Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (29 page)

One thing she was, was quick. The toying smile that had started to spread across her exquisite face faltered. “You’re not with the king’s herd of pet mages.”

The rumored spellcasters of King Lanith. Now he understood her earlier panic. She
was
hiding, hiding from her own monarch.

“I should have known.” The smile had started spreading again. “You are much too talented for one of that bunch. Not to mention much more pleasant to look at.”

He kept her from reaching up and stroking his cheek. Had Troia been here, the scene would have become very unpleasant by now. In her own way, the woman before him was just as much a predator as his bride.

“Thank you, but I am spoken for.”

“From the way you followed me, I wouldn’t have believed that.” She leaned forward ever so slightly.

He leaned forward, too, but not because of the grand and glorious sight before him. “Do not play your games with me. I might surprise you.”

His tone was menacing enough that she quickly withdrew. Even subdued for the moment, however, the young enchantress was still imposing. She would be much more trouble in the years to come.

“What do you want of me? If you’re not from the king, then who are you?”

“My name is unimportant, but I believe you and I share an acquaintance. One from whom you have a token of remembrance.”

Her smile twisted into a grimace and one hand flinched. The lionbird reached toward a small belt pouch hanging against her thigh. He tore the pouch off. Releasing her but still keeping his eyes focused in her direction, the Gryphon opened the pouch.

There were several small items in the pouch, but only one that could belong to Cabe. The Gryphon’s high sensitivity to magical auras allowed him to pick it out. A small dagger that many people carried when traveling. It was more useful for mundane tasks than cutting thieves, but then Cabe Bedlam hardly had to worry about thieves . . . excepting this one, of course. “You planned to follow him at some point? Was not one rejection enough for you?”

“You’re
his
friend?”

“We go back a long way. How did you come by this?”

One look at his eyes warned her about lying. Unleashing her dazzling smile, she replied, “He came into the inn. I could see that he was different, one of us.”

“And so you tried to seduce him . . . for what?” He thought carefully. “Training and more, I imagine. The road to power for a mage.”

He had come close to the truth. The Gryphon understood the present situation concerning spellcasters. Hunted for years by the Dragon Kings, they were only now reappearing in any number. Other than Cabe and Gwen, he had only known a handful of mages of any ability who had survived the constant purges. Toos, once his second-in-command during his mercenary days, was one.

“What is your name?”

“Tori. Tori Winddancer.”

Winddancer, just the sort of name one found in this region. The appellation no doubt revolved around the swiftness of horses. She was a native of the kingdom of Zuu, then. There would be even less chance for her to find someone like her in this region. Although the Green Dragon was an ally to humans now and his particular line had always treated people fairly well, the days after the Turning War had seen the beginning of the strongest of the mage purges. That cleansing had been under the control of the Dragon Emperor, and knowing his counterpart in the Dagora Forest, it was said that extra care had been taken to make the purge in and around Dagora very thorough.

“What happened to my friend while he was here?”

“You heard about what happened near the stables?” At his nod, she continued. “That was him. That was some horse he had, too. I heard some people claim it could fly, but they probably didn’t know your friend was a warlock.”

And you do not know about Darkhorse, evidently.
So much the better. “Were the king’s men after him?”

“The guards and the mages . . . or bumblers, after the way they handled him. He made fools out of them I hear.”

“You hear?”

She smiled again. “I left the moment I knew they were coming. Your friend didn’t understand about the medallion . . . but you do, I guess.”

“I’ve been around longer.” So now he had verification. Cabe and Darkhorse had run afoul of King Lanith’s tame spellcasters. He could not blame the warlock for leaving the incident out of his message to the Lady Bedlam; she had more than enough to worry about without adding this. It was over and done.

“Are you through with me or would you like to talk of other things now?” From the way she looked at him, it was clear what she meant.

“There are those who will aid in your training without you having to resort to seduction.”

“I’m looking for more than training as you know, silver hair.” She tried to touch the hair, but he blocked her hand. “I’m looking for
much
more than that.”

“My wife would claw you into little pieces if she knew you had even been this familiar with me. Literally claw you.”

“What is she, a cat?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him carefully, expecting some sign of amusement, then saw that he was deadly earnest. “Some people will marry into the strangest families. A human and a cat?”

“Did I say I was human?”

Tori had no response to that, but he noted that she leaned back a little, as if seeing him in a new and unnerving light. “I asked you a question. Are you finished with me?”

“Nearly. Are you familiar—” He paused as a drunken trader dressed in the clothes of Gordag-Ai stumbled in their direction. He heard other voices nearby. The Gryphon took Tori’s arm. She did not resist but neither did she try her charms on him again. His comments concerning himself and his mate had her wondering. “Let us walk back to the inn. Be friendly.”

The enchantress nodded. Ahead of them, the trader was trying to decide which side of the narrow street he wanted to give up to them. The Gryphon pointed to his left and the man steered that way. Turning his attention back to Tori, he started to ask his question again.

The footsteps of the drunken man stilled.

A normal man would have been too slow and that fact was perhaps all that saved the Gryphon, for it probably made his attacker just overconfident enough. He threw the woman to one side as the trader fell upon him, knife in one hand. The lionbird heard Tori gasp, but then his attention became completely focused on the battle situation. His adversary weighed far more than he should have, which made the Gryphon certain that beneath the outfit one would find armor.

Black armor.

He had grown careless, spending too much of his time on some things and forgetting his own thought that there might be spies here. He had also grown careless in another way, for the face he wore now was the one he often preferred. Cabe would not be the only one capable of recognizing it. After so many years of facing him, it was not surprising that many of the raiders, especially the spies, would recognize that striking countenance on sight. The Gryphon knew he had not only become careless, but also vain. Had he chosen faces of less distinction, he might have avoided this. His maimed hand might still have given him away, but not nearly as quickly as his vanity had.

They struggled on the ground, the wolf raider maintaining his advantage above through sheer weight and the Gryphon’s inability to get a strong enough grip with his damaged hand. The raider’s own features were nondescript, as was most common with those in his profession, but the quiet determination he radiated told the Gryphon that his adversary was a veteran of many a campaign. There would be no room for mistakes against this man.

If physical strength was not enough to rid him of his assailant, then the lionbird was more than willing to resort to his magical skills. When the situation called for it, one took the advantages one was given and sense of honor be damned, that was his belief. Survival first and foremost.

The Aramite must have known what he was attempting, for suddenly he abandoned the knife attack and, disregarding injury to himself, swung his head down, catching the Gryphon square in the forehead.

It was all the Gryphon could do to keep from blacking out. Worse, the force was enough to make the back of his head strike the ground. The world around him began to spin. His grip weakened, allowing the wolf raider to press his advantage.

“My life for yours!” the dark figure hissed. “A small price for the empire’s triumph!”

So now it ends
, he managed to think.
Cut down at night in a street far from anything I might call home.

He heard a small, startled grunt from the raider. The weight on his body shifted to one side. Instinct took over. The Gryphon followed the shifting of the weight and pushed his attacker off in that direction. He heard a clatter and realized that the knife had fallen from the Aramite’s hand. Now, even with his head still ringing, the advantage was becoming his.

The raider was by no means defeated, however. Once more he tried to butt heads. The lionbird was ready for him, however, and tipped his own head out of the way. Then he did the only thing he could think of doing that would end the flight in swift fashion.

He transformed. For most shapeshifters, such an act would have left them helpless for a few precious seconds. For the Gryphon, long practiced at shaping at a moment’s notice, it was not so. Two decades of war had kept that ability well honed.

The spy let out a yelp that the Gryphon’s taloned hand all but muffled. Taken back by the astonishing sight of his adversary shifting form, the Aramite was too slow to block the attack that came next. With grim satisfaction, the Gryphon twisted his adversary’s head to one side, snapping his neck.

Verifying that the man was dead, he slowly rose and whispered, “Your life for that of my son . . . hardly a balance but certainly a beginning.”

It was only then that he recalled Tori. He transformed back into a human even as he turned to where he had last left her. It was not surprising to find her gone. Still, something had caused the Aramite to grunt in pain and shift his weight. It could only have been an attack of some sort by the enchantress. A kick in the head, he suspected. Why bring attention to herself as a spellcaster when a simple physical assault worked as effectively?

The area had grown conspicuously devoid of people and the Gryphon knew that such emptiness usually preceded an appearance by the local guard. He regretted that he had allowed his anger to seize mastery; the spy might have given him some further information, including how many of his ilk had already spread through Zuu. The city guard would have to be satisfied with the corpse. Certainly any other spies in the city would go into hiding now that one of their number was dead and they had no way of knowing who was responsible. This one had acted on his own; if there had been more, they would have entered the struggle, for he was not flattering himself when he thought they considered him a target of prime importance.

The brief respite, however much it might have put him in danger of being sighted by the city guard, had served its purpose. His head still throbbed, but his concentration was sufficient for spellcasting. It was time to leave Zuu and follow Cabe’s trail.

Trail. The Gryphon searched for the knife that the woman Tori had stolen from Cabe, but found nothing. It might have been thrown into the darkness during the struggle, but he suspected it was once more in the hands of the enchantress. She would gain small success with it now, however. In the short time he had held it, he had made a few magical alterations. If she sought out the warlock after this, she would simply reappear in the same location she had started from. Let her search for Cabe Bedlam if she chose, but she would have to do it on her own.

One of the first lessons in magic is to never assume it will always work the way you desire.

It was a lesson he tried to remind himself of each and every day. It was a lesson he was certain he would need to recall when he entered the desolate domain of the Crystal Dragon.

The city guard was near. With one last bitter glance at the raider’s sprawled body, the Gryphon regripped the guiding blade and teleported away . . .

. . . to the hills of Esedi.

The trail was stronger here, as he had expected. The blade had probably brought him to within a few yards of where Cabe himself had materialized. He allowed himself a brief human smile, for teleportation was always a chancy thing when one was not familiar with the location, then let his human guise melt away since it was no longer needed.

Cabe and Darkhorse had done fairly well in their choice of locations. Under normal conditions, they would have enjoyed an excellent view of the eastern portion of the peninsula. Not all of it, of course, but enough to enable them to plan the journey’s beginning. Legar was not as massive a region as Esedi or even the immense Dagora Forest, but it was filled with hills, crevices, and a system of underground caverns that rivaled those in the Tyber Mountains. Add to the treacherous, uneven landscape possible encounters with the Quel and now the wolf raiders, and you had very good reasons to move slowly and carefully through Legar.

And now this mist
. . . He was familiar with the Grey Mists, the dank, mind-sapping haze that covered Lochivar. Lochivar, on the southeastern edge of the Dragonrealm, was the kingdom of the Black Dragon, who was the source of that magical fog. Knowing what the Grey Mists could do, the Gryphon was glad he had not simply decided to teleport into this murk. Even from here he could sense its evil. There was something wild about it, but it was the wildness of a thing in its death throes, for there was also a feeling of decay about it.

If this is how it seems under the dimness of the moons, then how is it in the daytime? Worse? How will it be when I actually enter it?
He would find out soon enough. There was no real reason to remain here for even a fraction of the time he had spent in the city. Cabe and Darkhorse would have waited here only long enough to prepare themselves for Legar and the Gryphon was as prepared as he would ever be. He would learn nothing new from these silent hills, nothing that would aid his mission and his vengeance.