Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,137

and who was about to make feud with a clan as huge and deadly as theirs? The rest of the Vraad patently ignored the slap in their faces, pretending it was beneath spellcasters as mighty as themselves.

Despite the supposed neutrality of the city, sorcery was very much in evidence. Brilliant auras clashed with one another, and new and old arrivals paraded about with entourages consisting chiefly of their own creations… beasts that moved as men, living stick figures, myriad sentient lights.

The Vraad themselves were no exceptions. Most of them were tall and beautiful, gods and goddesses come to life. Few of them wore the faces and bodies they had been given at birth. Long, flowing hair was popular now, as were bright chameleon tunics, flowing from one shape and design to another depending on the tastes of those who wore them. Not to be outdone, other Vraad wore suits of mist and light, seeking to both tantalize and distract.

The air crackled with so much pent-up magic. The sky, ever warring of late between shades of bloody crimson and a dark green touching on decay, stirred itself to greater fury this day because of all that power. Outside, the rumbling of yet another tremor to the west gave voice to the earth’s protest at this latest coming of Nimth’s masters. Once, the land had been a rolling field of green grass and the heavens a blue so brilliant even the otherwise indifferent race of sorcerers had often paused to admire it. No more.

“We have finally created a world suitable to our personalities.”

So Dru Zeree felt as he looked from the assembled throng well below his perch to the bitter sky above.

“You think that spectacular, Sil?” someone in the crowd taunted, intensifying the loudness of his voice so that the one the words were intended for could not escape hearing them. “Your skills as well as your tastes have reached new lows!”

The second half of the exchange was lost in a thunderous explosion that was part of no natural phenomenon. Dru waited, but the aftermath he had expected did not occur.

“Not yet,” he whispered to himself.

Nearly seven feet in height and somewhat narrower than his counterparts, Dru was markedly unique among the many spellcasters who strove for that very effect. His narrow face was handsome, true, but not in the beautiful way that most had chosen to sculpt their features. The somber mage had a hawk-like appearance that was complemented by a thin, well-trimmed beard the same dark brown as the rest of his hair. It was, in contrast to the blues, greens, and multihued tresses of the others, his original hair color. A real novelty among the Vraad, save for the Tezerenee, who prided themselves on maintaining their original outward appearances as much as possible.

Dru was a Vraad in the end, however. For this coming, he had added to his hair a streak of silver directly down the center. Simple as it was, it had earned him his share of stares, as had the plain, unmarked gray robe he generally wore. Perhaps, he thought wryly, he would be responsible for starting a trend toward basics… a trend very un-Vraad-like, considering their tendency for excesses.

A black and gold beast fluttered onto his broad shoulder and hissed, “Dekkarrrr. Silestiii. Seeee.”

The Vraad scratched his familiar on the fur beneath its predatory beak. The familiar opened its maw wide in pleasure, revealing an incongruous set of sharp teeth within that beak. Had someone taken a sleek wolf and combined its parts with that of a swift, huge eagle, they would have found themselves confronting something resembling Dru’s familiar. The torso, tail, and upper legs were lupine. The head, though furred, was more avian, and the lower extremities ended in claws capable of tearing apart creatures far bigger and stronger-looking than their owner. The round, amethyst eyes that gazed into his had no pupils. Dru was, in Vraadish fashion, quite proud of his handiwork.

“Where are they exactly, Sirvak?”

“There. There.” The beast pointed its head toward the eastern side of the great courtyard, where most of the newcomers entered.

He saw Dekkar first. Tall but exceedingly wide, a living wall of strength, both sorcerous and physical. Dekkar had a striking visage, though it was made less so by the fact that it was, in many ways, much too much like the faces of those around him. He was clean-shaven and his long, orange/blue hair fell back behind his head like vast tentacles. The expression on the other Vraad’s