to be just as monstrous as the rest of humanity. The scholar chose not to bring up the subject, fearing it would only be detrimental to his own chances. There was so much he already dared not bring up. Shade was nothing if not mercurial; he brought up and dropped subjects as rapidly as he breathed.

"Here is your kingdom, Father," the shadowy figure whispered.

Wellen had already learned to pretend to ignore these various comments that his host muttered. Shade lived half in another world and time. He talked of and to a vast panorama of folk, many of them apparently related to him. The scholar had already counted five certain brothers and two more likely candidates. None of the names were familiar to him save Dru, which he believed must be the basis for Lord Drazeree, and another that sounded like Sharissa, the legendary lord's daughter.

If it were not all simply a case of madness, then the cloth- enshrouded figure beside him was many, many millennia old.

Shade turned from his musings and observed his hapless companion. "You should clothe yourself better."

"I told you that I have no power of my own!" Wellen had long gone beyond the point of civility where this question was concerned. Try as he might, he could not convince the other that the silver streak was only a mistake, not a sign of greatness.

"Very well, if you insist." Without so much as a negligible wave of a hand, Shade clothed Wellen in a furred cloak with hood. "Thank you," Bedlam replied, his voice on edge. The warlock missed his sarcasm. "Not at all."

"Are we through here?"

"A moment more."

Knowing protest was futile, Wellen tried to occupy his thoughts. He had been awash with relief when he had been told they would be leaving the caverns, not to mention the drakes who lived above, but that relief had died quickly when the scholar had learned where the two of them were headed. Worse yet, Wellen, who had never experienced teleportation, nearly lost his meal upon arrival. It was not the trip itself, which had been so swift that he had missed it by blinking, but rather the abruptness. To find himself going from the depths of a cavern to the precarious heights of a mountain peak had nearly been too much. He was disgusted with his weaknesses.

Despite having dropped the subject, it was obvious Shade still believed that he was here to obtain the mysterious dragon tome. All of Wellen's protests had gone unheeded. He knew that he could have opened his mind to the warlock, but to Bedlam his mind was the only private place he had left, and the sanct.i.ty of that was not something he was ready to give up. Besides, the warlock would have likely claimed his thoughts all false, the product of a clever spellcaster like himself.

So far, he did not know why his companion wanted the tome, but Wellen was beginning to suspect it had to do with the pale warlock's incredible age, since that seemed the one topic Shade continued to recall. What part the book played was still a question whose answer or, quite possibly, answers, evaded the scholar.

"Do you hear them?"

Wellen could hear nothing but the wind howling.

"They'll not see us, of course, not unless I will it. My power is forever beyond them now that they've changed. I reestablished the link to Nimth, only this time no one noticed it because I was so much more careful." Shade had mentioned the place called Nimth before, but always talked of it as if it existed elsewhere. Several scholars and spellcasters had begun to debate about worlds beyond this one and the emptiness termed the Void. The latter was a realm of nothingness which those who used certain types of teleportation pa.s.sed through before arriving at their destinations.

While much of what Shade said had little bearing on what Wellen knew or understood, there were always a few tidbits that made the younger man pay fairly close attention. One was the status of the legendary Dragonrealm. Wellen had been horrified to discover that the old saying was more than true. Not only were there dragons here, but many of them were intelligent, such as the one that had devastated the column and the many who lived in the upper caverns of Kivan Grath. Worse yet . . . they ruled the entire continent!

"We have spent enough time here," the gray warlock suddenly announced.

Wellen let out a gasp. The two of them were now standing on a small hill overlooking a town of some sort. The shaking scholar was surprised to see people in the distance, apparently unconcerned about the fact that they lived in a land ruled by monsters.

"Mito Pica."

He glanced at the warlock. "What?"

"Mito Pica." Shade indicated the village. "It will be a grand and glorious city in another century or two. Much traffic flows through it."

"How can they hope to build anything with the dragons loose?" Despite his question, Wellen Bedlam could already see that the village was thriving. There was new construction going on in the western portion of the village.

"The Baron of Mito Pica obeys the edicts of the ruling Dragon King. His people perform the tasks that come down from the ruling drakes. In return, they are left in peace."

"They . . . they deal with those beasts?" Throwing off the warm cloak given to him by Shade, Wellen took a few steps forward in order to better view the village. Sycophants! An entire community of them! Dealing with murderous monsters that- A restraining hand caught his shoulder. Wellen discovered two things. The first was that, in his anger, he had started down toward Mito Pica. The second was that the warlock was not only a being of great magical power, but also great physical strength.

"It would not do to go wandering down there. Not for our needs. As to your question, they deal with the dragons because doing so allows them to live and flourish. The Dragon King's folk have become dependent on many services performed by the . . . the humans." Shade seemed reluctant to actually use the word human to describe his fellows, but apparently had come upon no other word that satisfied him.

"What could they want that humans have?" Besides the flesh on their bones, Wellen added bitterly.

Shade shook his hooded head and looked down at the scholar as a disappointed schoolmaster might at student who has not lived up to his potential. "The drakes are not mere beasts. They are thinking creatures. Despite their savage nature . . . " Here the warlock paused, seeming to drift off. "Yessss . . . their nature has always been rather savage."

Wellen was already thinking of his brief contact with the mind of the attacking dragon, an act he still had no satisfactory explanation for. In retrospect, he could recall the complex workings of that mind.

"The humans tend their food herds," Shade continued, not, evidently, noticing his own lapse. "They act as trade emissaries between the various clans because two drakes of opposing groups tend to become combative after a time. Humans are beneath them, but the Dragon Kings know their skills at trade. There are many other ways that the human race has proven itself worthy of survival. The population has grown continuously because of that." The warlock shook his voluminous cloak, as if trying to rid himself of something not to his taste. "Not bad, considering how few survived the original chaos."

Forcing himself not to ask about the last statement, which he knew that Shade would not explain anyway, Wellen decided to deal with his own immediate future. "And we have some reason for coming here now?"

"We do, but our route will be quicker and more subtle." Wellen barely had time to prepare himself before they teleported again.

This time, he found himself in, of all places, a smithy. The smithy, actually a barn, was filled with all sorts of metal creations, including a few that he could not identify. To Wellen's right, an open doorway taunted him with false promises of escape. Ahead, a heavy, muscular man, nearly bald, was hard at work on something that his back hid from the sight of the scholar.

"Master Bearn."

The smith seemed not at all startled by the voice. With great deliberation, he put aside what he was working on and turned to face the twosome.

"Master Gerrod. Good to see you, sir."

Wellen made note of the educated tones of the smith, but his interest focused more on the name Shade had given himself. He debated whether or not Gerrod might be the warlock's true t.i.tle, then decided that the cloth-enshrouded spellcaster would hardly have utilized it. Shade had probably chosen the name at random, not because it had any meaning.

Bearn seemed not to notice the scholar, which was fine with Wellen.

The warlock's visage was shadowed by his hood, but his voice hinted at his anxiousness when he asked, "And have you completed my task?"

In response to the question, Master Bearn seemed to shrink. He now appeared only slightly overwhelming. His tone was bitter. "I have not. In the year since last, I have made many breakthroughs, but none worthy of your project." Bearn spread his hands, "If you should choose to go to another, I would understand."

"You are the most suited for the task, Master Bearn, as your father and grandfather were before you. Each of you has presented me with discoveries which, while not of use for that which I have described, have proved worthy in other ways." The almost soothing voice of the warlock surprised Wellen, who had not expected to find so much humanity still remaining in the shrouded figure.

"Here." A pouch materialized in one of the smith's empty hands. The smith gripped it, causing the pouch's contents to jingle. "Until next year, Master Bearn."

"I have not earned it-"

For a brief breath, the crystalline eyes burst through the darkness caused by the overshadowing hood and glowed with an inner fire that, even after millennia, had evidently not been extinguished. "When you or your descendents have completed my commission, smith, it will be worth all the money your family has been paid . . . and more!"

Bearn went down on one knee and thanked the warlock. Shade gripped Wellen's shoulder. "Come."

As simple as that, they stood on a rocky hillside. Wellen started to look around, then gasped and covered his eyes when the glittering brilliance almost blinded him.

"The peninsula . . . can be quite bright when the sun is sinking," Shade informed him. The warlock pressed something into the scholar's hand. "Put this on. It goes. .. over your eyes."

Wellen cautiously looked down at the object. It was a pair of transparent lenses attached to some sort of frame. A notch in the center seemed to indicate it should rest on his nose. After a few tries, he got the artifact to fit, if not comfortably.

He looked up. . . and was dazzled.

Even with the protective lenses on, the landscape still sparkled. He had seen crystalline deposits before and so he knew what was causing the magnificent glitter, but the sheer immensity of this place . . .

"It's . . . it's . . . "

Beside him, Shade nodded. "It is. That is why he and they have chosen this place."

Wellen was suddenly wary again. He'? 'They'?"

The cloth-enshrouded figure pulled his voluminous cloak tighter. "The first you have no need to be concerned about. He never interferes. He has no interest. As for the latter . . . they are here now."

And the earth at Bedlam's feet erupted.

They burrowed free of the rocky soil, two monstrosities that overwhelmed both men in size. Their clawed hands were good for both digging and grasping. They had dusky brown sh.e.l.ls that covered most of their bodies, and their heads were long and ended in a peculiar, tapering mouth. Even with the lenses on, he could see that they, like their land, glittered.

One of the creatures hooted. It was a long, baleful sound that made Wellen's heart flutter. At the same time, however, the scholar in him was fascinated by these incredible creatures. Interest and reason, the latter reminding him that he had no chance of escape anyway, kept him riveted where he was.

"He is with me," the warlock informed the beast who had sounded.

The second horror also hooted, albeit at a higher pitch. Though the sounds meant nothing to WeIlen, other than that both creatures appeared disturbed, the ancient spellcaster evidently understood them perfectly.

"Not yet. You have not completed your end of the bargain. Have you found it? Is there one?"

The two armored figures eyed one another, seeming to confer. . . and then one dared to reach out and try to snare Wellen.

Its speed was so unbelievable for so bulky a beast that the scholar, on his own, would have moved much too slowly. Even as the huge, taloned hand closed on his shirt, however, he found himself standing several feet behind Shade, who now was positioned directly between his mortal companion and the earth dwellers.

Shade reached out and touched the would-be attacker with only the tip of his gloved index finger.

It squealed and began folding into itself. The other one, sensing that they had overstepped their bounds, backed away and sounded a similar squeal. The warlock paid the second no mind, but watched the first. Wellen, daring to step closer, could not help but watch also.

Like the armadillo it so closely resembled, the monster folded itself into its sh.e.l.l. Yet, the change did not stop there. Rolled tight into a ball, the hapless monstrosity squealed what was obviously a frantic plea to forgive its transgression. Shade simply folded his arms. As the other watched, the rolled-up form stiffened, grew more indistinct. Wellen noted that the monster looked more and more almost like a . . . like a rock.

That was what it was. The image was no longer indistinct. Where once the mighty beast had been was now a large, quite real, boulder.

A short, dry chuckle escaped the warlock. "Not much of a change in personality when you think of it."

The survivor fell to its knees.

"Get up," the spectral figure commanded. Wellen saw a different Shade now. The warlock had multiple personalities, likely developed from his eternity of near isolation.

The armored monster obeyed.

"You have to watch the Quel," Shade informed his companion offhandedly. "They have vile tempers." To the sole remaining Quel, he said, "Your companion will return to normal in two days, long enough for him to contemplate the foolishness of his actions. We have a bargain. Just because you have been unable to fulfill it so far is no reason to demand things from me! If you no longer wish to deal with me, you can always deal with him!"

The plaintive hoot the kneeling Quel emitted left no question as to the beast's opinion on the last suggestion. Whoever it was that Shade spoke of, the Quel feared almost as much and hated more.

"I thought not. I shall return next year then, as agreed. Perhaps your successors will be more fortunate."

The finality in Shade's tone was signal enough to the lone Quel that its presence was no longer required. It cast one disturbed glance at its ensorcelled companion, then dug its claw into the hard earth below.

With a speed and skill that would have been the envy of many animals, the creature burrowed into the ground. In only a few breaths it had vanished below the surface. In only a few more, there was barely even a sign that it had ever been there. Only a small mound of unsettled dirt. The Quel evidently filled in its tunnel behind it as it burrowed. Wellen wondered about its lung capacity.

"Nothing," Shade whispered to himself, "but the pieces will slowly gather." He did not bother to clarify for his companion. "Perhaps in another century the preparations for this spell will be ready . . . "

Wellen, carefully silent, shivered then, but not because of anything the warlock had said or done. The shivering came on its own and, while it existed for only a brief time, its reappearance made him stiffen, for the sensation was akin to those he had felt just prior to his experiences with both the Seeker and the dragon. He shifted his position as he tried to calm down.

The warlock, sensing something was amiss, whirled around. "I had almost forgotten." He began to revert to the dark, dreaming persona that Wellen had met first. "It is time to talk again . . .

"Time to speak of lives and how they change . . . or perhaps how they are changed literally," Shade added, now sitting once more upon the throne in the cavern.

Spitting out a very unscholarly epithet, Wellen tried to orient himself again. He only barely heard the shadowy figure's words. The constant shifting from one location to another was wreaking mental havoc on him. He did not know if he simply hated the teleporting or the fact that he always found himself so helpless. Dragons and spellcasters; what chance did he have? Despite the 'drake clans above, Wellen hoped that he and Shade would remain in this location for awhile; at least until he ceased feeling like a leaf caught in a whirlwind.

As if purposely choosing a moment when Wellen was most open to attack, the sensation of impending danger struck him again. This time, it lasted longer than a few seconds. Like the last occurrence, however, it eventually did pa.s.s, again leaving no reason for its existence. Was it merely because he was a captive of the warlock? Was it possible that he was just imagining the sensation?

That will make two madmen, the bitter warrior silently cursed.