Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

III

“Well, it took some pressure from both Erini and his daughter, but Melicard has finally agreed to the suggestions made by Kyl.”

Cabe, seated, nodded absently as his wife talked. Normally, Lady Bedlam garnered his full attention, if only because he adored her so. Gwendolyn Bedlam was to him a forest goddess, a fire-tressed creature of the wild. She stood across from him now, a vision in green, her hair with its silver streak rippling nearly to her waist. The emerald riding outfit she wore perfectly accented a stunning figure. Her glittering eyes matched the color of her clothes.

Seeing that she was being all but ignored, the statuesque enchantress walked gracefully toward her husband, finally stationing herself directly before the warlock in an attempt to break him free from whatever spell held his mind.

Cabe looked up. “What is it?”

“Have you tired of me after all these years?”

His brow furrowed.

She knelt by his chair, one hand touching him softly on the arm. “You’re starting to find other things that interest you more than I do.”

He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t be silly. Nothing means more to me than you and the children.” Cabe took the hand and kissed it. “Young or old, beautiful or not, you know I’ll always love you.” A smile briefly touched his face. “I just hope that you’ll always feel the same way.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask.” Her own smile faded a little as she recalled what they had been discussing. “You heard what I said?”

“Melicard’s agreed. It took some doing?”

“For most of it, no. He actually found the suggestion concerning Kyl’s entrance to be reasonable. Where that was concerned, it was simply a matter of discussing it with his advisors. That’s what took three days . . . that, and the more delicate problem of Darkhorse.”

“Darkhorse?”

She nodded. The sunlight that touched her face accented what Cabe considered perfectly sculpted features, a sharp contrast to his own plain face. He was thankful that both children had taken after her. Valea especially would resemble her mother.

“Melicard has grown more reasonable in the past few years where Erini’s relationship with Darkhorse is concerned, but he doesn’t like the notion of the eternal being a part of a state affair. Tensions will be high enough without his unnerving presence, so the king said more times than I care to count.”

“It’s understandable.” Cabe tried to picture Darkhorse among the splendidly dressed courtiers. Both humans and drakes feared the eternal’s power. To most, Darkhorse was part legend, a thing of shadows. It was one reason why the warlock had not been pleased by Kyl’s suggestion. Darkhorse could cause the audience between the two monarchs to collapse simply by being there. “So has he agreed to the presence of Darkhorse or not?”

“He did. Finally. Erini and Lynnette had much to do with that. It’s hard for Melicard to refuse them anything.”

The warlock chuckled. “I think I understand that!”

She rose enough to give him a kiss, then stood. “You’d better understand that!”

He returned her playful smile, but other thoughts turned his expression sober. “I’m glad that’s settled. Now comes the interesting part.”

“You’ve still heard nothing?”

Cabe rose. He looked up at the ceiling, then back at his wife. “Nothing. It’s been three days since I sent out a magical summons to him. Three days and still he hasn’t come.”

“How very odd.” She put a hand to her chin. “Darkhorse is usually very prompt.”

“Unless he’s occupied with something. . . .”

Her expression said it all. “Shade?”

“I’d like to think not. I thought him over that obsession, but . . . I don’t know.”

Shade had been a warlock, possibly in his own way the most powerful that had ever lived. No one knew exactly how old the cloaked and hooded figure had been, but Cabe was certain that Shade could trace his origins back to the Vraad, the ancestral race of men. Shade, he was certain, had been Vraad.

The spell that had made the blur-faced sorcerer nigh immortal had also brought him to the edge of madness. Shade had been cursed to ever be reborn the opposite of what he had been in his previous life. Cabe had first known him as friend, but after the warlock’s death during battle, Shade had returned as the horrific Madrac, one of the many splinter personalities that formed with each new incarnation. It had taken the full might of Darkhorse, who knew the ancient warlock best, to defeat Madrac.

Shade had returned again much later, but this time entirely confused, his personalities shifting back and forth without warning. Darkhorse, ever both friend and foe, had taken it upon himself to end the travesty, if only for the warlock’s own sake.

Queen Erini, who had become for a time Shade’s pawn, had been there at the end. Shade and Darkhorse had made their peace, and the warlock had given up his own life to prevent a disaster that he himself had been in great part responsible for creating. There and then, it should have been ended.

Darkhorse, however, had not been able to accept such a death. Shade had meant more to him than any of his mortal companions could have known. The gray mage was the only one who, in his own way, could understand the shadow steed, could comprehend the emptiness the leviathan kept buried within. There was no one else in the Dragonrealm like the black stallion, no one who could understand his longings, his fears. Immortal himself, save if killed, it was only natural that he be drawn to Shade.

Because of that, the shadow steed had spent the next several years utilizing much of his time searching for any trace of the vanished warlock. Part of Darkhorse wanted to make certain that Shade was dead, for if he was not, then the Dragonrealm risked great danger. Yet another part of the ebony stallion-and this only a handful knew-hoped that the warlock was alive, that the one creature who understood the loneliness he suffered was still there for him.

The obsession had almost cost Cabe his life. Ashamed, Darkhorse had all but abandoned his futile search . . . yet, there were times when the shadow steed would vanish to places unknown for long periods of time. No one was certain what Darkhorse did during these episodes, but the Bedlams feared that the obsession was growing again.

“What happens if we can’t find him? The audience in Talak is drawing very near. Now that it’s settled that Darkhorse is permitted there, it would seem a bit foolish if he was not at least asked.”

The warlock sighed. “Kyl and Melicard will simply have to be annoyed. No one rules Darkhorse. I told Kyl I would do what I could, but I didn’t promise a miracle. Even if I find Darkhorse, he might choose not to come.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why Kyl felt it so necessary that he be there. I don’t know why Kyl does anything he does. . . .”

His wife came and put her arms around him. They held each other close.

“This isn’t just about Darkhorse,” she whispered. “This is about the same thing we always talk of.”

“We tried to raise him as best we could, Gwen. Look at Grath. Look at our own children. I’m fairly confident about them, although Aurim’s recklessness with magic is probably going to be the end of me soon. What happened to Kyl?”

“He was older, Cabe. He had already begun developing his own personality. We did what we could. Considering who he is, we’ve not done too badly.”

“Did we? Of late, I’ve noticed myself thinking thoughts I’d have found reprehensible in others.”

“Kyl is in great part responsible for that.” The sorceress released him and stepped back. “Believe that. There are drakes here who would admit to it. As a ruler, Kyl may do great things, but as a person, his attitude lacks a certain responsibility.”

They both knew that they were in part thinking of their own daughter, but neither desired to say any more on that subject for now. The two were certain . . . almost . . . that Valea was simply infatuated with Kyl’s exotic appearance. She was too intelligent to think that there could be anything between them . . . they hoped.

Cabe made a cutting motion with his hand. “None of this solves the present problem. I’m going to see if I can find Darkhorse myself. The more I think about it, even if he doesn’t appear in Talak, I want him to know what’s going on. If anyone is planning to disrupt the event or, worse, strike out at the emperor-to-be, it wouldn’t hurt to have Darkhorse nearby.”

She cocked her head to one side and smiled a bit. “You know, I think this is all a ploy! I think you just planned this sudden little excursion so that you can escape the preparations for the journey!”

They both laughed at her joke, all the while aware that it was simply an attempt to lighten Cabe’s ever-darkening mood. “Now why would I want to escape arranging and rearranging Kyl’s caravan? I couldn’t think of anything more entertaining!”

“Then I will go in your place, husband dear!”

“Not likely!” He took her once more into his arms. “If you leave it to me to organize this, we will be ready to depart by some time late next year!”

“Too true. . . .” The sorceress grew quiet, then said, “If you must go searching, you can avoid the region around Talak. I made mention to Erini that she should let us know if Darkhorse appears there.”

“Then that’s one place less. I have some other notions of where he might have run off to. I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about.” He kissed her. “This won’t take long. If Darkhorse is at none of the places I have in mind, I’ll leave him a sign that he won’t fail to recognize. Then it will simply have to be up to him as to whether he answers or not.”

“All this running around sometimes seems so futile, doesn’t it? I shall be glad when Kyl is crowned so that we can at last breathe again.”

Cabe forced his smile to remain where it was. “That’s all I’ve ever asked.”

He kissed his wife once more . . . then was gone.

As the warlock vanished, Lady Bedlam heard a knock on the door. She turned toward it and bid the newcomer to enter.

It was Benjin Traske. The huge, bearded scholar was clad in the colors and garments of his special calling-a gray, cowled cloak with gold trim on the collar and ebony robes beneath. The cowl was presently pushed back, revealing gray hair with a very slight peppering of silver. Like Cabe, Gwen sometimes thought that the tutor resembled more a condemning judge than the scholar he was. She noted also that he still wore a blade on his belt, despite such armament going against his calling. Traske had lost his family in the fall of the city of Mito Pica some years back and had always regretted that he had not had even a knife with which to protect them.

Something about his expression disturbed her. It was nothing that she could put her finger on. He seemed almost pensive, but that was not quite it.

“My pardon, lady. I thought Master Bedlam also here.”

“He has left.”

“I see.” For a breath or two, it seemed the massive figure did not know what to say.

“I am Lady Bedlam, scholar. You can trust me with whatever it is you wished to speak to my husband about.”

His expression became somewhat rueful. “My apologies. I did not mean to infer such . . .”

“What is it you want, Scholar Traske?”

He took a deep breath. “I realize that you have much on your mind and that I would only be further adding to your troubles, but I wish to speak to you about the excursion to Talak. . . .”

This is getting to be a habit!

The wind howled around him. Everything was white, but it was the whiteness of death, the eternal winter. Snow and ice were everywhere. A few misshapen hills, possibly only large snowbanks, dotted the otherwise flat landscape. In the distance, the warlock could see some taller mounds, but he knew it would be a waste of time to go and investigate them. If Darkhorse was not here at the very spot on which Cabe now stood, then he was not in any part of the Northern Wastes.

Snow fluttered around the silent spellcaster but did not alight on him. The same spell that shielded him from the cold also shielded him from the other gifts the inhospitable wasteland offered. Snow that sought perch on him simply faded away.

He had come here because this, of all the places that the eternal frequented, was the most likely spot that Darkhorse would have chosen to return to had his obsession taken root once again. Here, in the emptiness of the Wastes, Shade had perished . . . or so Queen Erini said. She had witnessed it all. Years later, during a quest much like the one he was on now, Cabe had been brought here by the novice sorceress, who had explained to him the relevance of this chilling place. Although he was never certain exactly why he had done so, Cabe Bedlam had imprinted the location on his mind. Perhaps at the time it had simply been because Shade had been a friend to him as well and all he had wanted to do was remember.

Now, however, it was time to move on. Darkhorse was obviously not here, and the magical signature his passing always left behind was very old, perhaps more than a month. The ebony stallion had not been to the Wastes for some time.

Where next? There were any number of locations that Darkhorse, a wanderer, frequented to some extent, but only a few he returned to again and again. Talak was one of the latter, but Gwen had seen to that situation. The Northern Wastes had been . . . a waste. Cabe had no intention of searching too many locations. First of all, chasing after Darkhorse was like chasing after a phantasm. The eternal could be anywhere he chose to be at almost any time. Darkhorse also did not tire as rapidly as a human did. Trying to chase down Darkhorse was pure folly. It was also possible that Darkhorse might journey to the Manor even while Cabe searched the countryside for his old companion. That had happened to the warlock more than once during the first few years of their friendship. He had strived hard ever since the last time to make certain that it never happened again.

There were six locations he thought worthy of searching. After that, the warlock intended to return to his home. If Darkhorse had still not answered his summons by the next day, Cabe would try a few more. If even that search failed . . . he was not certain what he would do then. Cabe only knew that he never abandoned a friend.

With ease, the blue-robed sorcerer transported himself to the next destination on his mental list. His new location gave him a panoramic view of a bowl-shaped valley in the distance, for Cabe presently stood atop a tall jagged hill. Cabe knew the valley, having been to it with Darkhorse in the past. The city of Zuu, from where the horsemen ruled the land of the same name, lay near the center. In the daytime, the city was impossible to see, but night would reveal a sea of light, for Zuu never slept.

The shadow steed was not here, but the traces Cabe sensed were much more recent than those at the previous site. It had been only days since Darkhorse had passed through here; that much Cabe could ascertain. He tried to trace the path the eternal had taken, but was able to determine only that it went east, which, from Zuu’s southwesterly location, meant most of the Dragonrealm. Still, it was something to go on. Two of his remaining choices were directly east. He would try them first, then head north where two of the others were. After that . . .

Again, it took only the simplest of thoughts to send him to his next destination. There had been a time when Cabe would have laughed if someone had told him he would find sorcery so comfortable a piece of his life. The young boy who had worked serving food and drink at inns would have been horrified even to think of wielding such might.

He found himself in a wooded region in the southern stretches of the central Dagora Forest. In truth, he was not at all that far from the Manor; a two-day journey by horse would see him at the boundaries of his tiny domain. However, Darkhorse did not visit this site as often as he did the first two, hence Cabe’s decision to leave this one until now.

Again there was no visible sign of the shadow steed, but it was clear to the warlock that his friend had been here not too long ago. Cabe judged it to be no more than four days since Darkhorse’s departure. Once again, though, it was impossible to judge exactly where the eternal had journeyed next. Darkhorse traveled either by magic or by running, and either method allowed him to move across the Dragonrealm in little time. Teleporting, however, was much harder to trace. It was one skill where Cabe was and probably always would be deficient.

He was ready to depart for the next location on his list when a peculiar sensation touched the edge of his mind. There had been magic cast here, but of a haunting sort. It reminded him of something old, yet something he should have been familiar with. . . .

It was gone. So slight had it been that Cabe was almost willing to believe that he had imagined it. Darkhorse followed a different magic-and, in fact, was that magic-but this was not some random trace left by the eternal. Frowning, the master warlock sought it again, but whatever he had felt was no more. Realizing how futile it would be to hunt for something that might have been the product of his own imagination, Cabe returned to the business at hand. He was tempted to depart for the Manor, but decided that it would not take that long to inspect the remaining places. It was possible that he might even find the shadow steed. Each jump seemed to put him closer.

With that thought to encourage him, he leapt to the next site.

A chill ran through him as he appeared among grass-covered ruins. It had been years since Cabe had come to this place, and over those years he had thought he had recovered from the destruction. Now, though, the sight of the broken, weather-worn rubble brought it all crashing back.

The ghosts of Mito Pica, the ghosts of his memory and conscience, danced around him.

He had been raised here. Under a spell cast by his grandfather, Cabe had remained a child for a century, maybe more. The warlock could not recall his early life, and so over the years he had come to wonder if Nathan had actually put him to sleep for most of that time. Still, whatever its elements, it had been a desperate spell, one that had been meant to save a dying baby. Its success had meant Nathan Bedlam’s own death, for he had weakened himself enough so that when he challenged the Dragon King Purple, he had not had the strength to defeat the drake lord. In the end, both sorcerer and Dragon King had perished.

All thought of Darkhorse faded for a time as Cabe Bedlam drank in the macabre vision before him. Some parts of the wall that had surrounded Mito Pica still stood whole, as did several buildings. The city could have been rebuilt, but for some reason no one had suggested it. Yet, Cabe did not doubt for a moment that there were people living among the ruins. Scavengers for the most part, with some bandits thrown in for good measure. Possibly even a few half-mad survivors of the destruction itself. They would be old by now and probably very few in number.

After the Dragon Emperor’s death, Melicard of Talak had sent his men to sweep through Mito Pica and bring any refugees they found back to the safety of his kingdom. There had actually been three or four such sweeps, so Cabe was fairly certain that all those who had desired aid had received it. Anyone living in the ghost kingdom now wanted to be there.

“Hadeen . . .” he whispered. Mito Pica had died because of him, and with it had perished the half-elf who had been his adoptive father. It was the other reason why Cabe had always found reasons to stay away from the ruined city. Hadeen had dedicated his life to caring for the grandson of Nathan Bedlam and his reward had been death at the claws of . . . of . . .

Toma . . .

He shivered. The voice had sounded almost like Hadeen’s, yet it could not have been.

Toma . . . Cabe . . . Toma teaches . . .

Gasping, the wary spellcaster turned toward the wooded lands nearest to him. In that direction had been the home that Hadeen had built for the two of them. Almost it seemed . . . but that was impossible.

Toma . . . masks upon masks . . .

My son . . .

“Hadeen?” He could almost swear that the woods were talking to him.

Then the strong pull of another power snared his attention. The warlock cried out as he felt the force in the woods recede. He took a step toward the trees, but the second force, terribly familiar, beckoned to him, enticed him. Cabe stood transfixed, eyes darting from the trees to the darkness of Mito Pica, from where the new force seemed to radiate.

“Hadeen,” he whispered. A rare tear ran down his cheek. There was no reply, not even a gentle acknowledgment. Whatever had called to him from the woods had grown quiet again. It was said that when elves died, their spirits became one with their surroundings, especially trees. Did that also apply to half-elves?

The shivering warlock was not allowed time to pursue the matter, for once more he was pulled toward the ghost-ridden ruins of the city. With a start, Cabe recognized what now called to him. It was not only the same as the trace he had sensed at his last destination, but also identical to something far in his past. Only rarely had the sorcerer encountered such magic, for it was a thing not of this world, a thing that had briefly flourished long, long ago, when godlike mages had journeyed from their dying world to this one in an attempt to escape a doom they themselves had caused.

There was Vraad sorcery here, but Vraad sorcery with a peculiar taste to it. Cabe shook his head, unwilling to believe this. First Hadeen and now yet another terrible spirit from his past. He tried to reject the notion. The touch was unmistakable, however. Only one spellcaster had wielded such strange magic.

Shade.

Cabe followed the siren trail. He could do nothing else. It was almost a compulsion, but one that he knew was his own doing. He had to know. Hadeen, if it had been Hadeen, was lost to him again, but the trail he now followed was as strong as ever.

If it was the blur-faced warlock, somehow alive, would he be friend or foe? Did another sinister Madrac await Cabe, or would there instead be someone like the kindly but enigmatic Simon? Toward the end, the original personality of Shade had surfaced, or so Darkhorse had said. Would it be that one? What was that Shade like? He had been Vraad . . .

At the battered wall, Cabe paused. Part of him screamed that he should turn around, flee. Shade was more powerful than he. Yet, despite that plea, the warlock finally stepped through the broken wall. He had no choice. It would forever haunt him if he failed to discover the truth.

The first sight that met his eyes was disappointing. Weeds and more rubble. Dragon-torched skeletons of once tall buildings. Two decades of weather that had left some structures virtually unrecognizable. A skull, marking either the last resting place of one of the citizenry or a traveler who had made the mistake of thinking the ruins a safe place to rest.

There was no Shade.

The sensation had not faded. Cabe was close. He eyed the various ruined buildings, seeking the direction from which the Vraad sorcery emanated. His eyes alighted on what looked to have been an inn or tavern. He could not help smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. The first time Cabe had encountered the shadowy warlock had been where the young Bedlam had been serving ales. Shade had sat undetected at one of the far tables, watching the grandson of Nathan. He had spoken in a rather enigmatic fashion about Cabe’s life, then had vanished before the serving boy could ask for clarification.

The path to the ruined tavern was filled with shattered stone and rotting wood, but Cabe chose to dare it rather than risk materializing inside. He kept his magical senses alert, but it was difficult to notice anything else in the presence of so strong a Vraadish force. The warlock could almost picture Shade sitting among the ghosts of Mito Pica, quietly sipping an ale he had summoned from the shadows.

He was nearly at the cracked and open doorway when the earth beneath his feet burst upward.

The speed with which the long black tentacles moved left him too stunned to act. They rose on all sides of him, never touching the spellcaster but instead coming together a foot or two above his head. As they touched, a green shimmer swept over the cage within which Cabe suddenly found himself trapped. The spell was one of the swiftest the baffled warlock had ever been unfortunate enough to experience. Freedom had become imprisonment in less time than it took to blink the proverbial eye.

Recovering, the warlock immediately probed his cell. What he discovered both unnerved and confused him. Other than capturing him, the magical prison meant Cabe no harm. It was simply designed to hold him where he was. He had expected some sort of death trap, but such was not the case.

As relieved as he was by the lack of any imminent threat, Cabe did not relax his efforts. Harmless the cage might be, but in the fulfilling of its basic function it excelled. Cabe searched every strand of the spell and could find no flaw. This was a cage designed to hold a spellcaster of astonishing power. The one who had designed it had worked long and hard. As he studied it again, Cabe had the sinking feeling that escape would be anything but simple. In fact, he had some doubts as to whether he could escape at all.

The warlock had to try, of course. He had no intention of idly passing the time while he waited the coming of the mage who had set the trap.

The trap’s design still perplexed him. Why use traces of Vraadish magic as a lure? Few knew of the Vraad, much less their tainted power. For that matter, the trace had been a specific one, specifically that of Shade. Yet, Cabe doubted that Shade had had anything to do with this. The warlock was dead . . . as far as he knew. Somebody had simply decided to use the memory of him to bait the snare.

Which strongly hinted that the trap had been set for a particular being. . . .

Even as he contemplated that, the tenacious warlock was already at work seeking a way of escape. The tentacles themselves were not likely to break, but the place where they joined together above him might be a weak link. With intense concentration, Cabe sent a tendril of power up to the point of convergence. The tendril was thin, barely a whisper, but behind it he built up an incredible reservoir of energy. All Cabe had to do was find a slight gap in the point of connection, and then he would be able to funnel the stored power through. That, the warlock was fairly certain, would give him the opening he needed to destroy his cell.

The fault in his plan proved to be the simple fact that no such gap existed. Try as he might, Cabe could not locate a break. The tendrils had bonded together so perfectly that it was almost possible to believe that the cage had been created whole. Frustrated, the imprisoned mage continued to poke futilely about the top with his sorcery, trying to create his own gap. But even after he had exhausted every bit of sorcerous energy he had gathered for his escape, the spell controlling the magical prison remained unchallenged and unweakened.

This was the work of someone who had planned long and hard for this time. Yet how could they know that he would come here? Why such an elaborate ploy for him?

“No . . . not me . . .” Cabe muttered. The cold chill of reality danced down his spine. They could not have known so quickly where he would be, but whoever had devised this cunning trap might have been familiar with the ways of Darkhorse. Cabe doubted that he and Gwen were the only ones who knew that the shadow steed haunted this miserable place. Someone else must have noticed him.

There were many, not all of them drakes, who wanted the eternal for one reason or another. Most, though, would have been satisfied with destroying him . . . if such was within their power. Yet, this spell did nothing but keep one prisoner. Someone wanted Darkhorse, but for a purpose. In that, Cabe considered himself fortunate. A death trap created with the shadow steed in mind would have stood a better than average chance of killing the warlock. He was only human, whereas Darkhorse was . . . Darkhorse.

Cabe tried physical action, first pushing against the side of his prison, then attempting to tear through it. Success still mocked him. After several minutes of useless maneuvering, the weary mage finally sat down and stared at his surroundings. It appeared the creator of the sinister spell had planned for all contingencies.

Momentarily putting aside his escape plans, Cabe wondered where his captors were. Considering their effort, he would have expected them to appear the moment the trap had been sprung. Yet, as the minutes passed, no one came to claim him. It occurred to him that perhaps this might be an old spell left over from the destruction of the city, but the use of the false trail, the scent of Shade’s sorcery, seemed to indicate otherwise. No one would have bothered setting such an elaborate trap in the midst of Mito Pica’s downfall. Besides, Darkhorse had been to the ruins too many times for the shadow steed not to have noticed this spell before. At the very least, the eternal would have seen to it that the trap was harmlessly sprung rather than leave it for some unsuspecting fool . . . like Cabe Bedlam.

As he grimaced at his own ignorance, something that two decades of magical training should have had some effect on by now, Cabe suddenly became aware of the faint presence of another person.

No, he almost immediately amended, two. Repositioning himself, he tried to use his magic to seek out the newcomers. The cage, however, evidently muted his skills, for the two faint figures remained just that. With his magic unable to help him, Cabe resorted to simply scanning his surroundings, but a quick examination of the devastated region revealed nothing new. Everything was exactly as it had been the moment before he had been snared . . . yet somewhere out there were two nearing figures. Try as he might, the warlock was unable to discover any more.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the two vanished. Cabe could not feel their presence anywhere. The imprisoned mage had no time to wonder what had happened, for only a breath or two after the first pair disappeared, a third presence, more evident to his senses, popped into existence somewhere very near the warlock. Cabe glanced around the area again, but still the scene through the cage remained as it had. The new presence was nearly overwhelming in comparison to the first two, but where the others had been unfamiliar to him, this one he felt he should know.

The cell shook then, tossing Cabe around in the process. Stunned, it took the warlock time to realize that his magical prison was being probed . . . and by someone with seemingly no interest in his safety.

Had his captor come for him at last? That did not seem likely. The newcomer was inspecting the cage as if having never come across its like before. The sorcerous probes were tinged with a sense of curiosity, that much Cabe could note. He wondered, Could it be . . . ?

As the warlock had done before, the newcomer began to focus his efforts on the top, where the tentacles had come together. For the first time, Cabe’s prison shimmered in a way he did not think was normal for it. Whatever the one on the outside was doing, it was having more effect on the magical cage than Cabe’s own efforts. Yet the spell withstood the new attack. The hapless mage frowned as he felt the probes of the outsider finally withdraw. It was beginning to dawn on Cabe that he might be trapped within until he starved to death.

He moved as close as he could to the side of his prison. The scene around him remained static, yet the warlock was able to sense that his counterpart on the outside had not left.

Putting his face as close as he could to the wall of shimmering energy that ran between the tentacles, the desperate mage called out, “Hello? If you can hear me, please come closer! I mean no harm!”

According to what his magical senses told him, the other should be practically in front of him, yet Cabe could see no one. Was his would-be rescuer invisible?

He called out again, but still received no response.

With no warning, the probes of the top of his cage began anew. This time, though, there was more purpose to them. Whoever it was, he understood better now what he faced. It was clear even from within the cell that the new series of probes had one purpose in mind and that was finding a weak link. Cabe grew disheartened at that; he had already tried and failed.

The walls of his prison suddenly crackled. Tiny mites of sorcerous energy darted about the interior, forcing the warlock to briefly cover his face.

Stealing a glance upward, Cabe initially saw no change in the cell’s condition. However, when he adjusted his sight so as to see the world through the eyes of sorcery, Cabe was stunned to discover that his mysterious benefactor had managed to wreak some minor havoc on the spell that held the sphere together. To his great regret, though, the mage also noted that the spell began almost immediately to compensate for what had happened to it. The crackling ceased and the weakened bonds strengthened again. Once more the invisible probes of the unseen mage retreated.

“No . . .” Cabe groaned. An idea blossomed even as the other abandoned his efforts. The warlock was certain that he had a way out of the cage, but he needed the newcomer’s aid. If it was left up to Cabe alone, the warlock had little chance for success.

Gathering his strength, the sorcerer concentrated as best he could on the mind of the other. Try again! he demanded. Try again! You must!

Cabe continued to repeat the message over and over, but after the first few times, it was difficult not to lose heart. The trap was designed too well. Despite the power the warlock wielded, he could barely sense what was happening outside. All that Cabe knew, all that he could base his hopes on, was the fact that the other had not yet departed. Yet, if his messages did not reach the other mage, how long before that other would abandon the effort, leaving Cabe to whatever fate the creator of the cage had planned for his intended victim?

Above him, he suddenly sensed new effort on the part of the other mage’s probes. In his joy, Cabe almost forgot what he himself intended to do, but then the thought that this might be his last opportunity to free himself urged the exhausted spellcaster to organize his mind and renew his own attack.

It was impossible to say with any certainty whether his pleas had reached the other, but Cabe did note that the mysterious sorcerer now probed with even more force than in his previous attempts. That was all that the warlock could hope for. He needed his counterpart to make at least as much progress as he had in the last attack. Cabe was not at all certain as to the intensity of his own assault from within. If his own power was not enough . . .

The cage began to crackle once more with wild energy. The warlock quickly pulled away from the wall nearest to him, realizing that the unstable spell might do him harm in ways even the creator had not planned. Cabe held off from attacking, hoping for just a bit more success on the part of his benefactor. He had to do this at the exact moment . . .

He sensed rather than saw the straining of the spell. The weak links were suddenly visible. The warlock still hesitated, searching for the moment of best opportunity.

He found it.

Cabe struck out, unleashing with pinpoint precision the full extent of his remaining power. He sensed the spell caging him weaken further and also noted the increased assault by the outsider. Encouraged, Cabe somehow succeeded in drawing further from his very being. Augmented by the physical sacrifice, his own attack grew unstoppable. The tentacles shivered and the shimmering between them dimmed. The point of connection above his head was pulled to its most taut. The black tentacles sought to keep hold of one another, but the spell had its limits, and against the combined onslaught from both without and within, it could not stand.

The tentacles tore free with a blinding flash. They wiggled madly about, wild snakes in their death throes. Cabe was awash in darkness, and for a moment he feared that he had been permanently blinded by the magical burst. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he saw that it was not the sundering of the spell that had caused him to see such darkness.

Day had become night. Somehow, although snared but a few minutes, Cabe Bedlam had missed the rest of the day.

With a last feeble effort, the tentacles tried to reform. Their power, their very existence, was already too much on the wane, however, and so they merely succeeded in flopping about once more before beginning to shrivel. Cabe eyed them carefully, lest some last trick be played out, but the tentacles continued to shrivel, becoming dried out, emaciated things that finally crumbled. The master warlock watched as even the ash faded. In the end, the only sign that the magical cage had existed at all was a series of small holes around the sorcerer.

He straightened and for the first time saw the one who had helped save his life.

“Are you all right, Cabe?” roared a familiar voice. “By the Void, the one who sought your life will find his own forfeit!”

A shape blacker than the night looked down upon him with glittering, pupilless eyes of ice-blue. Most would have feared what they saw in those eyes, but the warlock knew them well enough that they did not frighten him . . . much, that is.

The eyes belonged to a huge stallion who, despite the rocky ground, moved with silent steps toward the weary mage.

“I don’t . . . don’t think that they were after me! I . . . I think that they . . . they were after you, Darkhorse. . . .”

A devious chuckle escaped the shadow steed, echoing through the night-enshrouded ruins. “And instead they caught themselves a sorcerer!”

“I was looking . . . looking for you! I came here because I know you visit the ruins of Mito Pica on occasion.”

“It is to remind me of the drakes.” The words were said with such loathing that even Darkhorse was startled by the tone. He paused, then in a quieter rumble, added, “It is to remind me that all things pass beyond me. I saw this city built, Cabe.”

It was easy to forget just how old the demon steed was. Darkhorse had even known the Vraad, although he refused to say much about them. Difficult the shadow steed might be to kill, but Darkhorse was very familiar with pain. Much of his knowledge of it had come from being a prisoner of some of the ancient sorcerers.

For lack of anything else reasonable to say, Cabe repeated his earlier words. “I was looking for you.”

Darkhorse appeared to recover his spirits with the change in topic. “Ha! I know all too well! I have spent the last few hours searching for you, my good friend! I arrived at the Manor some hours ago, only to find the Lady Gwen rather anxious as to your own whereabouts. It seems you were due back long before.”

What he saw was true, then. Staring up into the night sky, Cabe shook his head. “As far as I know, it’s only been a few minutes since I was trapped. It wasn’t until I was freed from the cage that day suddenly became night!”

“A pretty ploy! I think you were not supposed to realize how long you had been held a prisoner. I have heard of such spells, cunning things, really!”

“But what purpose would it serve?”

“What purpose?” The shadow steed chuckled. “I’ve no knowledge of that, save that perhaps someone did not wish you to realize that time was slipping away from you.”

Time slipping away. . . . Could someone have wanted Cabe to miss the audience with King Melicard? Why-“No . . . not me. I should have remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“When I was first trapped, I wondered how anyone could have known I was here. I’d already ruled out the idea that this was an old spell left over from the destruction of the city.”

“Of course,” Darkhorse rumbled. “I would have noticed it before this, coming here as often as I do! In fact-wait!” He sniffed the air, for the moment acting much like the animal whose form the eternal had long, long ago taken a fancy to. “I smell something familiar. . . .” Ice-blue orbs flared. “Shade! I smell Shade!”

“Or something like him,” Cabe cut in. “Something Vraadish.”

“No, this is Shade . . . but the trace is so very old.” The shadow steed dug one hoof into the ground, gouging out miniature valleys. “I am reminded of another snare, different in practice but similar in bait. One that I almost stepped into but a day or so ago. . . .”

“A day or so?” The warlock recalled one of his previous destinations. Without preamble, he launched into his experience at that site, specifically the brief trace of magic that had reminded him also of the late, lamented Shade.

When he had concluded, Darkhorse dipped his head in an equine version of a nod. “That was the very same site! That trap was not nearly so well-planned!”

“So someone is trying to capture you.”

“And, as I have already said, trapped you instead! I little like those who presume to complicate my existence, but when they also endanger my friends . . .” The ebony stallion pawed at the ground. His eyes gleamed. The magical forces that were Darkhorse pulsated. “Woe betide them, Cabe! They will find that I am not a very forgiving soul!”

The warlock was thankful that he was not the one responsible. The enemies of Darkhorse took on the role at their own risk. Darkhorse did not forget those who thought to play havoc with him or those he counted his companions. Thinking out loud, Cabe muttered, “I wonder who it could be?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Who, indeed?” The shadow steed’s laugh was mirthless. “I could think of several. Certain drakes, for instance, or even once the monarch of a particular mountain kingdom. As I said, I do not forget!”

And Kyl wants him at the audience in Talak. . . . Had Gwen told the eternal of the dragon heir’s request? If yes, did Darkhorse intend to be there? If no, how was Cabe to make the request now, with Darkhorse’s suspicions roused? The shadow steed might view both sides at the audience as possible foes; it was clear from past conversations with Darkhorse that he did not trust the emperor-to-be. Kyl was offering an olive branch, but would the shadow steed see it instead as a blade?

“We should return to the Manor,” he finally said, deciding that the change in scenery would only benefit him when he asked the question. Perhaps, with Gwendolyn there to aid him, Cabe could convince his old companion to make the journey to Talak.

“Yes, the Lady Bedlam will be doubly worried if we both do not return.” Darkhorse shook his head, sending his mane flying wildly about. “No, I would not miss it for the world!”

“Miss what?”

The eternal chuckled darkly. “Why Talak, of course! Was that not what you sought me out for? To ask me if I would agree to Prince Kyl’s little plot and appear at the audience between Melicard and himself?”

The startled mage grimaced. “I was afraid to ask if Gwen had said anything. I didn’t know what you might say.”

“Well, you may rest assured, friend Cabe, that I will not miss this little party. Not at all!” That said, the demon steed straightened. “Now, let us be off before the Lady of the Amber decides to go searching for you on her own!”

The image was enough to shake Cabe Bedlam at least momentarily from his ruminations. If there were other traps awaiting Darkhorse, then Gwen might be in danger if they delayed any longer. Then again, something would have to be done to assure that no one else fell prey to whatever traps, if any, remained.

As Darkhorse summoned up the power to transport the two of them back to the Manor, Cabe’s thoughts returned to the shadow steed’s earlier words. Darkhorse looked forward to the meeting between Kyl and Melicard, but not because of any hope for peace in the Dragonrealm. Old suspicions were rising to the forefront, suspicions regrettably based in fact. As well as he had gotten on with the king of Talak for the past few years, neither could forget their initial encounter. Did Darkhorse suspect Melicard of plotting anew? The disfigured ruler of the mountain kingdom could have many reasons for wishing to capture the eternal, including a strike against the new Dragon Emperor.

That he even thought of the possibility of subterfuge on the part of Melicard suddenly dismayed Cabe. It occurred to the warlock then that his companion was not the only one plagued by suspicions. Even he had begun to wonder.

The world faded away as the shadow steed’s spell took hold. As emptiness briefly swirled around him, the sorcerer found himself wishing that his problems would disappear as easily.