Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,437

to bite down to avoid shouting out.

Only with strenuous effort was he at last able to attempt to rise and even then the drake had to shut his eyes and grimace as he moved. He put his good hand down in order to brace himself, then managed to reach a sitting position.

At that point, he saw the skeletons.

The darkness could not hide what they were, nor the fact that there were many of them. They lay scattered, in different stages of decay, but most were old, picked clean long ago by the carrion crows.

But amongst them lay two large forms not yet bereft of their flesh if already missing the skin that covered them.

Kalena’s ill-fated partners.

The Gnor was recognizable by his girth, if nothing else. The man by his general shape and skull. The sight of them, even in the dimness of night, was nearly enough to make the drake, who had seen many horrid things, throw up in disgust. Not a stitch of clothes remained on the human and not an inch of skin had been left on either. From head to toe, everything had been perfectly removed, almost like a peeled fruit.

Curiously, they did not stink. Morgis dared inhale harder, but only caught a slight hint of some musky scent. Only magic could have managed such a feat. Apparently D’Kairn did not like his sensibilities offended while he performed his monstrous spells.

And that thought brought him back around to Kalena and Leonin.

Hissing quietly, Morgis looked around for a blade. He could not find his own, but by the Aramite’s body he located a dagger. Less than he had hoped but more than he had expected.

Pausing to gaze at the sprawled form, Morgis pondered the raider’s manic shout. The desperate tone in the man’s voice puzzled him. The drake had a reputation that preceded him—As D’Kairn had revealed—but in a land that produced such creatures as the Gnor, certainly Morgis was no more a monster than the Aramites’ own hideous god.

Then again, the wolf raiders had never been known for their respect for any nonhuman race.

Testing his shoulder again, Morgis determined that it was not actually broken, but rather dislocated. With effort, he could clutch things or even raise it some, but not much more. Given time, he could remedy the situation, but for now he would have to get along with only the left limb. Even with one arm, Morgis was a match for any Aramite save the keeper and if he could catch D’Kairn by surprise…

Slowly he wended his way around the ancient structure. Foliage snagged him and his footing often gave way. More than one quiet curse escaped Morgis as his frustration mounted. Each moment of delay meant the possibility of his friends falling back into the keeper diabolical hands.

As he came around the front of the building, Morgis noted the lack of torchlight outside. Had the wolf raiders returned to the keep? If so, it made the drake’s task that much harder. Out in the dark, the advantage became his.

Clutching the dagger, he approached the entrance. Lights flickered from inside, but whether they were from the Aramites’ torches or the fire already set by Leonin, Morgis could not say.

In answer to his question, two armored figures suddenly stepped out, each brandishing a torch and sword. Although he could not see their faces, he could sense the anxiety in their movements.

“Nothing…” growled one with the voice of Captain D’Falc. “Back inside! Quick!”

That even the veteran officer acted nervous intrigued Morgis. Gaze still upon the entrance, the drake shifted to the right, trying to catch some glimpse of the interior.

Instead, he found another body.

Awrak’s.

The bird man stared sightlessly up at the black heavens, his beak seemingly open in protest. His throat had been slashed open and another deep, dark ravine had been dug in his chest, dried blood still matting the feathers there. From what Morgis could make out of the angle of the body, the Syrryn had been tossed aside like an old, abused rag doll after his use to D’Kairn had been at an end.

Sharp teeth bared in growing anger, Morgis searched for the Syrryn’s weapon, but could not find it. Closing Awrak’s eyes, Morgis continued his slow but steady advance. He got within a few yards of the entrance, only to see that one nervous Aramite guarded it cautiously from within. Even if Morgis managed to slay the sentry, it would alert the rest of those inside.

From within he heard voices.

Keeper D’Kairn was in