Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

X

Valea doubted that Toma had bothered with the stables, but her father had insisted that she search them regardless of that doubt. In truth, she was certain that it was because Toma would not have come here that her parents had chosen her to be the one to investigate the stables. Her mother and father had chosen to search all of the more likely spots. Aurim, too, had been relegated to probing areas of the Manor grounds where the drake had most likely never set foot. On the one hand, the young enchantress appreciated her parents’ protectiveness, but on the other hand, she also resented it. After all, she was a grown woman now, was she not?

Standing to one side of the nearest stable so as not to draw so much attention, Valea began her search. Tendrils of magic visible only to her own senses snaked over and around the building next to her. Unimpeded, they began to sink into the walls and ceiling, hunting. If there was anything unusual in the stable, she was confident that she would find it. Of course, since it was highly unlikely that there was anything to find, the novice sorceress found it impossible to become very excited about her work.

As she had expected, her initial search brought nothing significant to light. The horses used by the Bedlams were stabled here. It had seemed as likely a target for Toma as any of the other structures here, and the fact that she found no trace of the renegade’s passing only served to strengthen her belief that this entire location was a waste of her efforts. Still, the witch knew that if she failed to search the stables thoroughly, it would be on her head if Toma had left something behind, something that might later endanger her family.

“Ssseeking a place of sssolitude, Valea?”

She gasped in surprise, then silently reprimanded herself for her reaction. Her probes faded as her concentration broke, but Valea hardly cared.

From behind the stable emerged Kyl. He had changed from his traveling clothes into a fresh outfit-a sleek, dark green piece that happened to be one of her favorites. The high collar and the lack of any lighter colors to contrast the darkness made the drake seem a man of deep mystery.

He had worn it for her; she was certain of that. It thrilled her to think that Kyl had gone to such trouble.

“I found myssself ressstive after I had cleaned up and ssso I decided to take a walk,” Kyl continued, shortening the gap between them as he talked. “When I reached the ssstables, it occurred to me that a ride might be in order. Then, I caught a glimpssse of you and recalled that I had never properly greeted you after our arrival.”

“There was no need.” It was a struggle for her to sound calm. Inside, Valea was again a maelstrom of emotion.

“There wasss need, though. It wasss unforgivable.”

Only an arm’s length separated them now. The young witch waited for Kyl’s strong arm to bridge that gap, and for a breath it seemed it would, but then the drake’s hand continued beyond her to brace against the stable wall. It was not what she had hoped for, but the action still left the two of them so very close. All he had to do was lean forward a little.

“Talak wasss fassscinating, Valea! Ssstrange and beautiful! You have ssseen it before, I know, but I wish you could have been there to sssee it with me.”

She was beyond words.

Kyl seemed not to notice . . . or perhaps he only pretended. Valea could not say. “Sssuch splendor! Sssuch majesssty! King Melicard isss rightfully proud of hisss kingdom. He hasss a loyal following, a magnificent city, and mossst beauteous queen.”

Jealousy pricked Valea. Erini was beautiful, a true fairy-tale princess. She also looked little older than Kyl. With Talak so close to the citadel of the Dragon Emperor, there was no doubt that the demands of his throne would bring the handsome drake and the queen of the mountain kingdom together fairly often.

She realized that she should say something. Anything. “She loves him very much, you know.”

It was not what Valea had meant to say. She was certain that her cheeks were crimson now.

“She doesss, indeed.” Somehow, the drake had lessened the distance between the two of them even more. Valea was struck by contending choices. One part of her was afraid and wanted to step back. The other part of her wanted the last remnant of the chasm closed. “It wasss ssstrange, though. Talking to her, being around her, I found myssself thinking of you, Valea.”

Her reaction to this declaration infuriated the young Lady Bedlam. As if acting under some impulse of their own, her feet moved, propelling the maiden backward three or four steps until she was beyond the stable wall and out in the open.

To her vast relief, Kyl did not look repulsed. He followed her, albeit stopping at the corner of the building. The special smile that he reserved just for her was there. “I thought about you mossst of the time I wasss there, Valea. I like to think that you were alssso thinking about me.”

Even having heard all that she had, Valea could not believe her good fortune. “Then, it’s true? It’s as Benjin Traske said?”

Now Kyl looked puzzled. “Ssscholar Traske? What hasss he to do with thisss?”

Valea took a deep breath. This was it. He had all but said the word, his fear that she would reject him probably the reason he had not taken the last step. She would do it for him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Valea began, “Scholar Traske . . . he said that . . . he said . . .”

Cabe probed the library one more time. There was no trace of any hidden spell or physical trap. There was not even any sign that Toma had ever been in this room.

The warlock sighed. He had been carefully inspecting each room of the Manor, and although he was still not even half finished, much of the day had passed. So far the results of his thorough search had yielded nothing. Unfortunately, with Toma that did not mean that the drake had not been here. The duke was a master sorcerer who had often in the past surprised even those who had thought that they had known his limitations. His skills were far more versatile than those of the more traditional Dragon Kings. Toma dared to do things that no one else did, which made him the wildest of wild cards. He had more or less vanished after the terror of the Ice Dragon, but now and then rumors of his activities surfaced. However, so far as Cabe had been able to tell, the rumors had never proven to bear any truth.

Which, of course, did not mean that Toma had been idle all these years.

Cabe wondered how the others were doing. None of them had contacted him, but he tried not to be paranoid. If something had happened, he would have known.

The constant probing was making his head throb. Cursing under his breath, the warlock decided to get a breath of fresh air. He stepped out of the library, crossed the hall, and made his way to the nearest window. A minute or two of relaxation was all that the sorcerer needed. It was odd how small, fairly simple spells could often take more out of the caster than huge, earth-shaking ones.

Leaning out the window, Cabe surveyed his tiny kingdom. Somewhere, possibly even beneath his very feet, there might be a clue to whatever Toma had done while here. Studying the bookshelves had revealed nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to find, not even a trap of some sort, but the warlock could not risk that chance.

His eyes alighted on a crimson-tressed woman standing next to one of the stables. It could not be his wife, who searched the lower floors of the Manor, which meant that it had to be Valea. Cabe recalled that she was supposed to be searching the stables, but at the moment, she was simply standing there. Why?

He had his answer when Kyl stepped part of the way out from behind the stable wall.

The enraged sorcerer did not even wait. He was gone from the window and next to the stable in less than a breath.

“Valea.”

At the sound of his voice, she froze. Whatever his daughter had been about to say died on her lips, probably a fortunate thing in his opinion. Even Kyl looked satisfactorily guilty for a change.

“Father, I-”

“I gave you a project to do, Valea. A very important project. Have you finished it?” Cabe tried his best not to let his anger show through, but even he was aware of the harshness tinging his words. Kyl’s eyes flickered, but other than that there was no sign that the drake might have noticed. The warlock had no doubt that he had, however.

His daughter’s expression told him the answer to his question even before she replied. “Not yet.” Her cheeks were crimson. “I only paused for a moment . . . I . . . I’ll get back to it now.”

Curtseying to Kyl, the young witch rushed off. Cabe’s anger drained away. He had embarrassed his daughter. Granted, the search was of the utmost importance at this time, but that was not why the warlock had come down here. He had come down here because his daughter had been alone with a . . . with a creature . . . that had designs on her.

It could have been handled differently, but when it came to his family, the master sorcerer could not always think straight. Now, he and Valea were at odds again-and his actions had most likely pushed her further toward the drake.

“There isss sssome major project underway, Massster Bedlam?” Kyl asked politely, his entire person radiating innocence.

“More of an exercise, Kyl.” The warlock now wished that he had thought of some better excuse, but for most of those living at the Manor, calling the search an exercise would have been sufficient. Cabe had been too concerned with beginning the hunt to think about what Kyl or Grath, who understood the ways of sorcery, might conclude from the Bedlams’ peculiar activity. Two decades and I still think with the cunning of a serving boy! It could not be helped, though. Kyl might suspect, but unless he was somehow in league with Toma, he would be able to do no more than guess.

“Ssso sssoon after our return? We have only just arrived!”

“I felt it was necessary, Kyl. Didn’t Scholar Traske ever surprise you and the others with sudden tests or projects of his own?”

The drake verified his supposition with a grimace. “Massster Trassske had an amazing talent for the unexpected tessst. Yesss, I sssee your point.”

It was doubtful that Kyl actually did, but the warlock was happy to let it go at that. Kyl would think whatever he wanted to think. Once the search was ended, it likely would not matter very much. Whether any trace of Toma’s passing was found or not, Cabe’s family was now warned. Toma would not find entry into the Manor so simple the next time he tried.

What did he want, though? That’s what I would like to know! The obvious motive concerned the very drake before him. Cabe realized that he would have to speak to the Green Dragon as soon as the Manor was considered safe again. The Dragon King would want to know what had happened. He might also be the best one to handle the delicate matter of questioning Kyl. For all he disliked the heir’s manner, especially toward Valea, the warlock was concerned about the drake’s well-being. Toma could offer the emperor-to-be nothing; therefore, the renegade sought to take from Kyl.

It was tempting to warn the young drake even after he had commanded Valea not to do so, but Cabe persevered. Best to wait for the Dragon King. The lord of Dagora would better know what to do about his nephew.

“I shall leave you to thisss, then,” the dragon heir was saying. “I apologize if I interfered in sssome way. I happened by, sssaw Valea, and sssince I had not yet greeted her since our arrival, I thought it polite to do ssso now. Again, Massster Bedlam, my apologiesss.”

“It’s nothing, Kyl.”

“That isss very kind of you to sssay. I shall trouble you no longer, then, Massster Bedlam.” With that, the drake bowed and quickly departed.

Cabe watched him walk off, more certain than ever that he had just interrupted something important between his daughter and Kyl. He hoped that whatever it was had not gotten out of hand. Only a few more weeks and he’ll be far enough away that she can start to forget him. It would be wise, he thought, to take Valea and Aurim to some of the more peaceful human kingdoms, such as Penacles or Gordag-Ai. Let them meet more people their own age. There were a few at the Manor, but unfortunately, here Aurim and Valea were considered the young lord and lady of the house. That was why the drakes had become their closest friends over the years; the others considered the two their masters as much as Cabe and his wife were.

Yes, it would be wise to do some visiting after Kyl assumed his throne. Penacles especially seemed a good choice.

That was still weeks away, however, and in the meantime, Cabe would have to continue to watch his daughter. It might have been easier on him if she had at least chosen Grath; the younger drake had always seemed kinder, more sensible. Less deadly. He was thankful that Aurim, at least, had not gotten involved in any romantic entanglements. At this point, the master warlock was not so certain that he could have handled yet one more situation.

Which reminded him that there was still a search to complete. Toma was, by far, the most immediate danger to everything. They had to make absolutely certain that neither he nor some legacy remained within the boundaries of the Manor. Cabe knew, however, that even if they found nothing, he would still be unable to relax. The mere presence of the renegade had shattered his sense of security. Not even his home was safe.

Something will have to be done to put an end to your legacy of terror, Toma, the sorcerer thought as he prepared to resume the hunt. And if it would cost me my life to see that accomplished, I’d gladly give it if only it meant that you were never able to threaten my family again.

He meant every word, he truly did, but Cabe hoped that it would not come to that.

Unfortunately, with Toma involved, there was a very good chance that it would.

Darkhorse moved swiftly through the forest, darting in and out among the trees with an ease no earthly steed would have been able to imitate. The shadow steed squeezed between trunks or overran fallen trees that would have daunted any true horse. Darkhorse barely noticed. He, like the Bedlams, was on a hunt, but in the eternal’s case, there was a trail. It was slight, so very slight, but it was the first true clue that he had discovered.

Darkhorse had picked up the trace at the site of one of the spell traps. He had not thought to search for this particular type of trail, having been more consumed with the obvious scent. His adversary had been a clever one, using the traces of Shade’s sorcerous mark to cover the true one. Now, however, the shadow steed knew what to look for . . . in part because he suspected who was responsible.

Oddly, though, the trail was now sending him in a direction he had not anticipated, toward a destination that had to be false. The ebony stallion rode on, though, determined to let nothing, including personal trusts, cloud his judgment.

I should have come across him by now! he thought. There is no possible way that I could have passed him by!

Nonetheless, the next several minutes revealed no sign of his mysterious quarry. The eternal finally paused and surveyed his surroundings. There was little that should have been able to evade his senses, but more and more Darkhorse wondered whether he had somehow missed what he had been searching for. The trail was fading before him. Had he been duped again?

It seemed so. Several more minutes of searching proved the futility of his hunt. The trap maker had covered his path all too well.

“So be it!” rumbled the eternal. “I will waste no more time on this!” Still, he could not help pondering his failure as he turned and renewed his run through the forest. Darkhorse did not like mysteries, or at least mysteries that he could not solve. Perhaps it was time to visit Penacles. The Gryphon was there, and although he no longer ruled the so-called City of Knowledge, still he had access to many sources of information there, including the fabled libraries underneath the very city itself. Perhaps the lionbird can pluck some useful knowledge from the libraries’ contrary contents!

Whoever had created the libraries of Penacles had to have been a madman. All the great knowledge of sorcery was said to be found there, written down in one great tome or another. The difficulty lay not only in locating the proper volume, but making sense of the insane script within. The knowledge of the libraries usually came in the form of some peculiar riddle or nonsensical passage. Why that was, no one now knew. Still, if there was anyone who could solve those conundrums, it was the Gryphon.

Feeling much more pleased with his situation than he had felt but moments before, Darkhorse increased his pace. He made no sound as he ran and his hooves left no mark on the uneven ground. When it was his whim, he could do both, but for the most part Darkhorse preferred to move as a ghost. It would have been simpler to transport himself to Penacles, but the shadow steed loved to run. It seemed to clear his thinking. Besides, a few minutes more or less would not matter. Darkhorse was so swift that he could cross miles in seconds if he chose. He did not run so fast now, but even still it would take him little time to reach Penacles.

His path took him across the trail that the caravan had taken in order to reach Talak. Darkhorse vaguely recognized it, although he had not joined the party until farther north. At first, the eternal ignored it, set as he was on his destination, but then the presence of many inhuman minds made the powerful stallion come up short.

He wasted no time looking around. If they chose to, his new companions could keep themselves well hidden among the treetops. Instead, the shadow steed kicked at the ground, raising a cloud of dirt and loose vegetation, and roared, “Play no games with me, birds, or I will knock your roosts down one by one until this part of the forest is nothing more than a field!”

There was the rustling of leaves in the treetops-rustling that the light breeze around him could not have caused.

A man-sized creature burst through the foliage and alighted onto one of the larger, lower branches. He was shaped more or less like a human, but in every other way resembled a bird of prey. The newcomer snapped his beak once at the eternal, then cocked his head to the side so as better to see the huge stallion.

“What do you want, Seeker?” Darkhorse shifted so that he looked directly up at the avian. “A challenge? A threat?”

The Seeker pointed a taloned hand toward the southwest and squawked.

“Aaah, so very enlightening!” snorted the stallion. He kicked at the ground, digging huge ruts in the dirt. “And why is it I should go that way?”

An image of a tree in summer, its crown green and full, formed in his mind. Under the protective foliage, was an area of cool shadow. It seemed to be this that the avian desired to emphasize, but Darkhorse was puzzled by it. What did the base of a tree, a shaded area, at that, have to do with-

Shaded? Shade?

The Seeker’s eyes informed him that he had correctly guessed the answer.

“A tree and shadow. How perfectly obvious.” He hated communicating with the bird folk for this very reason. With humans, the images were more direct. Cabe Bedlam would have seen an image of the blur-faced warlock himself. However, Darkhorse’s mind was different from that of any other creature in this world. Using such clues was the only way the Seekers could communicate with him other than pointing. They had no written language, at least not one that anyone understood. The shadow steed was thankful that he had little congress with the creatures. Of course, much of that was due to the fact that the Seekers were, in general, more devious than helpful. If they wished to help him now, it was only because it served their desires, too.

Again the Seeker pointed southwest.

Was he trying to say that Shade was there? That seemed highly improbable. Even Darkhorse had come to the conclusion that the warlock was long dead . . . but then what did it mean?

Not Shade, then, but perhaps the one who had used the memory of the warlock as bait to catch the eternal?

It could be that this was also a trap, but the shadow steed’s curiosity was piqued. Caution warred with that curiosity, with the latter at last triumphing. The eternal started off in the direction in which the avian had pointed. He shielded his thoughts, however, not wanting the Seekers to know just how little he trusted the bird folk. Should they have a snare prepared, they would find him more than ready for it.

The male who had pointed the way flew ahead several yards and alighted onto another branch. When Darkhorse was near, he again pointed.

“Are you to be my guide, then?”

The Seeker nodded, then fluttered off ahead once more.

So the trek continued. Much of the trail was straight, which raised his temptation to rush ahead without the avian. Darkhorse decided against that, however. The Seekers had planned long and hard, he supposed, so the least that he could do was not disappoint them . . . yet.

He could hear the fluttering of many wings above him. A full flock of the bird people were trailing after him. Darkhorse estimated that there could be no more than twenty, including his guide. That seemed a fair combat to him.

Once again, his guide located a new perch. Darkhorse sighed audibly, hoping that the bird man would understand that he was tiring of this chase. The avian again pointed, adding an annoyed squawk to emphasize the importance of the situation . . .

. . . and then the trees were full of warring Seekers.

The eternal stopped and quickly gazed skyward. Through the tangle of trees, he watched in amazement as a second band of the bird folk attacked those who had been shadowing him. Claws raked across chests. Beaks strong enough to crack bone tore flesh. Now and then, a small but potent spell was unleashed and some combatant would wither, burn, or simply fall to its death.

A savage squawk brought his attention back to his guide. Despite the chaos above, the Seeker was insisting that he proceed.

Darkhorse, however, had decided that he would not. Things had become a bit too confusing. Seekers never fought Seekers. It was unheard of. “I think, perhaps, my friend, that I will decline your guidance from here on!”

As he began to turn away, the avian leaped for him. Out of the corner of his eye, Darkhorse saw that the Seeker now held something in one taloned hand. The shadow steed doubted that he wanted it to come any closer than it already was.

The bird man was swift, but still too slow in comparison to his attempted prey. Darkhorse dodged the grasping claws. Under other circumstances, he would have stayed where he was and laughed as the Seeker was trapped within him. Many over the endless centuries had described the eternal as a living hole from which nothing that was pulled in ever again emerged. It was a very accurate description. Drakes, humans, beasts, Seekers . . . how many there had been Darkhorse could not say. He did not care. Those who sought to harm either him or his companions deserved no mercy. They would fall forever into the abyss that was the shadow steed, who was very aptly called a child of the empty, endless Void, the place in which he himself had been spawned.

This Seeker, though, was a danger as long as he was able to wield the mysterious object. Darkhorse knew that no creature would be so foolish as to attack him unless they believed that they could defeat him, and while stupidity was a trait among many races, the Seekers had always struck him as a little more intelligent. That meant that whatever his adversary held, it promised nothing but harm to the shadow steed.

Rising up again, the lone avian eyed him. It was clear that things were not going as the Seeker had originally intended. He glanced skyward, where his companions were clearly losing, then back down at the shadow steed. At last, with a squawk that somehow relayed frustration and anger, the bird man turned and began to fly back in the direction from which he and Darkhorse had come.

His flight was short. The limbs of the nearest trees bent in a manner no wind could have made them bend, suddenly blocking the swift avian’s path. The Seeker, moving with the intention of quick escape, struck the heavy limbs head first. There was a cracking sound that had little to do with the branches themselves.

The limp form tumbled to the mossy ground, where it lay a twisted, still shape.

Darkhorse did not even wait for the Seeker’s body to strike the ground. He started to back away, eyes scouring the visible world and senses formed in the Void searching those worlds beyond. It occurred to him that he could no longer hear the combatants above, surely not a good sign. Still, the eternal was not fearful. It had been too long since he had been faced with a proper challenge.

“Come, come!” he roared, still unable to locate the foe by either set of senses. “You wanted Darkhorse and so you shall have Darkhorse! All the Darkhorse you could ever want!” The eternal roared with mocking laughter.

He felt something pass his way, but the sensation was brief. Darkhorse glanced that way, then turned his head the opposite direction as he felt yet another presence on his other flank.

“Skittering like mice, are you? Perhaps I can shake you from your holes, then!” The shadow steed raised a hoof and brought it down hard on the forest floor.

There was a crash of thunder and the land around him shook as his hoof struck the earth. Birds flew off in panic while Darkhorse laughed, taunting his foes.

Then . . .

It had the stink of Vraadish sorcery, as great a stink as the eternal had ever known. The shadow steed drew in just a little, slightly disconcerted at the intensity of it. Vraadish sorcery was a legacy of another world, battered, maimed Nimth, the place from which the ancestors of humans had come after nearly destroying it with that very power. Yet Nimth was sealed off, the barrier between this world and that one stronger than ever. Darkhorse had been there when the way had been closed.

The eternal sought to back away from the foulness, but found he could not move. Gazing down, Darkhorse stared in astonishment at his hooves, which were several inches deep in what seemed to be molten grass and earth. The land still retained the form of the forest floor, but it moved like quicksilver. Stunned, the ebony stallion still had the wherewithal to attempt to free himself. With effort, he pulled first one hoof free, then another.

A gleaming tentacle snared one of his free limbs. Horrible, shocking pain coursed through his very being. The stallion’s shape grew distorted as his control of it slipped. One leg grew too long. His head drooped as if melting. Ripples ran across his torso. Fighting the agony, Darkhorse regained control, but was unable to restore himself to his proper shape.

Another tentacle snaked around a second limb. This time, he saw what it was. It was not a beast of some sort, but rather a whip, a weapon. Darkhorse followed the length of the horrific weapon back to a slight shimmering in the air. Even as he watched, the shimmering coalesced into the form of a cloaked figure. The shadow steed’s first startled thought was to imagine that Shade had returned from the dead, but then he realized that this was not the warlock but some human minion, for a quick glance the opposite way showed that an identical figure had materialized there.

There was something familiar about the trap, but it took the struggling Darkhorse a moment to recall what it was. The whips! I know these whips!

They were toys of the Vraad. Darkhorse knew them very well, for it was with whips like these that the ancient sorcerers had guided him. These whips and other foul toys.

Had it been only the eternal and the whips, Darkhorse was certain that he would have been able to triumph easily. The molten soil, however, slowed his counterattack by seizing his limbs again and again. Darkhorse gave up trying to maintain his shape, deciding that he stood a better chance of success by returning to the amorphous form that had been his until the sorcerer Dru Zeree had stumbled into the Void and discovered him.

Like melting wax, the huge stallion’s form sagged and dripped toward the ground. His head became almost indistinguishable from his body as the two began to fuse together. His legs were twisted things with the consistency of molasses. Only the two icy orbs that were his eyes remained as they were.

He was little more than a blob of darkness when it became clear to him that even now the whips and the earth maintained their holds on him. Shock at last became tinged with fear when Darkhorse also discovered that he was now trapped in his present form. He could neither complete the transition to living shadow nor return to his equine form no matter how hard he fought to do so.

As the eternal fought futilely to regain control of himself, a third cloaked figure shimmered into being before him. Darkhorse saw the clawed hands of a drake emerge. His attention then became fixed on a small object cradled in the hands of the hooded dragon man. A box. An old-no, ancient-box with a pattern on the top that the shadow creature could not make out clearly from where he was trapped.

It was not until the drake opened the lid that Darkhorse recalled this particular toy of the Vraad. For all he knew, it was the very same box which the Vraad Barakas Tezerenee had turned on him.

Although he no longer had a mouth, still Darkhorse roared. He struggled as he had not struggled since last he had seen such a box, since last the maw of such a monster had been opened wide so that it could receive him.

His struggling went for naught. He felt the pull and knew that the link between himself and the box had been made. Despite the inevitable, however, the eternal continued to fight. He could not go there again!

The box was stronger. A black stream, the essence of Darkhorse, flew toward and into the devilish container. All the while the shadow creature roared, but there was no longer any hope. Darkhorse continued to flow until all of him had entered the Vraadish device.

The drake shut the lid, silencing his scream.