Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

VIII

It was not until well into the day that Cabe and Darkhorse were finally able to shake off the effects of the mishap with the magical staff. They had dared not enter Legar in such condition and so the two of them had been forced to simply wait. Cabe used the time to first compose a carefully worded message to be sent by magic back to Gwen and the children and then to rest; Darkhorse chose to make use of the wait by constantly grousing about time ever wasted. It was not that the wait was not necessary. Even the demon steed knew better; he could simply not stop himself from complaining over and over again. The warlock knew deep down that what drove his companion to such impatience and bickering was the ebony stallion’s own knowledge that with nothing else to occupy his thoughts, the haunting memories of Shade would return. Darkhorse was seriously trying to free himself of his obsession, but it was a monumental task even for him.

Thinking of memories, Cabe could still not recall the night before without shuddering a little. Darkhorse often forgot that as mighty as his friend was, the warlock was still guided by human instincts and preconceptions. Plummeting earthward from such a height had nearly been too catastrophic an event for the mage’s heart. With his own skills in question, he had been forced to rely solely on the eternal. Even as good friends as they were, Cabe could not completely put himself into the care of a being who could never truly understand death as men did.

Fortunately, this time Darkhorse had known what he was doing. The shadow steed had landed hooves first on the ground, but the warlock had felt only the slightest of jolts. Such a landing would have shattered the legs of a real horse and killed both animal and rider instantly. Yet Darkhorse had ridden off into the nearby hills the moment he was certain that his passenger was secure and safe.

They now waited in the foothills of southern Esedi, the great western region that had once encompassed the domain of the Bronze Dragon. The kingdom of Gordag-Ai, Queen Erini’s birthplace, was actually a part of the northernmost reaches of Esedi. That was not why Cabe had chosen it for sanctuary, though. Rather, he had chosen the location because from where they were they could look down into the northeastern borderlands of Legar.

“It is late, Cabe! How much longer need we wait?”

“How do you feel now?” the spellcaster asked. He presently sat on one of the many rocky outcroppings dominating this hill. This part of Esedi was actually related to the hills of Legar although it lacked the heavy growth of crystal unique to the peninsula.

The dark-haired sorcerer had cause to question his companion’s condition. For him, it had been more than an hour since the last lingering effects had finally faded away. The eternal, however, had continued to suffer to some degree, enough to make Cabe hesitate to leave. Darkhorse, being, in essence, magical himself, had been affected much more severely.

In response, the dark stallion suddenly reared and struck out at one of the nearest formations with his hooves.

Fragments rained down upon them as the single blow pulverized the rock and sent it scattering.

“I am ready,” concluded the massive steed.

“Then let’s leave.” He rose and swiftly mounted. In truth, Cabe, too, was anxious to begin the final leg of the journey. He had not wanted to mention anything to Darkhorse, but during his rest he had been visited by yet another vision. It had not been as strong as the others, perhaps coming only as a reminder. Still, it had been vivid enough to make him fear that his delays, both accidental and intentional, had cost them precious time.

Unlike the others, this vision had consisted of only one scene and a short one at that. Cabe had stood in the middle of the rocky landscape of Legar, but not with Darkhorse. Instead, he had found himself facing an armored figure, a bearded man clad in the same dragonscale of the previous visions. The man was an adversary, but he was also an ally, for even as the warlock had settled into the vision, a black shadow had spread across the land. Both of them had known at the same time that it was coming for them. His companion had pulled out a sword, but it was no ordinary weapon, for the blade was fire-drenched crystal. He had swung the blade again and again at the shadow, cutting it into fragments, but the pieces simply merged and sought them out anew.

The warlock had tried to help, but not even the least of spells had obeyed his will.

Before him, the armored figure had thrown down his sword and raised his hands in what was obviously the beginning of a spell of his own. There had been a look in his eyes, a fatalistic look, that Cabe had discovered he feared more than any threat from the black shadow. It reminded him too much of the eyes of the Ice Dragon. Somehow, he had been certain that the spell would destroy them as effectively as the shadow. It had also been clear that his companion had not cared in the least.

He had run toward the man, shouting “No!”

Cabe had been too late.

It was at this point that he had stirred. The vision had lingered a second more, but all that the half-asleep spellcaster could recall was a shuddering sensation of nothingness worse than even what one felt in the empty dimension called the Void. Cabe Bedlam knew that what he had experienced had been a taste of utter death.

He had no intention of relating the experience to Darkhorse. The shadow steed might think to leave him behind, something that Cabe could not permit. As much as the latest vision unnerved him, it only made him more determined . . . and more curious.

Cabe had barely settled onto Darkhorse’s back when he felt the massive figure stiffen. The eternal was staring out at the western horizon, ice-blue eyes focused on something that his human rider could evidently not see. The shadow steed sniffed the air around them. “What is it, Darkhorse? Something wrong?”

“It may be nothing, but . . . there is a fog or mist spreading across this region of Legar. Can you not see?”

Squinting, he tried to make out what Darkhorse claimed to have seen. The hills near the horizon had a vague, indistinct quality about them, but nothing that would normally make him worry. Then, as he continued to study it, the landscape just a bit closer also grew murky. A minute more and he could no longer even see the hills at the horizon. There was something there, he finally had to admit, and at the pace it was spreading eastward, there could be no doubt that it was nothing natural.

“It will have engulfed much of Legar already, Cabe.”

“We’ll have to travel by land, not teleportation. Will the fog cause you difficulty?”

Darkhorse snorted. “I will only know that when we are in the midst of it. What do you say?”

“I don’t have a choice, but you-”

“That is all I need to know!” The ebony stallion started down the hillside at a pace and angle that made his rider cringe even though his abilities were now strong enough to protect him from any fall he might have.

Cabe’s original intention had been to teleport to a region of Legar that he vaguely recalled from an undesired trek long ago. When he realized just how vague those memories were, however, he had then decided that a better plan would be to use short hops involving line-of-sight teleportation. After all, it was a rare day that did not find the sun-drenched peninsula a clear sight all the way to the horizon. A rare day like today, apparently.

They dared not materialize in the midst of so thick a fog, not when there might be raiders nearby. It was impossible to know exactly how great an infestation there was and it had been risky enough to consider teleporting when the two of them could see their surroundings. All of Legar might be under the watch of the Aramites. They were nothing if not efficient in that category.

Regrettably, they were only a short distance into the harsh land when the first tendrils of mist surrounded them. Before they could even react, the fog had already overwhelmed the sky above them. Legar no longer glittered; it was now merely a dull, rocky domain where life struggled. Darkhorse was almost immediately forced to slow to a crawl as the mist continued to thicken at an alarming rate. Cabe Bedlam shivered as they entered the enshrouded realm. The peculiar green and red coloring of the mist did not strike him as healthy for some reason.

“I’d almost swear that the fog surged directly toward us,” whispered Cabe. He did not have to whisper, but something about the dank mist made him want to do so.

“That may be. It certainly shifted in our direction with superb accuracy . . . and as far as I can ascertain, the wind does not blow hard enough to have done it.”

“Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?”

The towering steed unleashed a short, mocking laugh. “I sense mostly that we will be journeying through this muck for some time to come. The fog seems to flow both around me and within. I cannot say that I expected less.” He sniffed the air. “There is something obscenely familiar about this muck.”

Cabe Bedlam did not understand the last, but he most certainly agreed with the rest of what the ebony stallion had said. With much effort, it was possible to sense his nearby surroundings, but trying to reach out and study the path far ahead was nearly impossible. At best, he had vague impressions of the landscape and the possible knowledge that there were a few life-forms, none of very significant size, lurking about in the strange fog.

Worse, he, too, felt it within, as if it sought to possess him, make him a part of it.

“I have come to the conclusion,” mocked Darkhorse, “that the Dragonrealm likes nothing more than to see the creatures who inhabit it existing in constant frustration and despair! Yes, it makes perfect sense to me!” He pawed at the ground, strewing age-old rock behind him as easily as if it had been loose sand. “It will be slow going I am afraid. I might be more willing to risk myself and travel at a quicker pace, but your kind is not as durable. Should something happen, I would never forgive myself.”

The warlock tightened his grip and adjusted his seating. “I want to get moving, too. Do what you can; I’m more durable than you think, Darkhorse.”

This brought a short but honest chuckle from his fearsome companion. “You may be right! Very well, hold tight to the reins; you will need them this time!”

Darkhorse began to trot, but it was a trot no other horse could have matched. The massive stallion’s pace quickly ate up ground. Even despite the swift pace, however, both were careful to keep themselves at their most wary. By this time, Cabe had become fairly certain that the wolf raider camp did exist. It was likely they were still too far away from it to be noticed, but there was still the danger of scouts. The raiders were not the only threat, either. What the Quel might be up to while all this was going on, he could not say, but the warlock was certain that they had to be involved somehow. It would have been impossible for the invaders not to have discovered some trace of them. Likewise, it was improbable that the Quel would share the Crystal Dragon’s apparent unconcern about the overrunning of their domain. It was just not the Quel way. Cabe was too familiar with the underdwellers not to understand that.

The fog continued to thicken until it almost seemed they were traveling through a wall of rotting cotton rather than mist. Even after he had given in to the inevitable and had enhanced his vision, the frustrated spellcaster could still see no farther than two, maybe three yards in any one direction.

“It might as well be night!” grumbled Darkhorse.

“At least we’d be able to see at night,” returned Cabe. He wondered what things would be like when the sun did set. Could it be any worse than this? “Are we at least heading in the correct direction? I can’t tell.”

“More or less yes is the best response I can give you, Cabe. This is a malevolent mist; it seeks to turn me in circles, I think.” Again, he sniffed the air. “There is a foulness here that I know from long ago. I cannot believe that it might be what I think it is, but what else? We would have been better off coming here half-dazed and stumbling in the darkness!”

“What can we do now?”

Darkhorse had no answer for that. A depressing silence lingered over the two for some time after. Cabe was certain that it was induced by the sinister haze. It was just too cloying a feeling. No matter how hard he sought to fling it off, it stuck to him.

They journeyed for what was at least three hours by Cabe’s admittedly questionable reckoning, but forced to slow down because of the lack of visibility and their inability to sense much farther than they could see, the pair had hardly made any headway in that time. He hoped that anyone else they might encounter would at least be at the same disadvantage. His one fear was that this was a trick of the raiders, yet it would have been extremely complicated to create a spell that would blind one’s adversaries but allow one’s own army to see. Such a spell would require more than a simple thought. It would require such mental manipulation of the natural forces of the world that it would take days to even prepare for it.

The raiders also suffered from a lack of competent mages, if he recalled one of the Gryphon’s earliest messages describing the beginning days of the war overseas. Admittedly, years had passed since that message and it was possible new sorcerers had risen since then, but nothing of that sort had ever been mentioned by the lionbird in any of his later dispatches. The Gryphon would not have excluded such news.

But we’ve heard nothing from him of late . . . Although that thought would continue to nag him, Cabe was still fairly certain that the fog was not the work of the Aramites. It was not their sort of weapon.

It was only minutes later that they heard the clattering of rock.

Darkhorse halted and swung his head toward the direction of the noise. He said nothing, but twisted enough so that he could meet his companion’s eyes. Cabe nodded. One hand went to the short blade at his side. Magic was his foremost weapon, but he had learned to keep other options available.

They remained still. For a time, the only sound was the warlock’s quiet breathing. Then they heard the shifting of more rock, closer and more to their right.

The black stallion abruptly raised his head. “I smell-”

A gray-brown form the size of a large dog leapt at Cabe.

The thing was almost upon him before he struck back with a crude but handy force spell. Cabe smelled breath so rancid his stomach nearly turned. The creature howled as it was thrust back from its prey. He had not used enough power to kill it, but the thing was stunned. There was no doubt of that.

Darkhorse did not wait to see what it was that had assaulted them. He reared and came down on the beast’s head with both hooves. The skull might have been made from the most delicate crystal, so completely did it shatter under the tremendous strength of the shadow steed’s legs.

The warlock turned away in disgust. The massive stallion peered down at the horrendous carnage he had caused, then finally muttered, “Only a minor drake! A small one at that!”

“It was large enough for me, thank you. Strange, I didn’t even sense it with my sorcery.”

“Nor I! It was my sense of smell that did it in and that only when it was near enough to spring!”

Cabe finally forced himself to look down at the mangled corpse of the creature. It was not large by the standards of its kind, but, as he had commented, definitely large enough. Its presence puzzled him, however. “It should’ve never attacked us.”

“Yes, that was its undoing to be sure!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Cabe pointed at the still form. “A minor drake that small rarely attacks something our size. Maybe if it had been part of a pack, but it seems to be alone.”

“That is true,” Darkhorse conceded. “Perhaps it was confused by this infernal fog.”

“Confused and frightened. Maybe more.”

“Meaning?”

The human sighed. “Meaning that we had best be even more cautious. I think this fog’s as much a danger to our minds and our bodies as it is to our eyes.”

Darkhorse shook his mane and laughed. “We are far superior to this hapless beast! We know what this mist can do; therefore we are prepared!”

“I hope so.”

They left the corpse and moved on. More time passed, but how much more, Cabe could no longer even estimate. When the twinkle of light caught his eye, the warlock was not certain whether it was a torch or perhaps a star. For all he knew, night had already come upon them. The longer one was trapped in the smothering mist, the duller the senses seemed to become. Still, Cabe was fairly certain that what he had seen was real, not imagined. He pulled on the reins.

“A simple ‘stop’ will suffice, you know. I am not trained for the reins.”

“Sorry.” The warlock’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “I saw something to”-if they were traveling west . . . if-“to the south. A light. It twinkled.”

“Perhaps this blasted blanket is finally being thrown back, hmmm?” The eternal looked in the direction his rider had specified. “I see nothing nor do I sense anything out of the ordinary . . . not that there is much ordinary left.”

“I was certain . . .” He saw the twinkle again. “There!”

Hesitation, then, “I see it. What would you have me do, Cabe? Shall we investigate it?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any other choice. Have you noticed anything else that has had the ability to pierce this thick soup? I’d like to know what that is.”

“Then it is settled. Good!”

Darkhorse picked his way carefully toward the glimmer. Cabe noticed for the first time that the shadow steed’s hooves made no sound as he crossed the uneven, rock-strewn ground. They had probably not made a sound since the eternal had entered Legar. It was often hard for even Cabe to remember that his companion’s external appearance in no way represented what Darkhorse truly was. The eternal simply admired the form. That did not mean that he obeyed every physical law demanded by such a shape. Darkhorse did what Darkhorse chose to do.

Below him, the shadow steed snorted in what was clearly anxiety. That bothered Cabe, for Darkhorse was not a being who often grew even the slightest bit nervous.

“I know this foulness . . .” he whispered. “I know this stench; I do!”

The light winked out again. The shadow steed halted. The two studied the area before them, but everywhere they looked, they only spotted the same murkiness.

“Where did it go? Do you see it, Cabe?”

“No . . . there!” His words were barely audible. Even sound seemed deadened by the murky fog.

Darkhorse followed his outstretched hand toward the light’s new location. It was now to their right, which was west, the direction they had been originally headed. The ebony stallion snorted. “How did it come to be there now?”

“Magic.”

The eternal slowed. “I will not go about this dismal land chasing phantom lights!”

“I don’t blame-” The dark-haired spellcaster broke off as he noticed the twinkling light begin to move. “You won’t have to! It’s coming for us!”

Even Darkhorse could not have moved fast enough to avoid it. Cabe raised his arms over his face and summoned a shielding spell that he hoped would halt at least a substantial part of the oncoming juggernaut’s power.

The light struck them . . . and scattered into a thousand tinier sparks that quickly faded away, leaving no trace of their fleeting existence.

“Someone wants to play games with us?” Darkhorse snorted and looked around for someone or something on which to vent his anger. “I will be more than happy to show them a new game!” He tore at the ground with one hoof, scattering rock.

“Quiet!” Cabe whirled around in the saddle.

“What is it?”

“I thought I heard . . .” Something clinked. It was the familiar and ominous sound of metal upon metal, a sound that from Cabe’s vast experience spoke of men in armor. Men in armor who must be very near.

He heard it again, but this time it was in front of them. Below him, the shadow steed pricked up his ears, an equine habit learned during those long ago first days when the eternal had first experimented with the form.

A tall black figure coalesced before them.

Of the three of them, the wolf raider was the most surprised by the encounter, but that in no way meant that he was the slowest to react. His blade already out, he moved in on Cabe. There was no question, no demand for surrender, simply a strange, high cry and then an attack.

Darkhorse easily kept himself between the Aramite and the warlock. The raider slashed at him with the sword and Darkhorse, chuckling in an evil manner, allowed the edge to strike him in the neck. It was as if the attacker had tried to cut through solid stone. The blade snapped and the entire weapon fell from the startled raider’s hand.

His confused hesitation was all the time the deadly stallion needed. Rising just a bit, Darkhorse kicked the Aramite in the chest. The force of the blow was enough to send the armored man flying back into the mist. Cabe winced as a heavy thud finally put an end note to the raider’s haphazard flight.

Where there is one wolf raider, however, there must be others. The Gryphon had often written comments like that in his missives. The Aramites were, for the most part, pack creatures like the animal that was their namesake. Cabe, already cautious, sensed them before he heard them. They were coming from all sides in numbers enough to startle him.

“We’ve run into a patrol!” he whispered to his companion.

“Excellent! Rather would I fight something real than wander much longer in this thick morass!”

“That’s not-” He had not time enough to finish, for the first shapes materialized then.

They moved in with fair but not exceptional precision. It was clear that the wolf raiders were put off by the rank fog, but they had been trained to suffer most any environment in the pursuit of their tasks and so they were adapting as best possible. Listening, Cabe now understood the purpose of the initial cry by the first raider. The Aramites were using it to keep in contact with one another, evidently deciding that stealth was not worth the cost of possibly losing every man to the mist.

“Well?” Darkhorse was suddenly shouting to the oncoming shadows. “Come, come! I have not all day! There are still other tasks I must deal with after I have finished with all of you!”

“Darkhorse . . .” This was not what the warlock had wanted. He had hoped to avoid danger as much as possible, which was one reason he had sought out the shadow steed. Darkhorse, while always willing to face an enemy, generally also respected the safety of his companions. Now, however, he was taking chances that Cabe felt were more than a little risky. The eternal was begging for a fight and it could only be because of Shade again. Wandering through the fog, seeing nothing, the shadow steed’s thoughts must have returned to the subject that had become so much a part of his recent life.

It was too late to do anything about it now. The Aramites were coming at them from all directions and it would have been sheer folly to attempt to teleport away. Something within warned Cabe Bedlam that a teleport threatened his life more than this attack.

Two other swordsmen tried to cut Darkhorse’s forelegs, but met with the same results as their predecessor. The demon steed kicked one of them back into the fog, but the other managed to avoid the blow. He pulled a curled dagger from his belt and threw it, but at Cabe, the rider, rather than Darkhorse. It still had not registered in the minds of the raiders that the horse was the greater of the threats to them. They assumed that with the rider under control or dead, the battle would be won.

The warlock saw the dagger coming and although he had shielded himself against ordinary weapons, he deflected it, deciding that it was not wise to risk himself because of overconfidence. Then he turned as both his magical senses and his ears warned him of several raiders coming from the rear. A lance came within a yard of him, but with a spell he lifted both the weapon and the man and used them to clear four other soldiers nearby. The spell suddenly went awry, however, and the lancer dropped to the ground like a rock. The raider scrambled to his feet and back into the fog.

“Careless,” a voice said.

Cabe looked at Darkhorse, but the stallion was busy dealing with both the raider who had evaded his first assault and two others who had joined the survivor. One was trying to rope the eternal, a foolish maneuver if ever there was one. Darkhorse caught the rope in his teeth and, while the Aramite was still holding it, pulled with such might that he sent the soldier flying into his companion. Both collided with a harsh clang and crumpled to the ground. The soldier who had survived the earlier attack backed away, almost immediately disappearing into the fog. The shadow steed laughed.

Forgetting the voice, Cabe returned to his own dire situation. Where the eternal had no qualms about the destruction of his adversaries, Cabe still felt pain every time he was forced to kill, even though most often it was in self-defense. He held back as much as he could, trying instead to dissuade or knock senseless the attackers. With his abilities suddenly once again in doubt, the warlock felt justified in resorting to flying rocks and tiny windstorms to beat back his opponents.

This did not mean that he was not forced to kill. Some of the Aramites could not be stopped any other way. They brought their own deaths by charging wildly into the storm of rocks. One reached close enough to almost pull Cabe from the saddle. Try as he might, the sorcerer could not free himself and he discovered then that some Aramite weapons would hurt him regardless of his protective spells. The dagger that caught him slightly on the leg was bejeweled and also likely bewitched for just such a battle. Over their long history of war, it made sense that they would learn to deal with spellcasters. In the end, he had struck back out of sheer reflex . . . and had sent a jolt of energy so great in intensity that he had literally burned the man to death in less than a breath.

Still they kept coming. It was almost as if the entire raider force had found them.

“Unngh!” The blow against his head shook Cabe so hard he had to struggle to keep in the saddle. His first thought was that someone with a sling had caught him unaware, but his spell should have protected him regardless. When he heard Darkhorse grunt in pain, though, the warlock knew that it was no mundane weapon that had hurt him.

Where was it? None of the raiders he had sensed carried any such weapon. In truth, the greatest danger he and Darkhorse faced was likely not the Aramites, who only had sheer numbers on their side, but rather the malevolent fog, which continued to sap his will and play havoc with his magical abilities.

He kicked out at a swordsman who had somehow gotten past Darkhorse, then shocked the man before he could close the gap again. The Aramites were giving him little time to think. Even as the soldier fell twitching to the earth, Cabe himself was stung. Every bone in his body seemed to quiver. This time, the addled warlock slipped almost halfway off of his companion. It was only quick shifting on the demon steed’s part that kept Cabe from falling.

“Cabe! You must hold tight! I cannot fight and maintain your balance!”

“I . . . can’t.” It was painful just to straighten. He was almost flung off again when Darkhorse spun about to defend his right flank.

“Very well . . .” The ebony stallion almost sounded disappointed with the turn of events. “Hold on as well as you can, Cabe! I will take us to safety!”

The warlock gripped the saddle tight and forced himself to look up. Darkhorse had abandoned the fight and was now clearing a path through the attackers. Several went down, but there always seemed to be more. Arrows struck both warlock and eternal, but Cabe’s spell still held and Darkhorse was Darkhorse.

In the midst of the fog and chaos, the weakened spellcaster caught sight of a truly peculiar figure squatting atop a rock formation. The Aramites, who streamed past his very location, took no note of him. The mist partly obscured the figure, but Cabe made out long, spindly legs and arms and an obscenely round torso. The head was mostly covered by a long, wide-rimmed hat that fell down over the face . . . if indeed the odd parody had one.

A spider, was his first impression. A human spider.

The entire scene wavered then, but not because of Cabe’s condition. Rather, a wave flowed over the area, shaking rider and mount and throwing the pursuing raiders into new turmoil.

Cabe recognized it although he had rarely experienced the sensation before and certainly not of the magnitude of this ripple. Wild magic. The term was not quite correct, but it was as close as any description could come to explaining what was happening.

One of the rock formations nearest to them melted. Flat ground began to rise. The warlock heard a scream and located the source just in time to see one of the raiders fold into himself and disappear. Several of the Aramites were struggling to free themselves from ground that had become liquefied. An empty suit of armor, half corroded, indicated that something else had happened, but Cabe was not in a hurry to discover exactly what that was.

“What . . . what . . . what . . .” Darkhorse was shivering. The demon steed appeared caught in some sort of fit. He was changing, too, becoming stretched out like a true shadow. Cabe felt the saddle move. He looked down and saw that it was sinking into his companion.

The spellcaster threw himself off. The saddle disappeared within Darkhorse as if it had never existed. Wild magic. Once in existence, it could create earthquakes, fires, anything. The very fabric of reality would be turned about for the time it existed. Literally anything that magic was capable of doing might happen depending on the intensity of the wave. It could also concentrate in one area, become a well of sorts where anyone who entered became subject to its insanity.

Sometimes it was caused by an irregularity in the natural forces of the world. Most often, it was because some mage had been too careless. Reckless spellcasting could pull and bend those forces beyond safe limits. Sometimes the world repaired itself, but other times it tried to adjust to the new patterns of force and then would come the ripples or waves of pure energy. Pure, unfocused energy.

There was nothing that could be done. Cabe only hoped that the wave would play itself out and leave them alone.

“You! Keeper!”

He realized the voice was directed at him. The warlock twisted around. A gruff, bearded Aramite wearing the cloak of an officer was moving toward him, battle-ax in his huge hands. Cabe felt a buzzing in his head, then saw the small crystal hanging around the soldier’s neck. A Quel talisman and one evidently designed to deflect sorcery.

“Stop what you’re doing to my men, keeper, or I’ll save the inquisitors the trouble of questioning you!”

The title by which the raider called him puzzled Cabe Bedlam until he recalled that to the Aramites the only mages were all of the keeper caste. “This isn’t my doing!”

“You lie!” He swung the ax, coming within arm’s length of the anxious warlock’s chest. “Your last chance! Do it! Don’t think you’ll be able to take me, either! Your spells won’t even touch me! I’m protected!”

“Are you now?” came a singsong voice. Cabe recognized it as the one he had heard only moments earlier. “Or aren’t you?”

To Cabe, the voice cut through all else, demanding his complete attention. Not so for the Aramite, who still waited for the warlock to obey. Then, both of them looked at the crystal, which had, without warning, begun to glow with an internal fire.

The officer snarled. “What did you do?” He reached for the crystal with one hand. “You can’t have-”

The Quel talisman melted through his breastplate before he could even finish the statement. He dropped his ax and tried to take hold of the crystal, but it was already too deep for him to reach that way. The raider’s eyes widened. He scrambled to tear the chain from his neck but his fumbling, gauntleted hands were too slow.

Cabe tried to help him even before the screaming began, but the man would not hold still and the warlock’s spells would still not affect him. There was the smell of burning flesh.

It was over relatively swiftly. The crystal burned through his chest with rapid, unchecked success. When the end came, the Aramite literally had only time to stiffen and gasp before collapsing in a limp heap on the inhospitable ground.

“Not very strong it was. Strong it definitely wasn’t.”

“Who are you?” Cabe searched for the owner of the singsong voice, fairly certain that it was a strange creature with a round form and long, spidery appendages.

“Cabe . . .” At first he thought that the voice was mocking him, but it was not the same one. Turned about by the sudden series of events, it took him several seconds to recognize the demon steed.

Darkhorse still stood where he had been, but now he was able to move his head a bit. Cabe rushed over to him and would have taken hold of his companion, but Darkhorse vehemently shook his head. “No, do not touch me! I am not yet stable. You might be pulled in. I could never forgive myself for that!”

“Are you all right?”

“Not by far, Cabe! Now I recognize this madness! I thought it impossible. I thought the last traces had perished with Shade, but this is too real. This has the taste of Vraad about it . . . the taste of a cursed realm called Nimth.”

They both knew of Nimth, the place from which, countless millennia ago, a race of sorcerers called the Vraad had fled into the Dragonrealm. Humans today were the descendants of the Vraad, although from what he had unearthed of them, Cabe would not have cared to call the dark race ancestor. They had flourished briefly in this new world, but had disappeared as a culture, if arrogance and indifference could be considered a culture, before the first generation finally died off.

Yet it was said their world still lived despite the damage they had done to it with their careless, godlike attitudes toward sorcery. Shade had hinted that and he, it had turned out, had been one of them. Darkhorse had even known them, although he refused to speak of that time and could not or would not remember much of it. Some Vraad, it appeared, had had a penchant for torture.

The ground rose under them again, but not much. There were fewer shouts now. Most of the wolf raiders had either vanished back into the mists or were dead. Only a few, either stubborn or trapped by the ever-shifting reality, still remained. At the moment none of them was very concerned with the horse and rider. They were either trying to help fallen comrades or simply trying to survive. “It can’t be Nimth, Darkhorse! Nimth is lost, sealed off from everything!”

“Not so sealed. Shade always had a link with it. I tell you it is Nimth . . . or a taste of it at the very least.”

“But how?”

“That, I cannot-”

A thing like a nightmare hodgepodge of plant, animal, and mineral formed from empty space. Without preamble, it charged the warlock before it was even fully solid. It had hundreds of vinelike tendrils for legs, reptilian forearms that ended in claws much like those of a crab, and an oval body that resembled a simple hunk of granite. Carved into the center of that was what at first glance appeared to be a crude image of a human face, but the jade eyes that stared with hunger at the warlock and the huge maw that opened and closed, constantly revealing row upon row of sharp teeth, looked real enough. It moved at an incredible speed, considering that each tendril had to push forward to give it momentum. It spattered a greenish slime about as it traveled. Cabe noticed with dismay that the trail it left behind it burned into the hard ground beneath as the monster passed. There was no doubt that it was a magical construct; no creature could have been born so.

“Stand away, Cabe!” Darkhorse demanded, putting himself between the monster and his friend. “I will deal with this abomination!”

The warlock stepped aside, but not to protect himself. There was no way that he could prevent Darkhorse from trying to defend him, but he was also not the kind of man who would let others do battle while he stood by watching.

The magical abomination slowed as it neared Darkhorse. It shifted to one side, as if trying to get around to the eternal’s flank. Darkhorse kept the monster before him, which resulted in Cabe ending up behind the shadowy stallion. The warlock started toward the left, but then the abomination moved again and Cabe once more found himself standing to the rear of his companion.

The two leviathans continued to square off. Darkhorse, Cabe knew, was trying to evaluate the thing’s abilities. Where anything associated with Nimth was concerned, the demon horse was unusually careful. He had a long and bitter memory of things spawned from that sorry realm.

The warlock once more tried to join Darkhorse and once more the madcap abomination shifted also, again leaving Cabe where he had started. Things were going from bad to worse, for in addition to the beast, the fog was thickening further. Already, both Darkhorse and his adversary were half-hidden from his view and that with the warlock only standing two or three yards from the ebony stallion’s backside. If they had to battle this thing blind, there was no telling what the outcome would be. Darkhorse was not invulnerable and Cabe thought even less of his own chances.

Despite his wishes, the foul mist continued to thicken . . . no, at this point, solidify almost seemed a more fitting word. The magic-wrought beast was already little more than a shape. Not wanting to suddenly find himself alone against a threat that might be able to see when he could not, Cabe decided to risk the danger and come up on Darkhorse from behind. If he could not be at the shadow steed’s side, he would at least remain close enough so as not to lose him.

As he took a step forward, however, the abomination backed away an equivalent distance. Darkhorse, needless to say, followed his monstrous adversary. Like Cabe, he had no intention of losing sight. Unfortunately, each step he took seemed to make him fade a little more.

“Darkhorse . . . Darkhorse! Don’t follow it! Wait for me!”

Either Darkhorse chose to ignore him, which was not likely, or he could not hear the warlock, for the eternal not only did not reply, but also trotted even farther ahead. Now, not only could Cabe not even make out the vague shape of the magical monstrosity, he could barely even see the outline of the massive stallion.

Dignity aside, the anxious warlock shouted more frantically, “Darkhorse! It’s a ploy! We’re being separated! Come back!”

He tried running, but for every step he took, his companion took four. Little by little, Darkhorse became a thin shadow in the dank mist. Cabe’s shouts went unheeded. Even when he tried to send a burst of sorcerous energy in the shadow steed’s direction, the magical fireball only made it halfway before fading to nothing in midflight.

Something tangled in his legs and sent him falling. He rolled around for several seconds, trying to untangle himself from whatever had snared him. Whatever it was, though, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Swearing to Lord Drazeree, the spellcaster rolled back onto his feet and turned his gaze quickly in the direction he had last seen Darkhorse.

Neither the demon steed nor his adversary was in sight. In fact, Cabe could see nothing at all, not even the ground just beyond his feet.

“Darkhorse!” He did not think that the other would hear him and so when there was no reply, it did not surprise him in the least. He was, for all practical purposes, entombed as good as if he had been buried miles beneath Legar’s surface.

As dangerous as it might be to teleport in such a magical mire, Cabe knew he had to risk it. He would return to the hills of Esedi and hope that Darkhorse followed suit once he discovered that the human was missing. Then they could decide what to do about Legar.

He was careful and deliberate as he teleported in order to ensure that there was no mistake. A spell that normally would have taken him only a swift thought became an elaborate series of mental exercises, each designed to create success. Although all of that only took him the blink of an eye to complete, to the mage it was an eternity.

What made matters worse was finding himself still lost in the deadly reddish green mist when all was said and done.

“Tsk,” came the singsong voice from behind him. “Not one of my better. One of my better it certainly was not.”

He spun around, seeking the source. “Who are you? Where are you?”

“Good enough, though. Enough to be good.”

Cabe squinted. Was the visibility just a bit better? He saw that it was, for now he could at least make out a few patches of ground beyond arm’s reach. The fog continued to thin even as he watched. It was becoming too obvious that whoever had spoken must certainly be the reason behind his separation from Darkhorse. The warlock clenched both fists and carefully turned in a circle, seeking with his eyes, ears, and magical senses some evidence of where the culprit was located. This could not be the work of the Crystal Dragon, at least he thought not, and it did not seem the kind of weapon the wolf raiders appreciated.

That only left . . .

Then he saw the rock, a vague, miniature hill just off to his left. Atop the rock, spindly arms and legs bent, squatted the same outlandish form he had noticed earlier, the form he was certain had been responsible for the raider officer’s gruesome death.

The fog parted slowly but certainly from the rock and its lone inhabitant. Cabe saw that the figure was more or less human, but as oddly shaped as anything he had ever seen. The bizarre figure was clad in a strangely patterned courtier’s suit of purple and black that would have looked clownish on any other person but somehow was perfect for its present wearer and not just because of its shape. The hat’s flap still covered most of the face. All he could see was a chin that ended in an almost extreme point.

The head lifted a little, allowing him then to see the curved line that was all there was to the mouth. “I am Plool the Great,” the spidery figure abruptly said. Other than raising his head, he did not move, not even to remove his hat. “The Great Plool I am.”

Cabe Bedlam shivered as he became aware of what it was he was facing here. Plool was at home in the foul mist. He manipulated it to his own desires in the manner of someone long accustomed to the practice. Yet Darkhorse had called the fog a thing of twisted, decaying Nimth, the hellish place from which the mage’s own ancestors had fled.

He had never thought to wonder if perhaps some had not fled Nimth. He had never wondered what they or their descendants might have become, living as they did in a world where the natural laws had all been torn asunder and wild magic flowed forever unchecked.

Plool could only be a Vraad . . . and now he was loose on the Dragonrealm.

The missive from Cabe in no way calmed Gwen. She paced the floor of their bedroom, cursing the fact that she could not be with him. It had been her own idea to have one parent remain behind. Her own parents, long, oh, so long dead, had instilled in her the need for someone to be there for the children. Cabe was of the same mind, although the enchantress did not doubt for one moment that he would have also raised a protest if it had been her task and not his.

None of which made the waiting any easier. The magical message that she had received had given her a brief rundown of Cabe’s time in Zuu, but knowledgeable as she was where her husband was concerned, the Lady Gwen knew there was more to the story than what he had written. His tale of King Lanith’s rather heavy-handed recruiting of mages reminded her too much of the days when Melicard had sought out spellcasters, talismans, and even demons in his quest to eradicate the drake race. Lanith’s ambitions would have to be looked into and not just by her. Toos and Melicard probably knew all about this already, which somewhat infuriated her since they had not seen fit to pass on that bit of knowledge. One was never certain just how much information was being held back at the “councils” she and Cabe attended with the two monarchs.

It was not the gathering of mages that bothered her, though. It was the thought that more had happened in Zuu. She could not help feeling that perhaps Cabe and Darkhorse had not simply entered Zuu, stayed there for a time, and departed. Because of that feeling, she wondered what else her husband might have left unsaid and what dangers he might still have to face.

Worry doesn’t help him, she angrily reminded herself. It made her feel no better. Gwen sighed. There were other things that needed to be taken care of. Perhaps, she hoped, they would be enough to keep her from dwelling too much on what might be happening to the man she loved.

As she departed the bedroom, she almost walked into a figure just beyond the doorway. The other caught her in his arms and held her just a second too long for her tastes. She freed herself and backed a step away before realizing that doing so only added to the newcomer’s amusement.

He was tall and lean, with arrogant but striking features that had many females, human and drake, eyeing him with speculation that he often encouraged. His eyes were narrow, burning orbs that could snare a person and almost make one kneel. He wore a tight-fitting, emerald and gold suit reminiscent of those of the royal court of Gordag-Ai. Gwen knew that he had chosen this particular one in part because it appealed to her tastes. Kyl and the younger drakes wore real human clothes, not magical constructs formed from their own skin, which was what the elder drakes often did. It was not quite the same color combination as his skin, which was a more elegant mixing of the green and gold, but it was still eye-catching. Still, Kyl could have probably created a perfect duplicate if he had wanted to do so. His skills were much more advanced than those of his older counterparts. Sometimes, the Lady of the Amber thought that they were too advanced.

“What are you doing up here, Kyl?”

He gave her a sly smile that long practice had made overwhelming against many a maiden, but Gwen simply had to look at the slightly edged teeth to remind herself that this was indeed a drake, not a man. “Your pardon, Lady Gwendolyn. I should not walk with ssssuch hasste. I hope that you were not disturbed in any way.”

She held back the smile that she wanted so badly to display to him. Kyl, for all his perfection, still slipped back into drake sibilance more often than either his brother or his sister. He especially had difficulty when he was in her presence. “And what brings you here in such haste?”

“I come to tell you, gracious lady, that the Manor has visitorsss.”

“A servant could have told me that.” Try as she might, the enchantress could never warm to Kyl. He was always trying to be near her or, more to her dismay, near Valea. The young heir to the Dragon Emperor throne was always good with her daughter, but his constant “accidents,” which always somehow involved touching Gwen, made her worry about the future. It would not be long before Valea was old enough to truly gain the attention of males. In that respect, she was already too pretty now. “You need not have troubled yourself so.”

“These are special visitors, my lady. Ssspecial visitors demand special treatment.”

“Who are they?” She could recall no one whom she was expecting.

“They are clothed so as not to be recognized, but one hasss shown an insignia given to him by the Blue Dragon himself!”

The Lady Gwen ignored the way Kyl’s eyes lit up whenever he mentioned another Dragon King. Emissaries from Irillian? But why disguised, then? “Lead me to them.”

Kyl led her through the Manor and out the front. Any other time, the sorceress would have enjoyed a walk through the grounds. Kyl’s close presence and the mystery of the two visitors, not to mention Cabe’s situation, made that all but impossible.

The two visitors indeed resembled monks more than emissaries. Nothing but cloth was visible, but she thought that the taller of the two had to be the male that the drake had mentioned. The unknown duo stood just beyond the invisible barrier that protected the Manor grounds from unwanted guests and marauding beasts, which sometimes turned out to be the same thing.

“I am Lady Gwendolyn Bedlam. Before you say anything, let me see the ring that you revealed to the boy here.” She heard Kyl hiss quietly. Perhaps he would stop trying to play her now that she had dropped him down a few levels. It was good to remind him on occasion that while he was the heir to a throne, he was also under their guardianship.

It looked as if the one she had directed her demand to was about to say something else, but then he shrugged and raised a hand toward her. The sleeve fell back. The enchantress glanced down to study the ring.

When she saw the hand that wore the ring, however, all interest in the Blue Dragon’s gift vanished.

The hand was covered with fur, which by itself was unusual enough, but then Gwen noted a trace of feathers toward the wrist. Astounded, she looked up. With his free hand, the visitor was pulling back his hood. A dignified but weary avian face had been hidden under that hood. Toward the back and sides, the feathers gave way to fur. It was as if someone had crossed a lion, a bird of prey, and a man together.

“It’s good to see you, my lady,” the Gryphon politely whispered.

She could only gape. After so long . . .

“You have not changed, Lady Gwen,” the Gryphon added when no comment was forthcoming from the enchantress. “Still as beautiful as ever.”

“You . . . You’re here!”

“That we are.” There was something sad in the way the monarch of Penacles said that, but Gwen was still too shocked to really take note of it.

Her head jerked toward the other traveler. “Then, this must be-”

The smaller figure pulled back the hood. Again, the sorceress was taken aback. She had never met the Gryphon’s bride, only corresponded with her. Seeing Troia now proved to Gwen that imagination had hardly readied herself for the truth. She was, as the Gryphon had first related, a cat woman.

More woman than cat, Gwen could not help noticing. Even the cloak could not completely hide the lithe body underneath. Every movement, no matter how small, was fluid. Her features were exotic. Her dark, arresting eyes, so truly catlike, were half-veiled. She had a tiny, well-formed nose that twitched now and then and long, full lips ever so inviting when she smiled. The hair on her head was cut short and went from pitch-black to dark brown. A closer glance revealed that the tawny, striped coloring was not her skin, but rather a short layer of fur that, if the enchantress recalled correctly, covered her entire body.

Seeing her for the first time, Gwen could not help but feel a little relieved that Troia had come here as the mate of the Gryphon and not a single female. Aurim was already too susceptible to the charms of women.

Only one thing marred Troia’s appearance and that was the row of scars on the right side of her face. They did not succeed in detracting much from her beauty, but they made one curious. The Gryphon should have been able to remove them with ease. His sorcery was easily on a par with that of the Bedlams.

She realized she had never finished greeting the cat woman. “I have waited so long to actually see you, Troia!”

“And I you, Lady Gwen.” Again there was the hint of sadness that the enchantress had first noticed in the Gryphon. What was wrong?

“May we enter?” asked the lionbird. “I was not certain if the barrier would still admit me and I knew that it would not admit Troia. Also, politeness dictated that we ask permission to enter.” He glanced at his bride as if this had been a minor point of contention between them. From their letters, Gwen had been given to understand that there were times when Troia could make her look like a shrinking violet in comparison.

“Where are my manners? Of course, you can enter here!”

The duo stepped forward with caution. The barrier had various ways of dealing with outsiders, many of them seemingly of its own design. Having been given permission by the lady of the land, though, neither the Gryphon nor his mate was hindered in any way.

Gwen turned to Kyl. “Kyl, if you would be so kind as to alert someone that we have special guests, I would like some food and drink ready by the time we reach the garden terrace. Would you please do that for me?”

The drake lordling bowed gracefully to both his guardian and the two newcomers. “I should be happy to, my lady. If you will excusse me, Your Majessstiesss?”

The Gryphon tried to hold back a hint of amusement that had dared to rise against the sadness. “By all means.”

With a surreptitious glance at both Gwen and Troia, the young heir departed. The three watched until he had disappeared from sight, then returned to their conversation.

The Gryphon shook his head, whether amused or annoyed by Kyl’s ways, Gwen could not say. “I had not thought about how near to adulthood the hatchlings truly were. Aurim must be almost a man, too.”

“Very much so, although there are lapses. One expects those, however, at his age.” Something had been nagging at the redheaded sorceress’s memory and now she knew what it was. “And where-”

Troia’s eyes widened and the Gryphon raised his other hand in a request for silence. Gwen noticed with horror that two fingers, the lower two, were missing.

“Gryphon!”

He sighed. “I see there is no purpose in holding back.”

“Tell her, Gryph,” the cat woman hissed. “Tell her why we’ve braved pirates and raging sea storms to come to her.”

The lionbird took hold of his wife, who shook as if every fiber of her being wanted to cry out at the world. Gwen’s face went grim; she suspected that she already knew the answer to the question that the Gryphon had prevented her from finishing. Rheena, please let it not be true! Let me be wrong!

“You were going to ask about our son, Demion, were you not?”

“Yes, but-”

The Gryphon, his eyes chilling, would not let her continue. “Demion is in Sirvak Dragoth, Lady Bedlam, his home forever more now.” His voice was toneless. “He died at the hands of the wolf raiders.”