Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

XIV

Grath observed the reception from his usual place a bit behind his brother. Penacles he found more fascinating than Talak, possibly because Penacles was a kingdom built to honor knowledge, one of Grath’s personal gods. The young drake prided himself on his mind. He had already discovered that the majority of adults, be they drake or human, were his inferiors in terms of intellect. Grath did not hold that against them, though. He was certain that he had been born with a superior brain. After all, had not his dam, his mother, once been a part of the clan Purple, the dragons that had ruled Penacles before the Gryphon? All knew that Lord Purple had been the guiding force in the Turning War, not Grath’s sire, the emperor. Had he not died in mortal combat with Master Bedlam’s grandfather, Grath was certain that the Dragon King would have eventually seized control from Gold, the emperor.

Hatchlings were not supposed to know their mothers. All were raised in a communal setting with the matriarch overseeing everything. Grath, being who he was, had had little trouble in tracing his background. It prided him to know that his mother had come from the most intelligent, the most cunning of the dragon clans. That did not mean that he did not appreciate his late sire. If not for Gold, Grath might have never been born. He owed the late Dragon Emperor for that, if nothing else.

Toos was introducing them to yet another functionary. Grath waited for Kyl to perform his peacock routine, then bowed when it was his own turn to exchange greetings. His brother was every inch what one expected from the heir to a throne and Grath took great pride in that, for he felt that he above all others was responsible. Kyl followed his instructions to the letter and performed as well as any trained dog. That he did not realize what was happening, Grath could forgive him. Kyl was intelligent, true, but hardly on the same level as his younger brother. At least he was intelligent enough to realize how quickly he would flounder without his brilliant, loyal counselor by his side.

It’s not who sits on the throne that rules, Grath’s mentor had told him. It’s the one who has his ear. The truth of that was plain for him to see. Queen Erini truly ruled in Talak. Her husband could deny her nothing. Here in Penacles it was the same. Toos the Regent-a fairly knowledgeable human, he was willing to concede-ever listened to the counsel of the Gryphon.

Grath admired the Gryphon, who pretended he no longer ruled but in reality did. The young drake had once dreamed of being emperor himself, but now it made so much more sense to stand behind the throne. If things changed and it became necessary to step forward, the support would be there.

He had the best of all possible worlds awaiting him.

It would have been preferable if Master and Mistress Bedlam or the Lord Gryphon were also here. They were clever enough to appreciate his skill at handling his brother, even if they did not realize the extent of that handling. Grath had been warned to stay some distance from them, especially his soon-to-be former guardians, but this was one point on which he and his mentor differed. The Bedlams were his family, too, and he saw no difficulty in maintaining a balance between the two aspects of his life. Besides, was it not planned that Valea would join Kyl after he assumed the throne? Better to keep on good terms with her parents for when the time came to convince them of the inevitability of Valea’s departure for the caverns of the Dragon Emperor.

That did not mean, of course, that he would not be willing to destroy them if it proved necessary for the success of his plans.

Something caught Grath’s attention. He shifted his gaze from the attractive young human woman curtsying before his brother and discovered that Lord Green was trying to gain his attention.

Turning to Kyl, he whispered, “Lord Green desires my attendance.”

His brother nodded his permission, never taking his eyes off the woman. Grath forced away a condescending smile as he left his brother. More so than him, Kyl had a fondness for human females. It had made planting the suggestion of seducing Valea that much easier. Kyl actually enjoyed her company, although that was not going to stop him from flirting with others. Grath was more dedicated; when her dashing emperor finally tired of her, Valea would find Grath waiting. She was everything he desired in a female: exotic beauty, a mind, personal strength, and, best of all, the power of a Bedlam.

The dragon king looked impatient by the time Grath joined him. He respected Lord Green very much, even if the elder drake seemed a bit too subservient to his brother. Yet, the Dragon King also found much time for him. How ironic it would be if the tall, hellish knight knew the truth. That was one problem that Grath had not yet solved. If the Dragon King discovered what the young drake was involved in, it would mean having to do something that Grath did not find appetizing.

It won’t happen, though. I have control now! I have become the kingmaker, the power behind the future of the entire Dragonrealm.

“How isss he doing out there?”

“Perfect, of course.” Grath thought that the Dragon King had become too nervous of late, as if anything could go wrong at this point. The meeting with Lord Blue, the Dragon Kings’ chosen representative, was a foregone conclusion what with Grath to coach Kyl through it. Soon, Kyl would renounce his name and take on the mantle of Gold, Dragon Emperor.

“I do not like thisss.” The Green Dragon was more sibilant than usual, a definite sign of excessive worry as far as Grath was concerned. “The Bedlams are gone and the Gryphon with them. The demon steed is also missing. Our defenses are weakened.”

The Bedlams had sent word just prior to the reception that they would be unable to attend. The cunning spell attached to Aurim’s memory had so far defeated their best efforts. Toma had planned well when he had devised that one. Grath could not help but admire the spell’s obvious complexity. How many were there who could so cleverly befuddle his guardians?

“Things will be all right, my lord,” he answered dutifully. “We are in Penacles, after all. There is no better guarded kingdom than this one save Talak, and yet there we faced much more resentment. Here, people already accept us . . . to a point, of course.” Grath hoped to find reasons to make future excursions to the City of Knowledge before necessity demanded that it be returned to drake control. Since the latter would not take place for some time, he did not feel too concerned.

His eyes suddenly focused on a fantastic figure entering the reception. Here was one whom Kyl would find most appealing, he thought. And so do I, the young drake was forced to admit.

There was no one in the Dragonrealm like the Lady Troia, mate of the Gryphon. She had met him across the sea, at the beginning of the revolt against the Aramite Empire. She was lithe and graceful, yet still a predator, her tawny color in keeping with her feline appearance. When she smiled-a bit uncertainly, he thought-her slightly pointed teeth reminded him of a female drake. She also had talons that were supposed to be every bit as deadly as those of Grath’s race.

If not for his desire for Valea, Grath would have been tempted to see what a flirtation with the cat-woman would have revealed. Likely his dismemberment, if what they said about her love for her mate was true. Still, he doubted that knowing that would stop his brother from trying. Kyl had to flirt. It was one trait of his that, while frequently useful, Grath was as yet unable to completely control.

“I would have thought that the Lady Troia would have remained home with her son sssince her mate hasss been called away,” muttered the Green Dragon. “She should not be here.”

“Why?”

“She isss also with child,” responded the Dragon King, as if that answered everything. Grath tried to puzzle it out, failed, then decided that it was not worth his time.

“Perhaps she has a message from the Gryphon. Perhaps the Bedlams and he are preparing to return to Penacles.”

Lord Green looked at him, but said nothing. Grath decided there and then that he would mention to Kyl that perhaps it would be an excellent notion to allow the Dragon King to return to his own domain. The drake had worked hard to bring them to this point, but it was clear that he needed some rest.

Without warning, the Dragon King started toward the Gryphon’s mate. After a moment, Grath followed, in great part because he wanted to see Lady Troia up close.

The cat-woman noticed them coming and, unlike most of those attending, gave them an open smile. This did not surprise Grath, who was aware that one of the Gryphon’s closest comrades during the war against the Aramite Empire had been the very scion of the Blue Dragon, a great drake warrior called Morgis. Through Morgis, Troia had perhaps become more used to the drake race than anyone else at the reception.

“It’s . . . Lord Green . . . is that the way to say it? I always forget.”

The Dragon King executed a slight bow. “That is one of the accepted forms of address.”

“Would you prefer ‘Your Majesty’?”

“With my emperor present, it does not strike me as proper. ‘Lord Green’ isss perfectly fine.”

She looked him over. “If you were of a more bluish tint, I’d swear that you were Morgis.”

“We do tend to look much alike to your kind.”

Another very feline smile spread across her fascinating face. Grath realized he had not yet bowed and quickly did so. Seeing her hand near enough, he followed his impulse and took it in his own. To the Lady Troia’s flattered amusement, he kissed it.

“Not all of you look the same. You’ve become a daring one, Grath. Do you stalk the same prey as your brother?”

It took him a moment to decipher her comment. When he had done so, the young drake smiled. “Kyl does well enough for both of us, my lady.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“What brings you to the reception?” the Dragon King asked without warning. “Are your mate and the Bedlams returning?”

Her smile changed to a frown. “I only wish. No, they’re still hoping to solve the riddle. The Gryphon contacted me long enough to let me know that they would not be returning this evening. Cabe and Gwendolyn don’t plan to cease their efforts until their son and the drake with him are free of this Duke Toma’s spell.” Her light, short fur began to bristle. “He sounds as foul a creature as the Senior Keeper D’Rak!”

Grath had no idea who this D’Rak had been save that by his name he had been an Aramite, a wolf raider. Lord Green, however, nodded his agreement. Grath made a mental note to ask the Dragon King about D’Rak and wolf raiders in general. Their empire might be in ruins, but a number of their ships still prowled the seas as pirates. Desperate men like that might be willing to bargain their services to a great power.

“I decided that with everyone else gone, it would be a good idea for me to be here. If there’s trouble, I’ll be around to lend a claw.” She unsheathed a handful of deadly talons impressive even by drake standards.

“But you have children of your own to be concerned about,” insisted Lord Green. “Both your son and the one within you.”

The young drake could not detect any swelling. Of course the gown prevented a better examination.

Troia laughed, an enchanting, throaty sound. “Your concern is appreciated, Lord Green, but I come from a sturdy people. I fought in battle only days before our first child, Demion, was born. It was not by choice, but it gives you an idea of how resilient my folk are. The way I am now will by no means slow me, I can promise you that! There is almost a full month to go. As for our other son, I have good people watching him.” She glanced past him at where the regent and Kyl were standing. “Would you excuse me, Lord Green? I want to ask a favor of Toos before I forget.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

They both bowed as the cat-woman moved on. Grath watched her walk with renewed appreciation for females, then recalled himself. It would not do to be so coarse among present company. What he did reflected as much on his brother as what Kyl himself did. Still, he was amazed that she could be so far along. What he could see did not in the least remind him of any of the pregnant human females he had seen.

His gaze drifted to Lord Green, who appeared rather preoccupied. The elder drake stared as the Lady Troia joined Kyl and Toos. For some reason, Grath doubted the Dragon King’s interest centered around the cat-woman.

“Grath, have you ssseen your tutor lately?”

The question caught the young drake by surprise, but he quickly recovered. “Scholar Trassske is not one for receptions, my lord. He felt it would be best if he retired to his chambers. I believe he isss studying the progress of the school of sorcery. The Gryphon planned to take him to visit it the day after tomorrow.”

“He may have changed his mind, but feels uncertain about arriving so late. Go and see whether that isss the case.”

“But-”

“Do it, Grath.” The Green Dragon walked toward Kyl and his companions, preventing any further protest the younger drake would have made.

Grath hissed quietly, incensed by the Green Dragon’s tone and attitude. He was not a servitor to be talked to so. He was the brother of the new Dragon Emperor, not to mention that emperor’s counselor. The Dragon King should be treating him with deference, not indifference.

Still, as much as it rankled him, Grath chose to obey. Lord Green had been good to him for the most part and was still a necessary ally. He would forgive the Dragon King his mistake this time, but if it happened again, Grath would remember for the future. Patience and memory are important driving forces, his mentor had said, allowing one to survive for years until the time is ripe for vengeance.

As usual, it all made perfect sense to him.

Lord Green wished him to find Benjin Traske. Very well, then, he would find Benjin Traske. It would give him the opportunity to ask a few questions that had arisen this evening.

The walk was a long one, and at other times he would have contemplated sending a messenger, but Grath knew that this once it would be better if he obeyed the command to the letter. He walked through the halls, unaccompanied but not alone. Toos had indicated that this night no escort would be necessary for the drakes, but that did not mean that security had been relaxed. Tonight, sentries lined the major corridors, the regent’s precautions against assassins and possibly wayward drakes. Grath admired their order and steadfastness as he walked. Too many drakes still underestimated their human counterparts, but he did not. Underestimating your opponents was the best way to open yourself to utter defeat.

There were guards even in the corridor outside of the chambers that had been set aside for Grath and the other visitors. Again, it was supposed to be for their own safety, but he was certain that the regent had also ordered the soldiers stationed here in the hopes that it would discourage his draconian guests from wandering off to where they were not desired. The rooms he sought were farthest down the hallway. He walked past the remaining sentries, faced the door, and softly rapped on it.

The door swung open without preamble. The face of the tutor appeared. “What is it, Grath?”

Disconcerted, he still managed to reply, “I was sent here by Lord Green. He thought that you might yet make an appearance. He insisted that I personally go to you and ask if that might be so.”

“The Dragon King insisted that you come for me?”

Grath nodded.

The massive figure stepped out into the hall. He was clad in the robes of a scholar, making it appear as if he were just about to begin class. The nearest guards glanced the tutor’s direction, but when they saw who it was, they immediately resumed their statuelike stances.

“Did he say why he wanted to know?”

“No, Master Traske,” replied the young drake after a quick look at the sentries. “He simply insisted I go, then walked over to where Kyl and the regent were standing.”

“Did he now? I’d not planned to be there, but if Lord Green is so interested, it would behoove me to come.”

That was somewhat of a relief to Grath, who was not certain how the Dragon King would have reacted if he had returned alone. Eyeing the guards once more, Grath asked, “Would you prefer that I wait out here while you prepare yourself?”

A brief smile spread across the bearded face. “Yes, that would be good of you.”

Benjin Traske slipped back inside. Grath took up a place just to the side of the door and watched the guards. They did not even so much as twitch. These were veterans, men who had fought in battle. The young drake hoped that no reason would arise that would force him to fight one of them.

The door opened but a minute later. The scholar, slightly neater but overall looking much the same as he had a moment before, stepped out into the hall again. After making certain that the door was secure, he turned and began marching down the corridor.

Throughout most of the journey back, the large figure beside Grath said nothing. The drake attempted questions once or twice, but they were met with short, unenlightening responses. Grath gave up and concentrated his efforts on keeping up with the other. His companion was setting a swifter pace than he had expected, almost as if there was some urgent need to appear at the reception as soon as possible. He would have liked to have asked if there was some reason for the speed, but if one of the sentries overheard, it might make for some misdirected conclusions.

As they neared the ballroom, Grath noticed that the reception had grown much quieter during his absence. He wondered if perhaps something had occurred that had made Toos call an early end to the event. If so, it could not have been anything terrible, for the few voices that he did hear seemed as unconcerned as he would have expected.

“Is something the matter, boy?”

“No . . . nothing.”

A soldier opened one of the doors for them. Grath nodded in the manner of a superior to a servant, but his cool demeanor was shattered by what he saw in the ballroom.

It would have perhaps been more appropriate to say what he did not see. More than half of the guests had vanished. Small groups clustered here and there, but the bulk of those who had come to meet the new Dragon Emperor were gone. As were, Grath realized in a quick, anxious survey of the ballroom, Toos, Lady Troia, the Green Dragon, and Kyl.

A heavy hand clutched his shoulder. “Where did they go, Grath?”

“I don’t know! They were here when I left.”

Traske looked around. His eyes alighted on a trio of elderly men wearing robes like his own. “Wait here a moment.”

Grath was tired of being commanded by everyone, but he did as he was told. The scholar marched over to his counterparts and immediately questioned them, ignoring their annoyance over his rude interruption of their conversation. One of them made a reply that Grath could not hear, a reply which was then apparently supported by a nod of the head from another in the trio. Benjin Traske gave them a curt response, then returned to the waiting drake. His expression puzzled Grath; it looked as if his companion was suffering a number of conflicting emotions, none of them good.

“They are outside. The arena. Some tournament. I was not told anything about this.”

“Tournament? You mean the chess game?”

“Yesss . . .” The huge man came to a decision. “Come, Grath. We do not want to be late.”

“What are-”

Grath’s question died abruptly as his companion glared at him. Clamping his mouth shut, he followed the other through the ballroom.

Toos watched the game unfold with uneasiness in his heart. There was no reason for him to be anxious, not with the safeguards that he and the Gryphon had implemented for this visit, but simply having the drake heir out in the open like this, with not even a roof to protect his head, made the regent uncomfortable. The night sky was dark, there being no moon out. He kept imagining Seekers or some other airborne danger circling above, biding quietly until the proper time. A part of him knew that it was paranoia, but another part argued that there was a basis for his fears.

His entire life was a basis for those fears.

Kyl, with the subtle aid of Toos himself, was playing opposite Baron Andrean. Toos had confidence enough in Andrean to know that the aristocrat would do his best to see to it that his royal adversary looked good. As to whether the baron would actually allow the young drake to win, the regent could only guess. Baron Andrean was an intelligent man. He was capable of judging what results would best serve Penacles.

The dragon heir was actually doing fairly well against the much more experienced Andrean. Either that, or Andrean was much more skilled at manipulating the game than Toos had ever imagined. Both players were fairly even at this point. Andrean had a slight advantage, but it was one based more on the strength of his champions than numbers. Through sheer circumstance, the baron had drawn some of the best of the guardsmen who played as pieces. Fortunately, Kyl had a few masters of his own.

In point of fact, the young drake’s knight was about to defeat Andrean’s pawn. This particular combat had gone on for more than the normal two or three minutes. Since they were confined to a single square, duels by champions often ended when one player was forced beyond the boundaries. In this case, both men had succeeded in remaining in place. However, the knight had finally beaten down the defenses of the baron’s pawn and had the man only inches from the back edge of the square.

A final blow ended the battle. Spectators applauded as the pawn stumbled backward, not only stepping out of bounds but also falling on his back. It was as clean a victory as any. Clean and without any bloodshed. Toos was aware that some of his guests would have liked to have seen blood, but that was not the point of the game. Anyone exhibiting more than a little fondness for what little blood was spilled was not invited back for quite some time. Most learned from that. To earn the regent’s disfavor was something few desired.

Kyl was considering his next move. Toos leaned forward and whispered, “Beware Andrean’s bishops. He likes to put them into play fairly quickly. Likely when he does, he’ll go for your knight using both of them.”

A slight nod was all he received in response from the young drake. Kyl already understood just how unorthodox the baron’s playing was and appreciated his host’s guidance. However, how the drake chose to counter the move was entirely up to the emperor-to-be himself.

With his part done for now, the tall, narrow regent studied the assembled guests. Still nothing out of the ordinary, but the same sense of uneasiness that had allowed him to survive decades of mercenary work insisted that something was amiss. Kyl glanced at the Green Dragon, who stood off to one side with the draconian sentries. The Dragon King had them spread out and ready for immediate action. There had been room enough for them behind the heir, but the Dragon King had insisted that they would be of more use out in the open, where they could better watch over the entire area. As it was, the two bodyguards who always accompanied Kyl stood behind both the heir and the regent. Toos, who was a good judge of warriors, thought they looked capable enough, if somewhat distant. But then, they’re drakes, aren’t they, Toos? You know them only from across the battlefield, not from the same side. It was strange to have drakes at his back, but the regent’s own bodyguards also stood behind the master of Penacles and his guest. Toos had the utmost confidence in his own soldiers; they had ways of dealing quickly with treacherous drakes.

And Toos had a few tricks of his own.

A disturbance near the entrance caught his attention. He turned to see Grath and Benjin Traske. The scholar tried to hide it, but it was clear to the trained eye of the former mercenary that he was upset about something. Even if Traske’s face and form had not indicated anxiety, Grath’s own evident nervousness was enough to garner the regent’s concern.

Time passed, the game went on, and still nothing happened. Toos wondered whether the danger was all in his mind, but whenever he looked around, he felt somehow vindicated in his beliefs. Grath, the Green Dragon, Traske . . . wherever he looked, the regent found faces whose concern matched his own. It was as if they were all waiting for something to happen, something that should have happened by this time.

Kyl hissed. The wary general shifted his gaze immediately to the heir, but the drake’s reaction was at the loss of a valuable piece and not because of any danger. Kyl glanced his way. “If hisss championsss can defeat my king, I am lossst!”

Pulling his thoughts back to the game, Toos saw that his royal guest’s summation was correct. Andrean had two men, a knight and a rook, in position. Another rook stood nearby. All the baron had to do was give the command, and that piece would put the drake’s king into checkmate. Kyl’s man would then have to fight each piece until he had either defeated all three or had fallen to one of them. Sizing the soldiers up, Toos was willing to give the heir’s man one, maybe two combats, but fatigue would prevent him from salvaging the game for his player.

Kyl’s king carried shield and mace and knew well the advantages and disadvantages of each. As Baron Andrean commanded his second rook forward, the champion readied himself. Under the rules that Toos had formulated, Andrean could choose any of the three with which to begin. Kyl’s man had already positioned himself so as to face the knight. Toos nodded; it was the same opponent that he would have chosen. To the regent’s amused surprise, however, Kyl’s adversary chose instead to use his first rook, the least of his three champions. There were a few murmurs in the crowd, but most did not comprehend what Andrean was doing. The regent did, and the knowledge brought the shadow of a smile to his foxlike features. Andrean, very much the politician, was giving his opponent as much aid as he possibly could. The game was already his, but if Kyl’s man could defeat at least one rival, then so much the better for the heir’s showing. The closer the game appeared to be, the better the dragon heir would feel.

Weapons clanged as the rook took on the king. Champions were ofttimes given the option of choosing their own weapons, and so this was a battle of mace against scepter, the latter in reality simply a more elaborate mace. Both men struck hard at the shields, each hoping to knock the other’s defense away or at least open a hole. People cheered, and not a few bets were placed on the outcome. As an old soldier, Toos had no qualms about betting as long as it was kept under certain limitations. Now and then he liked to make a bet himself. The years had given him a practiced eye when it came to the art of war.

The rook tried to get his mace under the king’s shield in order to lift the latter away, but the drake’s champion turned the trick against the younger soldier, pushing down with his full mass. The rook’s grip loosened on the mace as the weapon was pulled down. Wasting no precious time, the king struck with his own weapon, almost getting around the other’s shield. His opponent struggled to free his mace even as the king attacked again, but the elder champion would not permit that. Changing tactics, Kyl’s man suddenly turned his assault from the rook’s shield to the imprisoned mace, bringing his scepter down on it.

Several people gasped, thinking that the king intended to crush the hand of his opponent, a move that Toos would have condemned. The general, however, understood what the champion was doing. As the mace came down, the rook, obviously stunned by what he thought was happening, pulled his hand back as if bitten. The mace continued to come down, but midway it suddenly shifted. Instead of striking where his adversary’s hand would have been, the king brought his scepter down on the upper shaft of the other mace. Had the rook realized that his hand had never been in danger, he could have used that moment to seize the wrist of Kyl’s champion and possibly balance out the odds. As it was, the rook was now weaponless. The king knocked the loose mace far away and wasted no time pressing his attack. The bout ended but seconds later, to the sounds of great cheering.

Kyl was hissing, but Toos recognized his reaction as one of extreme pleasure. The heir had half-risen out of his chair, the better to view the battle. As Andrean’s knight stepped forward, the young drake rose more. A slight frown escaped the regent; he hoped that the heir was not given to bloodlust like some drakes. Toos looked around for Grath and discovered that neither he nor the scholar had moved from the doorway. Unlike Kyl, the younger drake still appeared more apprehensive than anything else. He was glad to see that Kyl’s brother, at least, was not given to bloodlust, but he also wondered what worried Grath so. When the opportunity presented itself, the general intended to talk to the lad about it. Perhaps doing so would clear up some of his own mysterious anxieties.

“Thisss one will be much clossser!” remarked the dragon heir to his host.

Forcing himself back into the game, Toos agreed. “You must be prepared to accept it if your champion loses, Lord Kyl. The knight’s very skilled.”

“I am prepared, General. I do not give up hope jussst yet, though. If I lossse, I lossse; if victory isss sssalvaged, ssso much the better.”

The statement pleased Toos, more because of the way it was said. Kyl’s tone indicated he meant every word. Perhaps I’ve misjudged him. He might be more level-headed than I thought.

His attention was again diverted, this time by the Green Dragon, who signaled to Grath and Benjin Traske to join him. The Dragon King had a goblet in one hand, though, and when he shifted position, the better for those he was signaling to see him, the hand with the goblet bumped against one of his guards.

The goblet slipped from his hand, its contents spilling on the floor. The draconian soldiers nearest to him converged on the fallen cup.

Snapping his fingers, the regent summoned one of his own men. The man saluted and waited for orders. Toos pointed at the huddled figures. “Get someone over there now. His Lordship might need something to clean himself off with. Make certain not a spot remains and give the Dragon King whatever other aid he desires.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kyl, still standing, had not noticed what was happening. His own attention was fixed on the two combatants. Toos blinked. He could not even recall the beginning of the bout, but the drake’s champion and Vergoth’s man had obviously already been at it for several seconds. The skill of the knight was already telling, however, for Kyl’s king was beginning to lose ground. The general scratched his long, narrow chin. He had expected better of the king, but that was the way of the game. The soldiers who took part did not play the same way twice. One time, they might seem unstoppable; other days, they might fall after only a few blows. It was part of what made his variation on the game of chess a much more interesting one in his opinion.

The sense of danger again pervaded his being. Yet, surveying the scene, Toos could find nothing amiss. Servants had not yet reached the Dragon King, who, surrounded by his own soldiers, was virtually invisible. Grath and the scholar were wending their way toward the lord of Dagora, but they appeared to be safe. What could-

As it had happened so many times in the past, he saw what was to be. No one, not even the Gryphon, truly understood the workings of the former mercenary’s limited yet potent magic. Toos himself did not, for he had never met another in whom the power had so focused itself in one direction. Had he been asked to transport himself from one end of the arena to another, the regent would have been unable to comply. Had he been asked to levitate a sword, even that would have been beyond him. Yet, despite this seeming lack of skill, he had one of the most unusual gifts of sorcery, one that had saved his life time and time again.

He had heard of only one mage skilled in prophecy: Yalak of the Dragon Masters, who had once created a crystal egg that could show images of possible future events. Knowing prophecy had not prevented Yalak from being murdered by Azran Bedlam, however, which was why Toos had always been careful to cultivate his ability and had shared its full secrets with no one, not even the Gryphon. He had always felt guilty about that, but what was done was done.

The image came at its own chosen time, just like all the others. He had only time to gasp at its implications and marvel at the audacity of the one behind it before he became aware that the true event was just taking place.

It began with the striking of the two champions’ weapons against one another. The mace of Kyl’s king was knocked from the warrior’s hand and, before the startled eyes of the many, flew almost unerringly toward the astounded heir. As it neared, however, it was clear to most that it would fall short. Kyl took a step back, but did not otherwise protect himself from the misshaped projectile.

Only Toos knew that the true threat was only now coming into play. Leaping toward the drake, he cried, “Get down!”

The former mercenary reached Kyl just as the draconian guards stirred to life. Perhaps they had not heard his cry, or perhaps they felt that it was their duty to protect their master, not his. Toos only knew that he had barely thrust the dragon heir to the floor when a massive, armored figure shoved him aside, causing the general to spin in a half circle.

Something hard and swift thudded against his back.

He thought at first that the mace had somehow managed to fly over the arena wall, but then a fierce pain wracked the general’s chest and it was all he could do to keep from collapsing there and then. Grimacing, the regent forced open his eyes, which he could not recall closing, and peered down. To his surprise, Toos saw no sign of the wound that should have been there. Then, as his legs began to buckle, it occurred to him that the entry point had to have been from the back. The bolt, or whatever the assassin had used, had not quite pierced him all the way through.

The world spun around. Toos fell to his knees, which did nothing to alleviate the agony. Around him he knew that there was panic. Someone called out to him, but it was as if they were receding even as they spoke.

He knew he was dying. For once, his magic-wrought ability to outmaneuver his foes had worked against him. He had beaten the assassin, for Kyl must certainly still live, but it had not been the general’s intention to make himself the new target.

Sloppy, Toos thought. Been away from the field too long. Shouldn’t have listened to those jackanapes! Next maneuver, I go out with the men . . . get myself back in shape. . . .

Things grew hazy. Someone was in front of him. Toos tried to focus. The figure coalesced into that of the Gryphon, but that was nonsense, the regent knew. The Gryphon was with the Bedlams.

He chuckled, which caused him to shake as renewed pain coursed through him. Toos tried to speak to the imaginary Gryphon, but all that escaped his lips was blood. Putting one last great effort into his attempt at speech, he told the apparition, “It’s . . . yours again . . .”

Toos closed his eyes, knowing that the meaning of his words would be clear. After so many years of trying, he had finally found a way to force his old commander to reassume the throne. It was the Gryphon who had made Penacles what it was. Toos had simply been its caretaker while the lionbird recovered from his great labors. Now, however, the regent’s work was done. It was time to move on.

A sound caught his attention. Horns. He had little trouble recognizing the notes; it was the call to arms of his old company, the one in which he had first followed his commander.

Rising, Toos the Fox unsheathed his sword and went to join his old comrades in one last, glorious battle.