Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III by Richard A. Knaak Read Free Book Online

soldiers scattered in an attempt to make themselves less of an inviting target. The Pack Leader barely noticed their frantic efforts. His eyes only saw the wonderful result of so much power, power that was to be his.
    There had been a small rise where the beasts had struck with their sorcery, a small rise populated by a few scraggly plants and, at the moment of the attack, likely a dozen or so soldiers. Now, the rise was a flat, iron-hot pool of glass and the plants and the men unfortunate enough to be there at the time . . . were nothing.
    Yet still the raider force moved on, for they had been given a command and that was all they needed.
    “Magnificent . . .” the Aramite commander whispered again. His hand twitched as he once more sought the talisman that would have let him manipulate such power.
    The same sensation swept over him. A second flash burned away the world in a sea of light. D’Rance and the others were forced to fall back and shield their eyes, but Lord D’Farany barely noticed. He breathed in the holocaust air and felt a strength he had not felt in years.
    With an almost wistful expression on his ravaged countenance, he slowly turned toward the blue man and quietly commanded, “Bring me the box now, Kanaan.”
    Still blinking, the bearded northerner reached into the depths of his cloak and pulled out a tiny, rectangular container. The Pack Leader nodded pleasantly, having known all the time that the blue man would have it on him despite orders to the contrary. He forgave D’Rance such things, because it pleased him to do so. There would come a time when he overstepped himself and when that happened D’Farany would either punish him properly or turn him over to D’Marr, who had never made it a secret that he wanted the blue man’s skin.
    The Aramite commander liked to think of himself as a fair man. He was also perfectly willing to give the younger officer to the northerner if circumstances warranted it.
    He removed his gloves and, with great respect, took the tiny black box from D’Rance. The former keeper ran one finger over the lid, outlining the wolf’s head engraved there. It had taken him much effort and time to gather the forces stored within and he treated them with the care they deserved.
    A third burst of light raised anew the shouts and screams, but the sounds were merely insignificant irritations to him as he opened the top and admired his prize.
    In the days of the keepers, it would have been called the Ravager’s Tooth. A curved artifact shaped to resemble a hound’s fang, it was small enough to fit in his palm. He had once had one like it, before the day of emptiness. With great eagerness, Lord D’Farany removed the talisman from the box and cupped it in his left hand. The terrible smile stretched tighter as he allowed himself to briefly become ensorcelled by the tooth.
    My master, why have you forsaken us? In the talisman was the residue of the Ravager’s unholy will. Long ago, a younger D’Farany had discovered that although their god had vanished and taken his power with him, there were traces in the talismans of the keepers . . . even traces in the keepers themselves. It had meant dark work, locating the artifacts and the bodies and drawing the lingering power from them, but he had prevailed. Yet the power this piece contained was limited; each use drained the talisman. It would soon be as empty as he was.
    “But not for long . . .” The Pack Leader cradled the piece in his hand and returned the box to the blue man. He then turned back to where his men fought to survive and held out the talisman toward the gleaming landscape where he supposed the cavern entrance was.
    Yet again the earth was shaken by a burst of deadly light. The Quel might no longer be masters of the realm, but they still wielded power. Their strikes were also systematic; each time the raiders shifted away from the previous blow, they were attacked anew from the opposite direction.
    A silence seemed to