Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

XIX

Cabe left the caverns of the Green Dragon feeling drained and still more confused. He did not know how to behave toward the Dragon King and was aware that he might possibly never resolve that problem. Eventually the warlock would also have to tell his wife. She would know that something was wrong.

He had left the matter of the Dragon King’s relations with the Gryphon and Darkhorse in the claws of Lord Green himself. The only thing that Cabe had promised was that he would not permit war. Somehow, if the truth came to be known to either of the two, Cabe would have to see to it that they did not attempt to seek justice-or vengeance-against the master of the Dagora Forest. That would be only the beginning, for the drakes would see such an attack as an assault on their race. Even the more level-headed Blue Dragon would likely join the fray.

Why is it that justice and right aren’t always necessarily the same thing? Cabe pondered as he exited the cavern mouth into the forest. I can see why the Green Dragon did what he did and I can see why he should be punished for doing so. Yet, to punish him would create an even greater conflict and accomplish nothing good. Might as well punish the drake guards who, trying to rescue Kyl, pushed Toos into the path of the bolt. No one intended to do the last. The drake bodyguards had only been performing their function. They had not known about the assassin with the bow until it was too late.

There was only one thing good about this situation. The Green Dragon was very remorseful about what he had caused to happen. He had known Toos well; Cabe knew that the Dragon King was already punishing himself for the assassination. Behind the false helm, the reptilian eyes stared too often into empty space.

The only Dragon King who would feel remorse in the first place over something like this. It’s almost ironic. If Black or the Storm Dragon had been behind this, they would have shrugged their shoulders in disappointment that more had not died.

He took a moment to simply stand in the midst of the forest, drinking in the peacefulness of his surroundings. Cabe would have liked to have stayed longer, but Gwendolyn would be expecting him and there was much to do before the Blue Dragon’s arrival. They might have as little as a day and a half before the drake lord showed up. Someone would have to see to Kyl so that he would be prepared when the time came. That might take some doing, Cabe thought, for the last he recalled, the heir had still been secreted in his chambers.

The warlock did not intend to argue about the Dragon King traveling to the Manor, even though it went against his earlier wishes. Under the circumstances, Lord Blue could hardly be blamed for wanting to come so quickly. Had it been any other drake lord, Cabe would have remained adamant in his refusal, but Blue he trusted, if only because of the Gryphon’s friendship with the Dragon King’s son, Morgis.

Knowing he could delay no longer, Cabe pictured the main hall of the Manor. With a sorcerer of his skill, thought was as good as action. Cabe’s surroundings faded away to be replaced but a moment later by the very location he had just imagined. The warlock was pleased by the smooth transition. Sometimes, when his thoughts were as scattered as they felt now, his travel spell either took more time or left him more weary. On a rare occasion, he even ended up in a different location.

With his sorcery, he sought out his wife. Unlike the travel spell, this proved more troublesome, for, although he found her with little effort, she seemed not to notice him at first. At least, the sorceress did not respond immediately. Only when Cabe pressed for contact did the link establish itself.

Gwen?

Cabe. You’re back.

Her thoughts did not reach him as intensely as they should have had. Are you all right? You don’t sound very strong.

She took a second or two to respond. There has just been so much to do, so many things to keep track of.

I understand. Now was not the proper time to tell her the truth about the Green Dragon and the assassination. That suited the exhausted mage. He was very much tempted, in fact, to simply wait until Kyl was on the throne and he and Gwendolyn finally had some time for themselves again. You’re in the library?

Yes, I am.

I’ll come to you, then. He broke off contact with her. Cabe was almost ready to transport himself to the library when a terrible ache in his stomach reminded him that he had still not eaten. Not wanting to disturb his wife again, the warlock decided to make an unscheduled stop in the kitchen.

When he materialized in the kitchen but a second later, the familiar smells of herbs and spices almost overwhelmed him, so hungry had he become. Cabe looked around, intending to apologize for his entrance, but neither Mistress Belima nor any of her helpers were present. The kitchen was completely empty. There was not even anything baking or cooking at the moment, a truly rare occurrence. Mistress Belima lived in the kitchen. She had once informed the master warlock quite testily that cooking was how she relaxed. Considering the delicious meals that the woman organized, Cabe no longer even brought up the subject.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?”

His question was greeted with silence. Cabe studied the room again, but other than the fact that no one was here, there was nothing unusual to see. He finally shrugged it off and began searching for something to eat. It would have been easier to conjure up bread and fruit, but with Mistress Belima’s kitchen, it paid better to search. One never knew what delight she had concocted and set aside.

Sure enough, besides the fresh bread that the woman always had ready, Cabe also found fresh oatmeal and raisin cookies, cheese, and a small bowl of some sort of vegetable mix. The warlock made himself a quick, makeshift meal, then bolted it down. He would have liked to have savored it more, but Gwendolyn would be wondering where he had gone. He located some milk to wash down the food and finally, because it was a rule no one dared break for fear of incurring Belima’s wrath, cleaned up after himself. Cabe was just about to shift to the library when he noticed that he was no longer alone.

Aurim stood across the room from him. The younger Bedlam looked rather bleary-eyed, as if he had not had much sleep in the past few days. The sun-tressed warlock stood on unsteady legs, gripping one of the tables. He blinked two or three times at his father, but said nothing.

“Aurim!” Cabe rushed to his son’s side. “Are you well?”

“Father, I . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t remember what I was going to say. . . .” A sickly yet somehow triumphant grin crossed Aurim’s countenance. “But I know that there’s something else to rememb-remember. . . .”

The master sorcerer slipped an arm around his eldest. “You shouldn’t even try to speak right now, Aurim. Let me take you back to your room.”

He blinked again. “No . . . I have to tell you . . . the spell, I played with it. . . .”

The spell? Toma’s spell? What had his son done to himself? “You shouldn’t have worked on it on your own. I’d better bring you directly to your mother. She’ll better understand what you’ve done. Hopefully, she’ll also know what to do about it.”

“Mother?”

“She’s waiting for me in the library,” Cabe explained, but his son no longer appeared to be listening. Aurim’s brow was furrowed in an attempt at deep thought, although the attempt was already looking to be a failure. “You relax. Don’t try to think about it. There’ll be nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Sssh! Hold tight.”

Aurim obeyed without protest. Cabe cleared his thoughts and transported the two of them from the kitchen to the library.

The room was immaculate, as always. The Bedlams treated the collection-and books in general-with respect. Volumes were always carefully returned to their original locations. Pages were never bent; bookmarks were always used. A preservation spell kept the books from deteriorating, but Gwendolyn had laid down a rule that no unnecessary light enter the room, for sunlight still damaged books over time. Instead, carefully positioned reading chairs were spread throughout the library. Some caught the light from the one window allowed for circulation while all had candles nearby. However, most of the Bedlams, being spellcasters one and all, provided their own illumination in the form of tiny spheres that they conjured. The magical light did not harm the books and generally gave better illumination than either the candles or the narrow stretch of sunlight. In truth, the library had been well-kept before their coming, but Cabe and his wife had felt that they should not allow the Manor’s ability to fend for itself cause them to become careless and slovenly.

He did not see Gwen at first, not until he turned halfway around and discovered her standing only a few feet from him. She looked mildly surprised at the sight of his companion.

“What’s wrong with Aurim?” she asked quietly. The enchantress made no immediate move to aid Cabe with his burden.

“I think that he’s been trying to free himself from Toma’s spell. I think he’s done something worse now.” Cabe began helping Aurim to the nearest chair.

“He should be in his room, then.”

“We can look him over just as easily here,” the warlock returned, just slightly annoyed. He could not shake the sudden feeling that he had missed something. The enchantress spoke much too calmly, and the only times that Cabe could recall when she had spoken in such a way was when she had either been ill or angry with him. Glancing her way, he noticed no sign of sickness, but neither did she seem upset with him. Gwendolyn simply seemed . . . detached.

“I can’t right now.” She gave no explanation.

He started to straighten. “What do you mean you can’t d-?”

“Is everything all right here?” asked a voice from the doorway of the library. Cabe looked up and saw Benjin Traske standing there. “I thought-” His eyes alighted on Aurim and his mouth shut. After a breath or two, he finally added, “Master Aurim . . . are you well?”

Cabe was about to answer for his son when Aurim quietly asked, “Father, will you help me to my room?”

The scholar stepped toward the Bedlams. “Allow me to do that, my Lord Bedlam. I am certain that you and the Lady Bedlam have much to do. Is that not correct, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“Yes, let Benjin help him, Cabe.”

The warlock gaped at his bride. Could she not see how disoriented their son was? Benjin Traske, for all his offer of assistance, could hardly aid Aurim in this. The situation called for a knowledge and skill in sorcery. Traske barely had even a glimmer of ability.

From his chair, Aurim leaned toward his father. “Would you help me, please?”

That was enough for Cabe. The younger man was almost pleading. Aurim was probably afraid that he had caused more harm than good to himself, which was the way his father also felt. That Gwen could not see it astounded Cabe. Later, he would have a word with her, but for now, it was best that he brought Aurim back to his room and did what he could to help.

“Take my arm,” he ordered his son. To Traske, he added, “I thank you for your concern, but I’ll take care of this.”

The massive tutor’s face grew expressionless and he bowed. “As you wish, my Lord Bedlam. Then, if I may have but a word with your wife, I’m certain that she will be along shortly to help you.”

“Of course,” replied the enchantress.

Cabe had no more time to consider Gwendolyn’s behavior. With Aurim holding on to him, albeit unsteadily, he simply turned to her and said, “Please hurry.”

Her reply was a rather disinterested, “I will.”

He was still frowning when Aurim’s bedchamber took the place of the library. The tired mage helped his son to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Aurim looked around as if he had lost something. Cabe scanned the room, but saw no object that might have been what the younger sorcerer was seeking.

“She . . . they . . .” Aurim let loose with an uncharacteristic snarl. “Just a little more! I only need a little more and then I’ll have it!”

“Aurim, what are you talking about?” Cabe knelt by his son and tried to meet the latter’s gaze. Aurim stared past him, however, a haunted look in the young man’s eyes.

“Benjin . . . he’s the key . . . Traske with a ‘T’ . . . that’s how I remember it. ‘T’ also stands . . .”

“Son . . .”

The other waved him silent. “The spell didn’t . . . didn’t set right. Not this time. Traske with a ‘T’ . . .” Aurim suddenly looked up. A smile slowly grew. At last, he met his father’s gaze. This time, the haunted look had been replaced by one of weary triumph. “Father! Benjin Traske-”

“How is he doing?”

Startled, they both looked up to see Gwendolyn standing by the door. Cabe had not noticed her materialize, and he was certain that neither had their son.

Aurim was pleased to see her. “Mother! I was just about to tell Father! I remember! I think he must have not known that I’d worked on destroying the original spell. When he tried to cast it again, he only turned it into something even more haphazard.”

The warlock turned his back on his wife. Something that Aurim had just said had struck him almost dumb. “Aurim! Did you say that it was cast again?”

“Yes! Listen! He’s been here all the time, laughing at us! Father, Benjin Traske is Duke Toma!”

He stared at his son, unable to make sense out of the pronouncement. Benjin Traske . . . Toma? “Aurim, you can’t mean that, can you?”

His son grabbed him by the arms. “Father, we have to act! He’s taken Ursa and I think he must have Valea!”

It was still inconceivable. “But we just left Traske at the library, Aurim!”

“I know, but it wasn’t quite clear to me, then. I only knew that I had to get away from him! I-” Aurim looked past him to his mother. Cabe saw his eyes widen.

If I may have but a word with your wife . . .

“Look out!” shouted the young spellcaster. One arm thrust forward in a defensive maneuver as Cabe was suddenly thrown to the side.

The room was suddenly aglow with emerald green flame. Intense heat buffeted Cabe, but he knew that it should have been far worse. The spell should have killed him instantly, killed him and Aurim, too.

At the hands of Gwen.

Cabe rolled over just enough so that he could see what was happening. Before him, the doorframe outlining her, stood the scarlet-and-emerald enchantress. Her hands were outstretched, and even behind the magical shield that Aurim had managed to just barely create, the master warlock could sense the incredible river of power being thrust at them.

Gwendolyn’s face was still indifferent, almost blank. How long had she been under Traske’s . . . Toma’s cursed spell? Not for very long, but definitely before the disguised renegade had entered the library. Traske had been surprised to see Aurim there, too, which meant that he had thought that he had already dealt with Cabe’s son.

The library had been a trap, one set to snare him in particular. Had Aurim not been with him, Cabe would have gone there alone to talk with his wife. Toma would have no doubt entered when he had anyway, thus giving the warlock too little time to realize what was wrong with his mate. Then, with Cabe unsuspecting, the renegade would have struck from both sides.

He would have made Gwen Cabe’s murderer.

Cabe held his anger in check, realizing that the situation now required thought, not emotion. Aurim’s shield was still holding, but he did not have the experience to keep pace with his mother. Fortunately, it appeared as if the witch did not have the full use of her senses, else she would have gotten around her son’s defenses by now.

The warlock added his own power to the shield. Toma had expected the enchanted sorceress to catch both her son and her husband off guard. Under his spell, she was only a puppet, which meant that the knowledge and cunning of Lady Gwendolyn Bedlam was almost completely lost.

Engrossed as he was in trying to understand what had become of his wife, he barely sensed the black tentacles coming from behind him.

They darted toward him, but the warlock had already shifted position, materializing just a foot or two out of the way. The tentacles struck the floor, then immediately sought him again.

Evidently not all of her cunning was lost. The mage cast his own spell, severing the tentacles from their source. The magical extremities dropped to the floor and wiggled around once or twice before they dissipated.

“Father! How do we fight her? I can’t hurt her!”

There lay the gist of their problem-and Toma’s final ploy. Gwendolyn would continue trying to kill them unless they defeated her, but doing so might cause her injury, or worse, death. For the renegade, that would be as great a victory as it would be if she succeeded in her mission.

I swear that you’ll pay for all of this somehow, Toma! It was so easy to swear oaths, though. Fulfilling them, however, was another matter, one which would first require a resolution to the situation at hand.

The ensorcelled Gwendolyn chose that moment to look at the ceiling. Cabe did not understand until the room began to shake.

“The ceiling! Aurim! You take care of it! I’ll watch her!”

It was possible that a look of relief and gratitude crossed his son’s countenance, but things were moving too swiftly to take the time to be certain. At least he won’t have to worry about harming his mother.

Aurim also looked up. The shaking slowed, but did not cease. Out of the corner of his eye, Cabe saw the younger warlock squeeze his fists tightly together in an attempt to force his will on the weakening ceiling.

The quake became imperceptible.

That left Cabe to deal with his wife. He dared not attempt a direct attack. As desperate as his own predicament was, to harm her was out of the question. Knowing that she would probably die at Toma’s hand if he did sacrifice himself did not make things easier.

Part of Gwen had to be in there. It was the only way by which the drake could make some use of her skills. Otherwise, she would have been no more than a statue. For Toma to twist her to his bidding, he would have had to keep a flicker of her soul awake. All Cabe had to do was find something that would shock her enough to weaken the spell holding her in thrall.

The deaths of her husband and son would do that, but faking such a scene would require too much concentration. It would leave the shield weakened, something that his bride, even in her present state, would be unable to miss.

The true deaths of her husband and son would awaken her.

He needed something else, but it had to be something stunning or a fear or even possibly-

A fear? Cabe knew of one. It was a fear so powerful that as hard as she had tried in the past to hide it from him, he had noticed the tension, the shaking, time after time.

It would have to be that. The warlock gritted his teeth and whispered to his wife, “I’m sorry for this, Gwen. Another thing that Toma owes us for.”

It was easy in one sense. All Cabe had to do was picture the enchantress as he had first discovered her.

A golden glow materialized around the sorceress. She did not pay it any heed at first, focused as she was by Toma’s command on the process of trying to kill her family. Then, as the glow condensed, took form, a slight look of uncertainty flashed across the otherwise emotionless face.

Beside him, Aurim tried to watch while maintaining his counterspell on the ceiling.

Cabe continued to solidify the glow. It now had a rocky, translucent look to it. He knew that what he was creating was an illusion, but he doubted that Gwendolyn’s mind in its present state would be able to make the distinction.

The Lady of the Amber. That was the name by which she had been known in legend. The story of her imprisonment by Azran had become folk legend. Azran had worked his spell well and only Cabe had somehow managed to shatter it. Perhaps it had been because he was of the mad mage’s bloodline. Whatever the reason, release her Cabe had. Yet, the memory of her imprisonment remained rooted in her mind, haunting her dreams on occasion and filling her with a dread whenever she saw even a small piece of the substance. She feared being entombed again, and while that was not likely to happen, it was impossible to rid Gwendolyn of that dread. The amber prison had become a demon to her. It was why she insisted that no one, without exception, use the title in her presence.

Gwen’s eyes abruptly rounded. Her face twisted from disinterest to outright horror.

She screamed as Cabe had never heard her scream.

Her spells died at the moment of her cry, much to Cabe’s relief. Aurim, groaning, slumped onto the bed, but the warlock could see that his son was merely exhausted. This was the first time the younger Bedlam had been forced to use his power on such a level. Practice would make it easier.

Still his wife screamed, but Cabe could not stop now. She was not yet free of Toma’s control. Only when her mind was completely her own could he dare cease his attack. The sorcerer only prayed that she did not lose her mind in the process of recovering it.

At last, the enchantress ceased screaming and dropped to her knees. She began to cry. Cabe heard his name and those of his children amidst her sobs. Immediately, he dismissed the illusion of the amber prison and rushed to her side.

“Gwendolyn!” Cabe put his arms around her.

The distraught woman gradually looked up. “Cabe?”

He held her close. “It’s all right. The amber wasn’t real. I had to do it to break you out of Toma’s spell.”

“Toma? I don’t . . . I don’t think I remember. . . .”

Of course she would not, the warlock realized. His wife had never actually seen Toma. “Gwen . . . Traske came to you, didn’t he?”

It was clear that, as with Aurim, it was an effort for her to think. “Yes . . . he did. I don’t recall what he . . . what he wanted to talk about, but . . .”

“Gwen . . . Traske is Toma. He may have always been Toma.”

Cabe felt her body grow perfectly still. For a brief moment, he began to fear that she had slipped back into panic, but then she spoke. Her voice was steady but filled with growing hatred. “All this time we’ve cared for a viper in our midst? All this time he’s walked among us, laughing inside?”

“I don’t know if he’s always been Traske, but he has been for some time, I think.”

“Rheena!” The oath was one that the disheveled enchantress used rarely these days, which to Cabe revealed just how horrified his wife felt. “He would have made me kill . . . kill . . .”

Cabe silenced her. “He didn’t. He failed.”

“But not for my lack of trying. . . .”

He dared not let her collapse now. “You’re not to blame! Toma’s to blame!” Cabe made her look him in the eye. “He’s still here, Gwendolyn. He’s still here and he may have Valea.”

“Valea!” The enchantress tried to rise, but her legs would not support her. Toma’s spell and Cabe’s illusion had combined to drain her completely, both emotionally and physically. “We . . . we have to save her!”

“You’ll do nothing but rest here.”

“I can’t leave my daughter to that demon!” Straining, the weary sorceress tried to rise again. This time, she almost fell over.

Cabe helped her to the bed, where he put her down next to Aurim. His son sat up. Aurim’s face was drawn.

“I’ll go with you.”

The master warlock shook his head. “No, you stay with your mother. This is something that requires gradual recovery and we can’t leave her defenseless. I’ll take care of Toma.”

Aurim wanted to argue, but he knew better. He frowned, however. “Father, I think Toma must also have Ursa. She was in this room, helping me with the spell, when Tra-Toma came.”

Another hostage. Another life to worry about. Toma, however, was not one to indiscriminately take hostages, which meant that he would hesitate before doing something to them. Cabe knew that at the very least the renegade had Valea in order to confound him, and Ursa had probably been taken because of her bloodline. Grath? He was the one that the warlock worried about most. Kyl was no doubt allied with Toma, but did the heir need his brother? Did he really care that much for Grath?

Maybe it would’ve been better if your assassins had managed to kill him, Lord Green! If Kyl was Toma’s ally, then he would pay along with the renegade duke, emperor or not.

Although only a few minutes had elapsed since the beginning of his battle with his ensorcelled wife, Cabe knew that he had delayed too long already. Leaning over quickly, he kissed the worn enchantress and patted his son on the shoulder. “I have to go. I have to get Valea.”

“You’ll need help,” insisted Gwen, trying to rise again.

Cabe briefly looked away, his gaze drifting to empty air. After a moment, he turned back to his family. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry. Toma has to be stopped.”

“Good-” the witch began, but Cabe was already gone.

He had no doubt where they would be. Cabe Bedlam had been able to sense the renegade and the others all the time he had been in his son’s chambers. Toma, Valea, Kyl, Grath, and at least three others occupied the chambers set aside for the heir, his brother, and their bodyguards.

The odds were very much against him; the warlock was aware of that. Yet Cabe was concerned only about Toma. The others would be more hindrance to themselves. Kyl was possibly a threat, if Cabe was correct in his assumption. Toma, however, would have his hands full keeping Valea, Ursa, and likely Grath under control. The drake duke would insist on doing so himself. Toma trusted no one enough, not even his supposed emperor.

He materialized just a few feet from the royal chambers. The spell that prevented magical intrusion was still in place, another reason why Toma would have chosen these rooms rather than his own. The drake had dared not place such a spell on his own suite, for someone would have noticed and questioned why a tutor needed such safeguards.

How best to do this? Toma was making Cabe come to him. Despite Cabe’s intentions otherwise, the warlock was once more being played with by the renegade. Duke Toma had always excelled at manipulating others, but his game of the past several years had been his crowning achievement. Even now, he simply had to wait for his adversary to come to him.

Well, I am coming to you, you damned lizard and, believe me, you will regret that!

Cabe sent a probe toward the doorway, the obvious entrance into a place protected by sorcery, but he also sent out two more subtle probes to seek out the windows on the other side of Kyl’s bedchamber. He doubted that either the door or the windows would do him any good, but it was always a wise idea to investigate.

The probes finally informed him of what he had already assumed. None of the obvious entrances were available to him. There were spells crisscrossing them, spells whose intentions were to assure his immediate death. He could not fight both Toma and the traps the renegade had laid, not at the same time. That was far too much for even Cabe, with all his power, to concentrate on.

It became clear to Cabe that he could either stay here and hope that Toma would tire of waiting-or try to fight his way through the drake’s traps. Neither was a particularly attractive choice. He could not take long in deciding, either, for Valea’s life lay in the balance. Kyl did not likely want her killed, but Toma might. Whatever master plan the renegade had hatched all those years ago, when he had first donned the mask of Benjin Traske, had been shattered, likely by Aurim’s appearance in the library. Traske had seemed visibly startled. With Gwen having failed him, Toma now had to revise his moves.

Which did not mean that the drake had not already planned for this somehow.

He could not wait out Toma. Cabe had to assault the magically defended suite. He had to do it alone, too, for neither his wife nor Aurim were-

There was a sudden tingling in his mind. The tingling was followed by the intrusion of a familiar, albeit ever unique presence. I am here, Cabe! Let me in!

Darkhorse! Enter freely! Come to the hall beyond Kyl’s suite! Quickly!

“What is it?” rumbled the eternal, suddenly beside him.

With the tension so great already, Cabe fairly jumped at the abrupt appearance of his old friend. He quickly scanned the shadow steed. Darkhorse did not look as powerful as he generally did. His presence was just a bit less imposing, as if not all of him was there. “Are you well enough? Can you help me?”

The eternal looked insulted. “Can I help you? I am Darkhorse, Cabe! I am your friend! To not help you, to do less than I am able . . .”

“Toma’s in there.”

That silenced the ebony stallion. The icy orbs that were his eyes narrowed. “Is he now?” Darkhorse started toward the door. “Then I think that we should join him . . . so that we may tear him apart!”

“Wait!” Cabe leapt in front of the eternal. “Listen! Toma is Benjin Traske. He used that identity to draw us to him. I think he has Valea and Grath in there, and I know that the doors, the windows . . . everything . . . are bespelled!”

“Bespelled against you, Cabe!” snorted the shadow steed. “I am Darkhorse! Move aside! I owe the renegade for much and I will see him pay now!”

Somehow, the hulking form of Darkhorse slipped around him. Cabe cursed, reminding himself for the thousandth time that what the eternal resembled was not what he was. It was too late by that time. Darkhorse was already at the doorway.

The massive black stallion rose on his hind legs and struck out with his hooves. The warlock felt a rush of sorcerous energy encompass the eternal. Cabe shielded himself, but nothing struck him. He heard Darkhorse laugh and knew then that his companion had absorbed the sorcery and was now mocking the one who had cast the spell.

“I am coming for you, bloody duke!” Darkhorse kicked the door again. It still stood, a testament to Toma’s own skills, but Cabe estimated that one, perhaps two more kicks would shatter it. He readied himself to enter the fray the moment the way was clear.

It took only one more kick. The door splintered, bits flying this way and that. Again, spells were unleashed. The wary sorcerer was amazed at the preparation his adversary had made. Once more, however, all the preparation went for naught, for Darkhorse absorbed all the power with only a slight glow to show that he had noticed the attacks at all.

The eternal did not wait. He charged into the suite. Cabe prayed that the Manor would be able to withstand all the damage. It would not do to have the ancient edifice come down around them just as they were about to capture Toma.

“What in the name of the Void?” roared Darkhorse in absolute confusion.

Cabe, just entering, paused. He stared at what had so confounded the stallion, his heart sinking as he realized the latest ploy the duke had played on him.

Huddled together like frozen statues were Lady Belima and six of the household staff. They stared without seeing, but Cabe could at least tell that they were breathing.

“Look what hangs on their chests,” Darkhorse muttered.

Stepping forward, a demoralized Cabe saw that each person wore a simple loop necklace from which hung an object. Mistress Belima, a graying, busy-looking woman, wore a small dagger. Another woman wore a ribbon that resembled one worn often by Valea. The warlock studied the other items, finally muttering, “Those are personal items. Something from Valea, something from Kyl . . . something from everyone in Toma’s little group, including himself.”

“We have been tricked!”

He nodded. Darkhorse had the right of it. Toma had played the warlock as a master bard played his harp. Kyl, Grath, Ursa, Valea-they were all gone. Frustrated, the warlock stalked through the suite. He knew that the renegade had departed, but desperation made him hope that perhaps he was wrong. This had to end here and now, not drag on and on and on . . .

In one of the side rooms, the warlock made a grisly discovery. Whereas Mistress Belima and the others were simply under an enchantment, this poor soul had been murdered most horribly. He forced himself to walk up to the figure, whose features were frozen in a scream, and touch it.

“Gods, Ssarekai . . .” he whispered. “You, too. . . .”

Perhaps this murder had been the beginning of the end of Toma’s patient waiting. The drake servitor had not simply been frozen or made to forget again; he had been turned into rock. Solid rock. There was no bringing him back to life, not from this particular spell. The spark that had been the stable master’s essence was gone.

General Toos, the real Benjin Traske-if he had ever existed-and now Ssarekai. More names to add to Toma’s list. More things to condemn the duke, already many times condemned.

Cabe did not like to kill, but he knew that it was up to him to see to it that Toma caused no more deaths.

Cabe? came a weak voice in his head.

Gwendolyn?

It was clear that she was still in no shape to help him. Is it . . . is she . . . what’s happening?

The warlock sighed and told her. She relayed nothing back to him as he quickly described what had happened, but Cabe could sense her growing despair.

When he was finished, she asked, Valea? He still has Valea and we don’t know where he is now?

Cabe started to shake his head, recalled that his wife would not be able to see him do so, then suddenly paused before answering her.

Perhaps he did know where Toma had gone. Considering the renegade’s past, considering his companions and his manner, it seemed to the warlock that there was only one place that the duke could go. Toma’s arrogance would permit him to go no place else.

“I know where he has to be,” he said out loud.

“Where is that?” asked Darkhorse, trotting into the room. The shadow steed’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he noticed what remained of poor Ssarekai. The stable master, after getting over the typical drake’s fear of the eternal, had pleased Darkhorse to no end with his constant compliments concerning the stallion’s magnificent appearance.

In his head, the enchantress echoed the eternal’s question.

Cabe’s hands balled up into fists as he thought of the place. It was appropriate, for it had been, in a sense, the birthplace of Cabe Bedlam, master sorcerer. From there, the harbingers of fate, in the form of Dragon Kings, had gone out to seek an unsuspecting young man.

“We have to go to Kivan Grath.”