Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (17 page)

She leaned up, gave him a swift but powerful kiss, and vanished before he could ask her his next question. Tori had the potential to be a very adept mage, it seemed, if her skills were honed so well already.

Disconcerted, Cabe stood there for several seconds. He had come to Zuu for information, not in order to be involved in some enchantress’s wild notions or another king’s murky ambitions. Legar was beginning to look more and more inviting with each passing moment.

There was a clatter in the street, a clatter with a very definite military sound to it. Cabe felt the presence of other mages. Unlike Tori, they made no attempt to mask themselves. He sensed them draw upon the natural forces of the world, but draw upon them in such haphazard manner that it was a wonder they did not accidentally unleash some wild spell on themselves.

“He’s around, he is,” came a gruff female voice.

“Well, it’s your task to find him, mage. Do so.”

“Do not proceed to tell us our duties.” This voice, male, was more cultured than that of either of the previous two.

The warlock pressed himself against the wall, a frown on his lips. His best choice was to teleport to Darkhorse and for the two of them to leave instantly.

Thought was action. Cabe materialized a few stalls down from where he had left Darkhorse. The warlock purposely chose a spot near the stable wall, the better to avoid being seen by some boy or groom. Other than the horses, though, he saw no one. Cautiously he stepped away from the wall and started toward the shadowy steed.

“Dark—” The warlock bit off the rest of the name as he found himself staring at a tall figure clad in a long, flowing robe of white. The man stood like one of the storybook wizards Cabe had grown up hearing about, the ones that only existed in tales. He even had the long white beard.

The man stared at him. After a breath or two had passed, Cabe came to the realization that the man was not staring at him, but rather at the spot where he stood. He did not see the warlock at all. Becoming daring, the bemused warlock waved a hand in front of his counterpart’s countenance. The bearded mage might have been a statue for all he noticed.

“He came barging in all important,” mocked a voice from behind the still figure. The gate to Darkhorse’s stall opened of its own accord and the demon steed trotted out. “I think he must have been looking for you but sensed me instead. Then, just as he had decided to give up, you came along. His powers are not that great, not by far, but he
is
very sensitive to the presence of magic. I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. Who was the hungry female?”

The question caught Cabe off-balance for a second, but he quickly replied, “Another spellcaster.”

“They seem to be breeding like mice these days. There are two others nearby.”

“I know; that’s why I’m here. We have to leave.”

“We would not think of letting you leave without first hearing the offer our most benevolent lord has commanded us to present to you.”

It was the male spellcaster Cabe had heard moments earlier. In contrast to his companion, he was clad like a minister of state from one of the northern kingdoms, like Erini’s own Gordag-Ai. In one hand, he carried a cane whose top was two silver-and-crystal horse heads. The mage himself was tall and narrow of face with a long mustache and thin, oiled hair. Beady eyes glanced at the petrified figure behind Cabe. The thin mouth curled up into a slight smile.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” The warlock was feeling too popular of late. Unknown forces were summoning him to Legar, enchantresses were seeking him for . . . for many things . . . and now kings wanted his services. He only wanted to go home and spend the next couple of hundred years with his family and friends.

“You have not heard the offer yet.” The other spellcaster tapped the end of his two-headed cane on the stable floor. “And you shall not leave until you do.”

Cabe could feel a sudden change, as if a blanket had been thrown over the stable. There was a dull ache in his head. His counterpart was trying to cut him off from any use of power. While that likely worked against an untrained or novice sorcerer, Cabe Bedlam was neither. With a simple, forceful thought, he cut through the magical barrier and restored to full intensity his link to the Dragonrealm.

The other mage’s cane promptly exploded.

“What? What?” The white-robed figure was mobile again. He glanced this way and that, trying desperately to figure out what was going on. Distracted by the surprising explosion, Darkhorse had lost control of the spell holding him in place.

Blinded briefly by the burst of sorcerous energy unleashed, Cabe could only now see what had happened to the elegant mage. The dull ache in his head had now become a raging headache, likely a backlash from the chaos of the cane’s destruction. The blast had thrown the other spellcaster back into one of the stable doors, where he lay unconscious. He wondered what sort of idiotic matrix the man had incorporated into the staff that would make it backfire like that when the spell was disrupted. Having never faced someone of true power, the other must have been unaware of the dangers. The cane was an interesting device, but when one chose to tie an item to a particular spell in order to save one’s concentration and strength for other things, one should make certain that the matrix, which stored or drew the power depending on the spell, was fortified in all dimensions. Obviously, there had been a weak link somewhere. Cabe was furious; it was not his intention to harm anyone. He did not wish to do anything that might strain relations between Zuu and himself. So far, no one knew who he was, but that might not be the case in the future. If King Lanith discovered it was Cabe Bedlam who had caused the chaos, there would likely be repercussions.

“What have you done? Hold there, young man!” The white-robed spellcaster reached for Cabe.

“Oh, do be still!” bellowed Darkhorse. Once more the figure froze. “Are we leaving now? This grows most tiresome!”

“Yes, we are! I—” His head still pounded. “I’d better ride you and let you teleport! That way we’re guaranteed to be together! My head—”

“Feels much the way I do! My entire body feels twisted inside out! I should give that mage a sound kicking! Next time, I will! Where to? Legar?”

“No, not yet! Somewhere near what used to be the edge of the Barren Lands, where the Brown Dragon once ruled! I need time to clear my head!” Cabe scrambled aboard the darksome steed and clutched at the reins. Before now, they had been merely for show since Darkhorse obviously did not need to be led. Now, though, they were the warlock’s lifeline. He swayed in the saddle as the pounding continued. His entire body felt sluggish. If this was what came of leaving new spellcasters to train themselves, then it was important that they start the new schools as soon as possible. Sorcerers left unchecked might someday gain the potential to ruin the world. It was a wonder it had never happened before.

He looked around. They were still in the stable and the sounds of soldiers outside warned that time was rapidly melting away. Cabe did not want to cause an incident. No one had recognized him so far, but he could not take the chance. “What’s wrong? Why are we still here?”

“That infernal explosion has addled me! I cannot summon the concentration to depart! Me! Darkhorse! I
should
kick that prestidigitating popinjay all the way back to his master!”

The warlock put a hand to his head. It did not stop the pain, but it eased the pressure a little bit. “We’ll have to ride through the city! Can you do that?”

“They shall have but a trail of dust to mark our time here!”

Mark?
That made Cabe think of something else. He did not want anyone following them. Reaching for the U-shaped talisman, he took the item and threw it as far from him as possible. Did the Green Dragon know what was going on in his own kingdom? He was certain the draconian ruler would find all of this interesting. All Cabe had to do was find the time to tell him.

“I’m ready, then!” He heard pounding on the stable doors. Where the stableboy was, he did not know, but he thanked the stars that no one was there to immediately open the way for the guards. “We’ll have to ride through the doors when they open!”

“Why wait?” Darkhorse laughed, reared, and went charging toward the thick wooden barriers.

The anxious warlock bent down low and prayed he had concentration enough to shield himself when the doors shattered.

As luck would have it or not, depending on the point of view, the guards managed to open the doors then. They were greeted by the sight of a huge stallion with gleaming blue eyes like the chill of winter coming at them at a speed that allowed no hesitation in choice. Most of the guards made the correct choice and dove to the side. A couple stood their ground, not experienced enough to understand why the veterans were scattering. After all, it was only a horse.

Darkhorse charged through the first one, then
leapt
over the head of the other.

The demon steed roared with laughter as he raced away from the stables. Cabe, still clutching tight, was thankful that none of the men could see that it was the mount and not the rider who was mocking them. Darkhorse was known well enough throughout the Dragonrealm, even if half of those who knew of him thought him legend. If word reached King Lanith that the shadow steed had been in Zuu and that a warlock of considerable skill had been seen with him, it would be reasonable for the monarch to assume that it was the warlock most known for his friendship with Darkhorse. What Lanith would or would not do was a question that Cabe did not want to have to consider.

Through the streets of Zuu the two raced. A few people here and there scattered as the great black beast fairly flew past them. One man actually stood his ground and raised a hand in encouragement as they went by. The last thing they heard from him was, “Aaryn’s Spur! I’ll give a hundred gold for the next colt he sires! What do you . . .”

They were just out of earshot when Darkhorse turned down a side avenue. Cabe looked up, noticing that they were now heading away from the gates of the city. “Where’re you going? This is the quickest way out!”

“But not the best!” The eternal’s voice was a subdued roar. It was still doubtful that in the dark anyone could tell that it was him talking. “Look before you!”

He did . . . and saw only the wall circling Zuu before them. There was no gate, only solid stone. “Are you—”

“Since I cannot teleport . . . yes!”

These streets were deserted, the only good thing to happen to them this night as far as the warlock was concerned. Cabe tried to concentrate again, but the headache only grew worse and his body tingled so much that he had to squirm despite his precarious balance. He would have to trust Darkhorse. Darkhorse had not and would not fail him. He would not.

The black stallion leapt into the air and over the wall. The harried mage took one look down at the shrinking world and decided that closing his eyes might be best after all.

They began to plummet earthward.

THE PANDEMONIUM AT
the stable had drawn both natives and visitors and even several minutes after the escape by the unknown rider, many of the spectators were still milling around trying to piece together the story.

The mages, looking disgruntled, perplexed, and dismayed, quickly departed the scene, none of them uttering so much as a single word. Some of the guards, however, were more vocal, the common folk of Zuu liking to tell or hear a good story whenever possible. Soon, a very distorted version of what had happened spread among the populace. There had been a score of riders. A band of spellcasters had been using the stable for their rituals. The king’s mages had been practicing, but something had gone wrong and they had summoned a demon out of the ether.

None of the stories was correct, but a careful listener who wandered about could piece together much from what was said, almost enough to re-create the true event.

To a spy clad in the stolen clothing of a murdered merchant, such a thing was child’s play.

VII

THEY HAD LOST
two men in the tunnels during the night. Two men suspiciously close to the chamber where Lord D’Farany and the blue devil worked to decipher the monsters’ secrets. Two men too many as far as Orril D’Marr was concerned. There was something special about the chamber, something other than the obvious, and he was the only one who suspected the truth. D’Marr was certain that the deaths had to do with a passage that was not there . . . at least not now.

It did not help that he was certain the beasts he held prisoner were laughing at him. Even when he questioned them, put them to the scepter, they seemed to be laughing. There was some great riddle that only they knew the answer to and they were not talking. He had come close to killing one, but for some reason the almost eager look in the beast’s eyes had made him draw back.

Lord D’Farany would not hear his suspicions and the damned blue man merely gave him a smug smile each time. If there was a problem, Lord D’Farany had said, then it was up to D’Marr to deal with it. That was his function, after all.

I will deal with it, oh, yes
. . . Each time his master descended into the tunnel, the Quel seemed to grow expectant. Each time he returned, they grew morose. The young officer had first thought that they were expecting an attack on the leader of their enemies, but then he saw that his assumption was wrong. The armored beasts
wanted
him to go to the chamber . . . but why?

To discover that reason, he had decided to drag one of the overgrown armadillos to the chamber and try a few tests.

Neither Lord D’Farany nor the northerner was in the chamber. That was as he had planned it. The only ones that D’Marr wanted here were the few men he needed to keep the Quel under control. This was
his
moment.

“Bring him forward so that he can see what I do.”

The soldiers dragged the wary beast toward the center of the room. D’Marr removed the scepter from his belt and walked slowly over to his captive. Some of the wariness in those inhuman eyes faded. The Quel had almost become used to the magical rod. It was an enemy that the prisoners understood.