Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,446

could do the least damage to the skin it so coveted.

Her reaction to the mirrors had but verified his suspicions, not that the knowledge did him any good now. Trapped, unable to transform, he had as good as given himself up to be flayed.

Like lightning bolts, the dark blades flashed back and forth. Below them, a pair of oddly-feminine human hands opened and closed eagerly. The monster would have had him already if not for the mirrors. It did not want to break the mirrors. It lived for gazing into them once it wore one of its stolen hides. Morgis watched as it moved gingerly past one, going out of its way when it could have tried to reach him.

More and more it resembled some upright combination of a skeletal arachnid and praying mantis, but with hints of human still in it. That it had probably once been human or of some similar race did not surprise him, not with the vanity it radiated.

He stumbled over something on the floor, nearly losing his footing. Immediately, one of the blades darted out to take his head, perhaps even pierce his skull and brain so as to minimize the damage to the skin. The drake barely deflected the attack as he fought to right himself. He crashed against one of the cabinets, which brought a furious keening from the demonic figure.

Smiling grimly, Morgis twisted around and brought the flames to the wooden piece.

The fire eagerly devoured the antique cabinet. The fragmenting visage of Kalena contorted further and the keening became a wail.

“My skins! My beautiful, wonderful skins!”

Almost unmindful of its prey, the creature moved toward the cabinet. Morgis leapt to the side, letting it focus on the piece. He glanced at the entrance, wondering if he could make it before the monster noticed.

But as he moved, another swordlike appendage shot to the side, almost skewering the drake. Morgis ducked back, trapped in the far portion of the secret chamber.

Kalena’s mouth widened, widened further… then ripped apart. An ebony skull with strands of gray hair still attached to the scalp materialized as the burnt tatters fell away. The mouth opened to impossible dimensions.

A gray, viscous substance spewed from the mouth, washing over the burning cabinet. Wherever it touched, the thick liquid instantly doused the fire. A heavy, musky smell arose.

With rising fury, the monster whirled on the drake.

He did the only thing he could think of, setting another cabinet afire, then doing the same to a third. As the scuttling horror moved to douse them, he tried once more to reach freedom, only to be cut off by a pair of lethal limbs, one of which slashed at the arm that held the torch.

The torch fell, rolling away but causing scant damage on the stone floor. Morgis hissed. Evidently his monstrous foe had reached the point where it considered a little damage to his scaled hide a necessity.

“Nasty dragon!” it hissed in turn, the second closet already covered in the gray, preserving soup it likely also used to keep the skins fresh longer. “The wolf soldiers, they made it so hard for so long to gather good skins, always marching past and scaring off others, but when they stopped coming, others returned! So large and joyous my collection became! So much better than the dresses I once kept, the faces I once wore when mine grew old!” The eyes, which had become black pits, again studied Morgis covetously. “But you’ll make up for it, yes, you will…”

Morgis rolled away again as the blades came down. One caught his injured shoulder, making him cry out. Again, the only thing that saved him was the creature’s desire not to damage its surroundings. This was the one place it could not attack to its full potential.

Which did Morgis little good otherwise. Sooner or later, unless he escaped, the thing would corner him—and if he did escape it would have an even easier time of hunting him down outside.

Somehow he had to destroy it here.

As it moved in on him again, the drake snagged one of the elaborate mirrors and twisted the piece so that it faced its monstrous owner. The skeletal creature gasped and backed up. As Morgis had guessed, it cared little for its own horrible reflection.

He tried to take advantage of the distraction, but pain made him instead stumble to the side—where his feet became tangled in the limp form of the late, unlamented D’Kairn.

A single sharp hole half an inch wide had been