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you desire.” Despite his hatred of the heat and the blinding sunlight he would be forced to suffer, the young raider was pleased. The glory would be his, not the blue man’s.
    “There is something else, is there not?”
    Something else? D’Marr could not recall anything of significance other than what he had reported. The location of the monster’s home had been his only trump card, the only one he had thought necessary.
    “What of the dragon, Orril?”
    The dragon! How could he have forgotten? The dragon who ruled here had been the only worrisome question, the only threat to the advancement of their plans.
    “The Dragon King will be of little concern to us, my lord. This one hides in his citadel and never comes out. This I learned through the Quel. So long as we do not seek to enter, he and the handful that make up his clan will not bother with us. We may do as we please. All he seems to do is watch. Watch and do nothing.” The last statement was pure conjecture on the Aramite’s part, but it made sense to him. The Crystal Dragon apparently cared not who trespassed in the region that was supposedly his so long as he was left alone. “So we may proceed and the dragon may be left for later when we are more secure in our power.”
    Lord D’Farany did not immediately respond. Instead, he turned slowly back to his subordinate and, for the first time since D’Marr had joined him, fixed his eyes on the young officer. The verlok grew oddly still, as if as frightened as D’Marr. “You had best be correct in your assumption, Orril. The dragon cannot be taken lightly. He could not have lived so long surrounded by so much power and not been affected by it.” The Pack Leader began stroking his pet again, but this time the animal was in no way soothed. “Should it come to a confrontation between the dragon and me, rest assured that I will bait a proper trap for the reptile . . . and you will be the bait. ” The eyes unfocused again and the Pack Leader began to turn away. “You are dismissed.”
    It took all of Orril D’Marr’s willpower not to run as he departed the ridge. Someone in the camp would suffer tonight; someone would have to suffer to assuage his fears. It was the only way he could purge himself, the only way he could face the tasks tomorrow with the mask of indifference in place.
    Better the dragon any day, he thought, than the wrath of his master.
    CLEAVING ITS WAY through the turbulent waters of the Eastern Sea, the lone vessel neared the Dragonrealm. Where the ships that Cabe Bedlam pondered about had been deadly leviathans, giants designed for terror, this one was low and sleek, a tiny juggernaut built to carry a mere handful of passengers swiftly to their destination. There was, in fact, only one trait it shared with the three massive raider ships.
    It was utterly black.
    III

    “WE ARE VERY close now. I can hear its call. It was good of the Quel not to lie to us,” Lord D’Farany commented as he watched his men advance across the gleaming land toward the place where the dying Quel had claimed the entrance to his city was hidden. Lord Ivon D’Farany did little to stem the madness in his voice. He knew the others could not sense what he sensed, for none of them had ever been trained as a keeper. They were to be both pitied and envied, he decided. Pitied because they had never known the seductive power of the Aramites’ great god, the Ravager, and envied because they had not had to suffer the soul-wrenching horror of withdrawal when that power had been abruptly torn away just prior to the war. He was considered one of the fortunate ones, but then no one else could ever understand the emptiness that was now ever with him. His hand twitched as old reflex actions still sought the talisman he had once owned, the link to his god.
    “But that will change . . .” he whispered. “So much will change, then.” The ends of D’Farany’s thin mouth rose ever so slightly, the closest he generally came to a