Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,447

made in the keeper’s helmet—and skull. Despite the fact that part of the skin around the face had already been expertly peeled back, Morgis could still make out the Aramite’s expression, a combination of arrogance and confusion. D’Kairn had never quite realized he was dying, the victim of a thing of sorcery even darker than his own.

The creature had missed a chance by not taking the drake immediately after, but Morgis had already determined that its judgment was based on its ancient vanities and its desire for the perfection of its skins. Trying to slay Morgis on the harsh landscape would have not only ruined D’Kairn’s hide—clearly also a favorite—but risked damaging the dragon’s.

You should have listened, keeper! If you’d turned a moment sooner, you could have used that foul trinket of yours and maybe saved us both! Of course, then D’Kairn would have killed him.

Thinking of the Aramite’s stone, Morgis quickly searched the body. At first he could not find the amulet, but then realized it was buried under the head. He seized the chain—

Instinct made him move his head just before the razor tip of a blade would have caught him at the base of the neck. Instead, the monstrous appendage buried itself in the dead keeper’s throat.

“More cuts! More damage!” The black horror howled at him. “No more!”

Morgis moved too slow. Another blade sank into his dislocated shoulder. He screamed as the creature lifted him up by the wound.

The macabre faced filled his view.

“A cloak… a small covering… that’s all that’s needed,” it babbled gleefully. “Still a very, very precious skin! I will walk well with it, walk long with it!” It chortled. “I may even fly with it!”

As it had done with Kalena, the monster would take on the properties of the one whose identity it had stolen, make use of their abilities. Whether it could actually do what Morgis could not do—revert to a true dragon form—he could not say, but that would hardly matter to the drake once he was dead.

The blades drew nearer.

“Must be careful…” it murmured clinically, eyeing his head. “Must be precise, always precise…”

Morgis swung his good arm up, shoving D’Kairn’s stone into the unholy face.

Nothing happened.

His grotesque captor laughed at his antics and one pointed blade went up to brush aside the hand obscuring its view.

Dropping the amulet, Morgis quickly seized the appendage, twisted it around, and, with a force no human could muster—shoved it into the monster’s throat.

A gagging hiss escaped the creature as it struggled to remove the limb. Thick, dark red ichor escaped from the edges of the wound.

It convulsed. Morgis suddenly found himself slipping free without any hope of grabbing some other support.

The stone had only been a decoy. He had understood just enough of the Aramite’s sorcery to know he would not be able to figure out how to use the talisman in time. However, it had drawn the creature’s attention and elicited the overconfident reaction he had needed.

And there and then Morgis had used the only weapon he suspected could readily pierce the hard hide of the monster—the thing’s own bladelike appendages.

He hit the floor hard and was at first unable to move. Fortunately, surprise and his inhuman strength had enabled him to shove the appendage in so deep that a good portion of it also thrust out of the back of the neck, leaving him the least of the creature’s concerns.

A slight gleam shook him from his stupor. He blinked. The keeper’s stone. Morgis seized it—only to have it break into several pieces. The drop had cracked it open, ruining it. Worse, despite its destruction, the drake could still sense that D’Kairn’s treacherous spell remained intact.

A hacking sound reminded him that his ability to transform would be a nil point if he did not move fast. Morgis dragged himself forward, expecting each moment to be skewered.

He reached the area of the mirrors and glanced in one. Behind him he saw the monster—now turned away from him—still struggling, the floor around it covered with its foul fluids. The remaining limbs sought to pull the one free and looked to be finally managing some success.

Knowing he could not allow that, Morgis pushed himself up. He braced himself as best he could, watched the creature’s back—and then leapt.

Weakness made his jump less than what he had hoped, but momentum was on his side. With a mass almost twice that of most beings his size, the drake struck the hellish beast.

They fell forward.

The skin walker hit the