Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,427

recent one, anywhere from a week or two to even the previous night.

“Where are you, keeper?” he muttered to the air. Had he found the Aramite’s most recent lair? Some of the other sorcerers’ attempts to regain what they had lost had to do with sacrifices, both animal and otherwise.

A raucous noise above made Morgis look up. Something dropped to the floor just before his face.

The blood-soaked leg of a large rat.

Two cat-sized carrion crows perched atop the rafters, ripping apart the unlucky rodent. A bit of fur wafted its way to the floor, following by a couple of crimson drops.

Sheathing his weapon, the drake grimaced. All he had found was the birds’ feeding place. A life of war had made him almost miss the obvious. He was thankful neither of his companions had seen his reaction. Awrak and Leonin would not have let him hear the end of it.

“The great warrior,” Morgis hissed. “The great fool.”

The Gryphon would have made no such mistake. The Gryphon would have immediately recognized the situation for what it was, not what he expected it to be.

Small wonder that she had fallen for him so completely. How could a monstrous, scaled creature such as himself compare with the ultimate champion?

Retreating from the room, the reptilian knight sought out the rest of his party. To his dismay, however, they were not where they were suppose to be.

With a snarl, Morgis drew his blade again, then stepped to the center of the main chamber. “Leonin! Awrak!”

His shout echoed throughout the keep. He almost called out again, when suddenly he heard movement above and caught a glimpse of torchlight.

Awrak stood atop the stairway, his curved sword ready. From such a view, Morgis could make out the avian’s backward-bending legs and taloned feet, yet another similarity to the Gryphon or the Seekers.

“Will bring down the roof, dragon, the roof you will bring down.”

“What are you doing up there? Isss Leonin there, too?”

The slim form of his other comrade materialized next to the bird man. “No need to shout, Morgis. We and every critter for miles around can hear your booming voice.”

“If you were where you were meant to be, I would not have to shout out your namesss!” He glared at the duo. “Find your treasssure?”

The human’s sour expression gave Morgis some satisfaction. “Just a dress cabinet too big for us to drag along. Nothin’ in it.”

“Then come and help ssset up camp. Can I trussst you pair to deal with the horsesss while I gather wood?”

Leonin nodded. Satisfied, the drake sheathed his sword once more and went outside. He hooked the torch into a hole in the outside wall, then started rummaging around the overgrown foliage nearby.

Whatever else one could say for this misbegotten land, it certainly offered up enough firewood. All Morgis had to do was walk along, tearing off branch after branch. All the trees near the keep had died, some of them long, long ago. After only a few minutes, he had an armful, nearly enough for the entire night.

But as he reached for another branch, something amidst the foliage caught his eye. Squinting in the dark, Morgis thought he made out a rather large shape. It almost looked like—

Then a gasp from further down the hilly path made him forget all about wood and sinister shapes. Morgis threw the firewood aside and peered in the direction of the sound.

A cloaked form ducked into the woods nearby.

Weapon unsheathed, the drake darted to where he had last seen the figure. He found no sign at first, but then the rustling of leaves and branches to the west alerted him. Again he noted the dark outline of someone in a travel cloak.

“Halt! Ssstop where you are!”

The figure hesitated, then hurried on. Slashing his way through the woods, Morgis gave pursuit. The dry limbs readily fell to his massive blade while ahead of him the figure seemed caught by every twig. Nearer and nearer Morgis drew.

As another gasp escaped his quarry, he realized that he pursued a female. She stood as tall as a human, but moved more lithely even despite being slowed constantly by the trees.

But then Morgis had troubles of his own. Catching his foot on an exposed root, the drake found himself falling forward, his blade flying from his grip. He struck the harsh ground with a grunt.

Rather than make use of his blunder, the figure hesitated again. To Morgis’s surprise, she turned back, slowly making her way to him.

Distrustful of this change of