Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,426

see much from the sky, but the ground also presented many hiding places and minute clues. The sight of a dragon soaring among the clouds would also give the keeper much more warning.

Sniffing the foul air, Morgis did not wonder that the wolf raider had chosen this sorry path for escape. His power much diminished by the loss of the talisman that had bound him to his god, the lupine Ravager, the sorcerer was fortunate to have any spellwork available to him. Many of the keepers had perished from madness when the Gryphon had helped cut off their link. The few survivors had adapted in whatever way they could, but their resources were meager. Better to lose oneself in a blighted land such as this until some other magical source could be discovered.

They could not allow the sorcerer that time. Even one powerful keeper could mean the deaths of many innocents.

“It’ll be nightfall in an hour,” Leonin pointed out. “And with this overcast we can barely see as it is. Why don’t we stop?”

The avian—who reminded Morgis of the hawklike Seeker race of his own native land—nodded agreement. “Night is falling, falling it is. Better to face the quarry in light.”

“See? Even Awrak agrees.”

Morgis shook his head. “If the two of you can agree on something twice in one day, truly it mussst be a portent.” He gazed ahead, saw in the distance a structure atop a hill. “Perhaps we can find shelter there.”

“Looks abandoned.”

“A likely idea, consssidering our location.”

Leonin tugged on his short beard. “Maybe there’s some treasure left over.”

“We have come in search of the Aramite, not fool’s gold.”

“No harm in looking, looking is no harm,” commented Awrak with a tilt of his head. “We sleep there, anyway, yes?”

Yes, the bird man definitely reminded Morgis more of a Seeker than he did the Gryphon. Awrak was an opportunist just like the former. His people had fought their Aramite conquerors not so much out of a desire to be free, but because they had seen that the rebels already had the upper hand. Under the yoke of the wolf raiders, Awrak’s kind had supposedly not suffered as much as most.

He had not wanted to be saddled with any companions, but the Master Guardians, the only true form of leadership in the freed lands, had insisted. Leonin, for all his sniffling, was a skilled swordsman, while Awrak’s kind were immune to the magical mind tricks this keeper might still be able to use, something the drake could not claim. In fact, it was supposedly because Morgis had been magically distracted that the Aramite had managed his desperate flight out of the city of Luperion.

Everyone, from the simple forest dwellers to the Master Guardians, had come to depend upon him for so much after the Gryphon’s departure that this failure ate at Morgis. He had led armies, seized cities, freed realms. Several times his father had sent missives demanding his return, but Morgis had ignored them. He had no desire to become a Dragon King, no matter the power his father wielded. The drakes were losing their control over that part of the world. Here… here he could carve out a new destiny for himself.

Here he could avoid certain matters.

The keeper could not be far ahead of them and, in truth, even Morgis felt fatigued. Besides, something about this land made him uneasy. Better to traverse it in what laughingly passed for day than to go wandering into some Aramite trap in the dark.

It was nearly night by the time they reached the old building, a once-formidable keep. Judging by what little he could see, the drake guessed that it even preceded the wolf raiders’ empire. A good portion of it had collapsed, but the central building was in surprisingly excellent shape, even with an intact stairway.

The main chamber was clearly empty, but two closed doors at the rear piqued the curiosity of the newcomers. While Awrak and Leonin went to check the one on the right, Morgis investigated the other.

Sword in one hand and torch in the other, the drake kicked open the half-rotted door. A new gust of decay enveloped him. Hissing, Morgis strode in, ready for an ambush.

He found no wolf raiders, but an unsettling sight on the floor set every nerve taut.

Splatters of dried blood decorated the center of the floor, almost as if someone had just died there. Sniffing, Morgis noticed the blood was still fresh enough to have a scent. The battle had been a