Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (45 page)

Nimth was overwhelming all of them.

Dragon King, where are you?

I . . . sssspell . . . it will . . .
The message in his mind was meaningless garbage. Cabe struggled to force his will upon the spell he had started. In a sense, he finally succeeded, for suddenly the startled mage was plummeting earthward.

Cabe was unable to keep himself aloft, but in the last second, his will was strong enough to create a cushion of air, making his landing only a bit harsh. Lord D’Farany’s creation did not seize him when he touched ground, which he assumed meant that it still fought with the Aramites. That proved true enough. In fact, the serpentlike appendage had wrapped itself around one of the horses, throwing the officer riding the steed to the ground, and was even now dragging the poor creature kicking into its maw.

Two soldiers pursued the trapped animal, but Lord D’Farany barked an order, causing them to backstep. Shrieking, the steed was pulled into the magical jaws. As the hapless mount disappeared from view, the mouth simply vanished. There was no sign of the ravine and no sign of the unfortunate beast.

Seemingly satisfied, D’Farany then pointed at the third man, the one who had been thrown off the horse, and said something unintelligible that the warlock assumed was an order to see to the condition of the injured officer. The two remaining officers obeyed without hesitation.

The keeper glanced in his direction. One hand went into the pouch where the talisman was kept. Lord D’Farany wanted a more direct control over his spells. The talisman was useful as a focus, but Cabe knew it was also a crutch of sorts to a sorcerer’s imagination. Those who relied on talismans concentrated too much sometimes on what was in front of them, for that was where their toys were focused. That meant that on occasion they left their other defenses weak.

So he hoped.

The warlock did not wait for his counterpart to retrieve the tooth. Quite suddenly, there were ten Cabes all about the area. Each one moved with purpose, but not the same purpose as his twins. Some stood where they were while others moved toward the keeper and his men.

Among the latter was the true Cabe Bedlam, who now stood far to the right of his previous position. It was a risky spell, as all were in this place, but it had worked like perfection. The false Cabes moved their hands about in mystical passes that actually had no meaning. Creation and control of the illusions were actually not a great strain for him. They required much less power than true conjuration. Now he only had to hope that his adversary fell prey to it.

D’Farany did pause, losing a precious second or two while he studied his multiplied opponent. Then he pulled free the talisman and pointed it at one of the farther images. Out of the corner of his eyes, Cabe watched the duplicate ripple, then fade away. He hurried his pace. Just a little closer . . .

Swinging his arm around, the keeper brought the talisman to play on one image after another. His steed, made jittery by the madness around him, struggled with the Aramite, slowing D’Farany’s work another critical few seconds. The warlock edged closer, glancing now and then at the other raiders. The two officers were still bent over the third, who would not be rising soon, if at all, from the looks of him. Cabe did not fear the two remaining. Only their master was a danger.

Then it was that Lord D’Farany’s deadly talisman was pointed directly at him . . . only to continue on until the keeper had fixed it on the illusionary Cabe to the warlock’s right.

The Aramite had assumed that one of the ten must be his adversary. He was wrong. Cabe walked among his duplicates, but to all eyes but his own, he was not there. Not unless they looked close. Cabe had relied on the tremors and his duplicates to draw attention from himself. Meanwhile, the same spell that had allowed him to enter the wolf raider encampment now allowed him to move toward the keeper. As long as D’Farany had other things to occupy his sight, he would not see the warlock. Of course, there were limitations. The nearer Cabe moved, the more chance there was that the Aramite sorcerer’s will would overcome the spell. Had he tried to actually reach Lord D’Farany and pull him from the saddle, it was likely that Cabe would have been attacked long before he was close enough to do anything. Fortunately, he had no intention of getting
that
close.

At least, not at first.

He reached his destination just before D’Farany, still battling his anxious steed, focused the talisman on the last of Cabe’s duplicates. The keeper was having trouble maintaining aim, which was what the warlock had hoped for. It gave him just enough time to prepare and then to unleash his own assault.

The ground before the nervous stallion exploded in one bright, raucous burst after another. The bursts of light appeared all about the steed, growing noisier with each consecutive explosion. Already flighty, the stallion could take no more of the happenings around it. It bucked and reared, trying to escape the explosions.

Lord D’Farany fought in vain to remain in the saddle. He first slid back, then fell forward as he tried to grab hold of the saddle with the hand not clutching the carved tooth. In the process of grasping, the keeper lost his hold on the reins.

Not daring to pause, the warlock turned on the remaining pair of wolf raiders, who even now rose to aid their master. Cabe dealt with them in the simplest of manners, using a tiny portion of his skill to raise two heavy stones and fling them toward the duo. Neither man had a chance to deflect the oncoming projectiles. Helms or not, the stones struck with enough force to knock both officers senseless.

Unable to collect his thoughts enough to control his beast, Lord D’Farany was finally thrown off his horse. The fall was not as harsh a one as Cabe had originally hoped, but the bucking stallion did manage to toss the keeper almost exactly where Cabe had wanted.

Now
he leapt.

The determined spellcaster fell on top of his counterpart. D’Farany, still dazed by the fall, was unable to prevent Cabe from getting a grip on his wrists. Only when he realized that his precious talisman was no longer in his hand did the keeper truly begin to struggle. He did not even attempt a spell, although perhaps his kind needed their tokens on their person. The only magic that the warlock could recall D’Farany using on his own was when he had summoned the talisman to him and that might very well be only possible because of his link to the thing in the first place. There was too much that Cabe did not know about Aramite sorcerers.

Cabe, searching while he fought, saw the object of both their quests only a yard or so away. To his dismay, it was inching its way toward the two. Recalling how the tooth had flown to the hands of the Aramite sorcerer, he realized that as long as the keeper could think, D’Farany could summon the talisman to him. Only the fact that he battled with Cabe kept him from already retrieving his cursed trinket. A minute or two and he
would
control it again.

That time the warlock would not allow him. This close to each other, he, at least, knew how risky it was to cast any sort of potent spell. However, there
was
one more illusion he planned on trying. He only hoped that his imagination and the Gryphon’s descriptions in a long-ago letter would be enough.

Cabe’s visage melted, becoming the dark, murky outline of a great and terrible lupine creature with burning eyes and a toothy maw capable of taking in whole a man’s head.

Lord D’Farany’s face grew blank, then twisted into a horrific mask of reverence for the beast he saw above him.

Releasing one of the keeper’s wrists, Cabe formed a fist and punched D’Farany in the jaw with as much force as he could muster. His hand ached for a time after, but the results were well worth the pain.

“Sometimes the direct way is the best way,” he muttered to the unconscious keeper. Only against a man such as D’Farany would an illusion like the one Cabe had cast succeed. The Gryphon had described his meeting with the Aramites’ rabid deity, the lupine Ravager, spending some length on the ghostly image of the monster and the devotion the keepership displayed for their darksome god. D’Farany had reacted exactly as the warlock had calculated. A good thing, too; he would have been at a loss as to what to do next if his trick had failed.

The talisman!
said a sudden, familiar voice in his head.
There is little time left to undo the damage!

“If I’d had a little more help with this,” the warlock snarled, climbing over D’Farany, “I would’ve been done earlier.”

I mussst conssserve my sssstrength!

“What about mine?”

The talisman!
the inner voice roared.

I
have
it!
he sent back, more than a little bitter. Out loud, Cabe asked, “What now?”

Now
, came the oddly hesitant but unusually controlled voice of the Dragon King.
Now you must hold it together at all costs. You must not allow it to shatter, lest all we manage to do is unleash further decay and chaos from the realm of my past!

That sounded like nothing Cabe desired to be a part of, but he nonetheless held the talisman tight. “What are you going to do?”

The keeper’s toy is the only thing still with a link to Nimth and the dark power of that wretched world. It is not one I would trust long to survive the effort, but it is all we have. I will take the power of Nimth and use it as only one born of the Vraad could. I will take that power and bring peace to my realm . . . peace or death.

“But—” Cabe’s protest died on his lips as he felt the first surge of power flow into and then out of the talisman. Almost immediately he understood what the Dragon King had meant about holding the talisman together. There was so much energy, so much of the
wrong
magic being forced through it that the tooth was being stretched beyond its abilities. The Crystal Dragon was using it as more than just a receptacle or a focus or even both together and the strain was tearing it apart.

The Crystal Dragon’s voice grew indifferent, distant.
Let the power of Nimth at last do something worthy. Let Legar hear its power . . . and then let Nimth be silent forever!

From all around, there came a sound, a piercing sound that suddenly simply
was.
It was powered from the great forces pouring through the hole between worlds, but it was transmitted from all around. The storms, the wind, and the wild, drifting magic gave way to a trembling. It was not a quake. Cabe could only think of it as the entire land
vibrating
and the faster the frequency of that vibration, the greater the intensity of the sound.

Keep your mind on the talisman! Let the ssssound drift away! I shall—

The deafening noise sent the warlock to his knees, but he did not lose his control. It was not because of the knowledge that the spell would fade unfinished, but because he knew that to do so would mean his death. He only hoped the spell’s success would not mean the same.

Then, coherent thought was no longer possible. There was only the sound. The damning sound.

AS CABE FOUGHT
against the verlok, the Gryphon’s own battle commenced. It began with circling, as the two wary opponents sized up each other. The lionbird did so in silence; Orril D’Marr was the opposite.

“When I found the tent in ruins and the bodies of the beasts and guards lying there—but not yours—I was furious. To have caught you at last and then have you slip away . . . it was just too much. I’ve waited too long!”

The Gryphon glanced over D’Marr’s back at Darkhorse, who remained motionless. There would be no help there, not that he wanted any. D’Marr was his and his alone. As much as the young officer wanted him, the Gryphon wanted the wolf raider more. Even though practicality was screaming that escape was the only option for either of them, neither would have stepped back now.

D’Marr’s scepter glistened as Legar once had. The Aramite made two jabs with it, always withdrawing before the Gryphon had a chance to grab the deadly little tool by its handle. He was aware of how useless his power was against the wolf raider while D’Marr carried the mace. That was not a great disappointment to the Gryphon. Demion’s death demanded a more personal struggle. Orril D’Marr had to be made to know what it meant to kill one of the Gryphon’s own. Besides, he did not want to trust to sorcery too much in this place. A thing like the scepter might work here, but spells cast might kill the caster instead.

Around them, the earth shook and crevices opened. Green lightning still played with the plain. Neither fighter cared in the least. They had come almost to the point where interference by anyone, be it Quel, wolf raider, or one of the Gryphon’s allies, would result in a bizarre alliance between the duelists against those interlopers. Only the rampages of the realm itself stood any chance at all of coming between them.

“Would you like your sword, birdman? Perhaps asking for it politely will gain you something.” The Aramite’s visage was still damningly indifferent. His eyes were not.

The Gryphon displayed his talons. “I have these. They are all I need for you.”

“Well have the sword, anyway,” D’Marr remarked, kicking it toward his foe.

Puzzled and wary, but knowing the sword
would
cancel out the advantage of length the wolf raider presently had, the former mercenary retrieved the blade. There was no lunge from D’Marr, merely that shadow of a smile. The lionbird had met few men who could unbalance him the way that this one did. Nothing about the Aramite could be trusted, not even the way he breathed. Still, now the Gryphon had a weapon he could make use of without coming dangerously close to the scepter.

“Whenever you are ready, D’Marr.”

The wolf raider laughed . . . and brought his mace into play while the Gryphon was still marveling over the peculiar reaction from the normally diffident officer. He only discovered the reason for that laugh when his blade came up to parry the attack. As the two weapons struck each other, Orril D’Marr pulled his back, bringing the head of the scepter into contact with the metal blade.