Somewhere in Dragonwall's Wilderness

Kane watched sets of jagged peaks slide by beneath him, so sharp they would skewer any man unlucky enough to topple upon them. The air was thin, the kind that required deep breathing but never really filled you. He stretched his lungs wide. Wrath's wings labored beneath his weight, flapping powerfully before extending his pinions to catch the wind. The dragon was unused to baggage and told him so very scornfully.

They flew to a set of caves carefully chosen from his prized map. Today, his dark blue Dragon Stone was going to a new home, a safe home. He reached beneath his cloak to stroke its glassy surface. It responded to his touch, radiating scalding heat, feeding from his energy, swallowing up all that he gave it. His greed, his desires, his malice.

"See it there?" He pointed as he spoke to Wrath, even though the dragon could not see his outstretched hand. "The cave's opening is ahead. Set me at the mouth." Wrath begrudgingly agreed. Like the Sprites, the Asarlaí possessed a unique ability, well, they possessed many unique abilities, but this one allowed them to communicate with dragons if they wanted. Of course the dragons had to be equally compliant, for it was a reciprocal situation. One could not hear a dragon's thoughts if the dragon did not intend for it.

Wrath landed. He slid down the dragon's scaly hide and set out to explore the depths of the mountain. It was a dark place in many ways, with bats that liked eating man-flesh, and red colored blood spiders larger than his hand. On his way out, he would ensnare a few for his experiments.

Moving carefully, he made his way to the lowest part of the cavern. There was a lake, perfect for concealing a small stone like the one he carried. He set about the magical wards that would deter curious eyes from coming near the body of water. Thrice he walked the lake's perimeter muttering incantations. He walked until he felt the invisible strands of his magic take form. Wards were useful forms of magic. Unless a person knew the Stone was there and was intent on finding it, the wards would send explorers away, tricking their mind and rewriting their curiosity until they suddenly found themselves very far from where they had originally intended.

He did the same to the Stone. Fish in dark places were often hungry enough to eat stones. He put wards around himself too, because getting eaten would not be pleasant. Then he swam out into the lake, diving deep, deep, deeper, until he reached the bottom. There he placed the Stone upon a rocky surface. With his mind, he commanded it to stay put, and it would, for magical objects listened to him when he commanded them.

The flight back to Shadowkeep was longer than he wished. Wrath was heavier now, carrying cages he had conjured to house some of the unique beasties from the cave. The spiders would give him potent venom for poisons, but it was the bats that most excited him. Oh yes, they would come in handy. He could allow them to multiply and grow with magic until they were giant winged creatures. They would make great weapons in the war to come. How sweet it would be to see one gobble up the king's soldiers whole. He bared his teeth in a strained smile—if you could call it that.

Since King Talon's interference with his Nasks, his mood was foul at best, and today was no exception. Even though one Stone was successfully hidden, even though he carried dangerous critters that would be ever so fun to use against his enemies, even though he should have been happy for the destruction to come, his mind writhed with hatred and anger.

When he'd begun his efforts, the idea of ruling ensnared him. How powerful, how formidable he could be. With control of the kingdom, he would send humans of non-magical blood through the gates and fulfill the destiny his forefathers intended. The desire imprinted itself upon his heart, rooting deep within. But now, something sounded remarkably more alluring: punishment, revenge, and pain.

Had it been any other king, he might have let the matter rest, he might have carried out his initial plans with no deviation. But this was not any king. This was King Talon. He hated King Talon—hated him fiercely—why was that?

Was it because Talon had interfered? No, any king would have done the same—any king would punish traitors. He looked down at the spires below, now flying by at great haste. Why King Talon? Why was he repulsed merely thinking about him?

King Talon was not especially liked by his subjects, not the way some kings were. Yet neither was he disliked. Dreaded, certainly. His subjects whispered monstrous stories about his scarred face that twisted into their own horrors. Talon was respected, to be sure, by those old and wise enough to know some of his deeds.

So why, then? He dug deep into his being before dragging forth the true reason. The blackened monster that was his soul loathed to relinquish the thought. The true reason he hated Talon, the true reason he wanted to see him suffer, was fear. He feared Talon. This king, unlike many kings before him, was capable of much more than he imagined; that scared him, it angered him, it even mortified him. How dare any, be it the highest mage or the lowest serf, be greater than he?

Shadowkeep loomed into view, placating some of his worry. How foreboding this fortress was! Wrath's dragons flitted and fluttered around the mountainous hold. He watched them as he approached. The dragons were almost beautiful. Almost. It was no wonder the Five were eager to create them. If only they had taken the time to read their futures. If only....

The sun was sinking towards the horizon when he made his way to the dark caverns beneath Shadowkeep. Along the way he deposited his prizes, placing the spiders in their cages within his room of horrors. This room was the antechamber to a more harrowing one, stocked with bottles of strange liquids and vials of dangerous contents. Strychnine, hemlock, curare, arsenic, and nightshade were mild compared to some of his own creations. Yet they were all there, a bit of every poison within Dragonwall, housed within Agony's Library, innocently posed upon their shelves waiting to inflict screams. Yes, this was his most prized achievement, a lifetime of work capable of inflicting the worst migraines, the ugliest coughs, the hottest fevers, and the most painful deaths. He shut the door, bidding the spiders goodnight.

The bats he took elsewhere, to a cavernous room overtaken by stalactites and stalagmites. At the opening he placed a magical barrier to keep his little creatures contained. They would like it here, so long as there was enough human flesh to feed them.

They took to the ceiling, wrapping their leathery wings about their bodies to hang. "Are you hungry, my sweets?" Several useless humans were procured from the fortress's cells, which he sent unknowingly into the room. "Your freedom awaits within," he coaxed, watching the hope flare up upon their gaunt faces. They went eagerly at first, until the bats scented them. One after another, they sniffed deeply, until the little creatures launched themselves from the roof.

He stayed to watch, enjoying their misfortunes. He stood just beyond the opening's magical barrier. When the pathetic life forms realized what was happening, they began shrieking, desperately running for the opening only to be thrown backwards into the bat's clutches. The excitement was over in minutes, but their anguished screams would keep him entertained for hours. Happily fed, his little bat children returned to their positions.

Enough play. He had work to do. Tonight he would travel into Dragonwall.

Standing before his magical waterfall, he called forth a place he frequented, located in the small town of Sutton, just outside the Vallahurst Forest. The Filthy Pigeon swam into view. The tavern was already packed with guests, their attention turned to the front of the room. They did not notice him lurking behind the watery barrier.

An orator stood upon a trestle table, passionately speaking to his audience. "If the Drengr don't act, we must be takin' matters into our own hands. I say we march to Fort Squall and demand protection."

"Aye!" Several people slammed their mugs of ale upon the table-tops.

"Rumors of dragons be one thing. But the dead? My cousin saw them claw their way from the grave, saw them plain as day." Whispers and speculation coursed through the room. Everyone wanted attention—everyone wanted to hear themselves speak even if it meant weaving lies.

One man claimed his daughter found a dead corpse standing over her bed. It tried to strangle her in her sleep. A woman swore she saw a group of them sneak into her barn and eat her youngest grazer. "By morning," she cried, "there was nothin' left but a dead carcass of bones."

He smiled. Yes, things were going very well. When he started the rumors, he encouraged the stories, nurturing them into fully developed tales. He'd done much the same in many populous places around the North. Soon the developing unrest would create a great deal of problems for the Drengr. With people flocking into Fort Squall and Fort Edge, his plan would play out exactly as he intended it to.

Taking a vial from his pocket, he filled it with the icy water from the fall. Then he stepped through the cold sheet. No one noticed his entry into the Filthy Pigeon. The watery sheet, now behind him, vanished.

The orator was speaking again. "We ain't safe here anymore."

"But what we suppose' to do?" someone shrieked.

This was his chance. He kept his voice steady, lowering it to avoid frightening the audience. "I say we pack up everyone we can and march for the fort. Demand their protection. It be written in the laws. 'Cording to the charters, we be considered refugees if the land be under attack from outside forces. That includes the dead."

"Here, here," several voices called out. No one bothered looking towards him, but if they had, they would have seen a cloaked man whose face was shadowed beneath a hood. And that was a good thing, lest they mistake him for a fabled corpse.

"Let them Drengr do somethin' for once," someone else cried. "We pay 'em enough tithes as it be."

Yes, this was going well. Stoking the kettle further he spoke again, making his voice echo panic and fear. "My daughter was dragged from our cottage just the other night." Several shocked whispers sounded beside him. "I barely got her away alive. I'll be damned if I sit and wait for another attack."

"Aye! Well said!" a few shouted.

"So it be settled then." The orator lifted his hands to silence the audience. "Tomorrow we pack. Those willing will depart for the fort. Ready the wains for the old folk. Take only what ye can carry. Shall we take a vote?"

"Yes!" Several affirmations echoed around the room. "A vote must be taken," someone else shouted.

A vote was indeed taken. He made sure to lift his hand with the others. It was hardly necessary. The decision was unanimous.

He quietly crept away, moving through the shadows and exiting the tavern. He made his way to the small town's edge before removing his vial of water. Facing a stone wall, he pulled the stopper off and splashed the water against the wall. "Effla vatan fara," he commanded. A wavering surface appeared as the waterfall materialized. Behind it he saw the cave's walls and the dancing torchlight beckoning him home. Stepping forward, he walked through the icy sheet and reappeared in his waterfall room.

One after another he visited familiar taverns and alehouses adding more fuel to his fires. The results were much the same as the first. Angry inhabitants, scared and vulnerable, were eager to seek out protection from their nearest fort.

At last, several hours before sunrise, he toppled into his waterfall room for the last time, exhausted from the toll of his magic. The sheet of water may have been the means for transportation, but it took a great deal of energy to withstand its forces. His work for the night was nearly done.

"Wrath," he called. The dragon's voice answered. "Your time has come again." The dragon's excitement was palpable. "At dawn, take your clan to the locations we discussed. Burn what you want and eat whomever you like. Return to me at dusk with as many live humans as you can carry. I've got hungry bats to feed."

"We shall make the people wish they'd never been born, my lord." Wrath's pleased snarl echoed in his mind as he ascended the winding steps into Shadowkeep.

A smile crept to his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes. He had a promise to fulfill. He had already afforded the king ample opportunity to give up the remaining Dragon Stones. King Talon would pay dearly! Yes, for the king of Dragonwall, this was only the beginning. 

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