Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (20 page)

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.”