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The Rise And Fall Of Lord VoidChapter 34: An Assassin Sought
Lord Void had returned to the Grolling Fortress. He was fuming.
“I am a fool!” he snarled, pacing back and forth, his white hands clutched behind his back.
Caimlin thought it wise not to say anything.
“He’s smart, that Dragonsbane, smarter than I thought…”
Lord Void continued to pace.
“The Terraynsian Mines…of course…Terrayn crystals…CHODAN TYCO IT!”
Caimlin twiddled his thumbs. He had little knowledge of magical matters, and he had no idea what the significance of Terrayn crystals was. He had also not been there to witness the failure. He had little idea at what had happened at all.
“Sir?” he asked quietly.
“What?” snapped Lord Void, still pacing.
“What are Terrayn crystals?”
“They’re a rare form of crystal,” Lord Void explained automatically, “They are useless as a commercial item. They’re muddy-white, and always blemished. No jeweler wastes time cutting a Terrayn. But…for reasons unknown, they nullify all forms of magic.”
“All forms?” repeated Caimlin.
Lord Void nodded his head impatiently.
“All forms. Nothing and penetrate them. Dragonsbane was cunning…he knew he couldn’t stand up to me magically, so…he invaded southern Dragonar and captured Gulaan, a city surrounded by Terrayn deposits. Cunning indeed…”
“Shall I initiate Code Dragon?” asked Caimlin.
Code Dragon was a clever piece of magic-work created by an ancient Dragon Master warlock. When activated, a short teleharm was sent to all Dragon Master males over the age of eighteen, ordering them to congregate at the Fire Breathing Fortress. It was not unlike the Black Knight’s Golden horn: it called Dragon Masters to war when the Dragon Master state was in peril.
“No.” snapped Lord Void.
“But, milord!” Caimlin protested, “This a grave matter of national security.”
“Caimlin!” Lord Void bark, halting and glowering at his brigadier-general, “Leave the managing of Dragonar to me! You are to return to the Fortress and continue to oversee it’s construction.”
Caimlin bowed stiffly.
“Yes, milord.”
“And while you’re leaving, sent a teleharm to the Wyrms. They are to come to the Grolling Fortress now.”
“Yessir.”
The Wyrms were an elite group of Dragon Masters. They were breeders, riders and spies all at once. Their mounts were raised from birth, and were nurtured with an affection each rider showed no one else. It was rumored they could communicate telepathically not only with their dragons, but with other animals as well, enhancing their tracking and spying skills.
An hour later, Lord Void met the Wyrms outside under the scorching late August sun. There were thirteen Wyrms: there were always thirteen Wyrms. There wore all black: dragon skin and scales. However close they were to their dragons, the Wyrms had no qualms about wearing the flesh of dragons. Their were pale: more Fright Knight in appearance than Dragon Master, and none had facial hair of any kind. If they removed their tight-fitting skull helmets, it would be revealed that they were all bald.
Lord Void did not bother with preamble.
“I want you to find a man.” he said, “A Wolfpack. He goes by Morgue. Bring him here, but not against his will. Give him this if he is hesitant.”
Lord Void tossed two large purses to the first two Wyrms. He turned away. His instructions were over. The thirteen Wyrms turned about in unison and mounted their dragons. With powerful thrusts of hind legs and heavy beating of wings, the dragons with their riders rose into the air and soon were gone from sight.
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