Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (54 page)

“Did we? Of late, I’ve noticed myself thinking thoughts I’d have found reprehensible in others.”

“Kyl is in great part responsible for that.” The sorceress released him and stepped back. “Believe that. There are drakes here who would admit to it. As a ruler, Kyl may do great things, but as a person, his attitude lacks a certain responsibility.”

They both knew that they were in part thinking of their own daughter, but neither desired to say any more on that subject for now. The two were certain . . . almost . . . that Valea was simply infatuated with Kyl’s exotic appearance. She was too intelligent to think that there could be anything between them . . . they hoped.

Cabe made a cutting motion with his hand. “None of this solves the present problem. I’m going to see if I can find Darkhorse myself. The more I think about it, even if he doesn’t appear in Talak, I want him to know what’s going on. If anyone is planning to disrupt the event or, worse, strike out at the emperor-to-be, it wouldn’t hurt to have Darkhorse nearby.”

She cocked her head to one side and smiled a bit. “You know, I think this is all a
ploy
! I think you just planned this sudden little excursion so that you can escape the preparations for the journey!”

They both laughed at her joke, all the while aware that it was simply an attempt to lighten Cabe’s ever-darkening mood. “Now why would I want to escape arranging and rearranging Kyl’s caravan? I couldn’t think of anything more entertaining!”

“Then I will go in your place, husband dear!”

“Not likely!” He took her once more into his arms. “If you leave it to me to organize this, we will be ready to depart by some time late next
year
!”

“Too true. . . .” The sorceress grew quiet, then said, “If you must go searching, you can avoid the region around Talak. I made mention to Erini that she should let us know if Darkhorse appears there.”

“Then that’s one place less. I have some other notions of where he might have run off to. I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about.” He kissed her. “This won’t take long. If Darkhorse is at none of the places I have in mind, I’ll leave him a sign that he won’t fail to recognize. Then it will simply have to be up to him as to whether he answers or not.”

“All this running around sometimes seems so futile, doesn’t it? I shall be glad when Kyl is crowned so that we can at last breathe again.”

Cabe forced his smile to remain where it was. “That’s
all
I’ve ever asked.”

He kissed his wife once more . . . then was gone.

As the warlock vanished, Lady Bedlam heard a knock on the door. She turned toward it and bid the newcomer to enter.

It was Benjin Traske. The huge, bearded scholar was clad in the colors and garments of his special calling—a gray, cowled cloak with gold trim on the collar and ebony robes beneath. The cowl was presently pushed back, revealing gray hair with a very slight peppering of silver. Like Cabe, Gwen sometimes thought that the tutor resembled more a condemning judge than the scholar he was. She noted also that he still wore a blade on his belt, despite such armament going against his calling. Traske had lost his family in the fall of the city of Mito Pica some years back and had always regretted that he had not had even a knife with which to protect them.

Something about his expression disturbed her. It was nothing that she could put her finger on. He seemed almost pensive, but that was not quite it.

“My pardon, lady. I thought Master Bedlam also here.”

“He has left.”

“I see.” For a breath or two, it seemed the massive figure did not know what to say.

“I
am
Lady Bedlam, scholar. You can trust me with whatever it is you wished to speak to my husband about.”

His expression became somewhat rueful. “My apologies. I did not mean to infer such . . .”

“What is it you want, Scholar Traske?”

He took a deep breath. “I realize that you have much on your mind and that I would only be further adding to your troubles, but I wish to speak to you about the excursion to Talak. . . .”

THIS IS GETTING
to be a habit!

The wind howled around him. Everything was white, but it was the whiteness of death, the eternal winter. Snow and ice were everywhere. A few misshapen hills, possibly only large snowbanks, dotted the otherwise flat landscape. In the distance, the warlock could see some taller mounds, but he knew it would be a waste of time to go and investigate them. If Darkhorse was not here at the very spot on which Cabe now stood, then he was not in any part of the Northern Wastes.

Snow fluttered around the silent spellcaster but did not alight on him. The same spell that shielded him from the cold also shielded him from the other gifts the inhospitable wasteland offered. Snow that sought perch on him simply faded away.

He had come here because this, of all the places that the eternal frequented, was the most likely spot that Darkhorse would have chosen to return to had his obsession taken root once again. Here, in the emptiness of the Wastes, Shade had perished . . . or so Queen Erini said. She had witnessed it all. Years later, during a quest much like the one he was on now, Cabe had been brought here by the novice sorceress, who had explained to him the relevance of this chilling place. Although he was never certain exactly why he had done so, Cabe Bedlam had imprinted the location on his mind. Perhaps at the time it had simply been because Shade had been a friend to him as well and all he had wanted to do was remember.

Now, however, it was time to move on. Darkhorse was obviously not here, and the magical signature his passing always left behind was very old, perhaps more than a month. The ebony stallion had not been to the Wastes for some time.

Where next? There were any number of locations that Darkhorse, a wanderer, frequented to some extent, but only a few he returned to again and again. Talak was one of the latter, but Gwen had seen to that situation. The Northern Wastes had been . . . a waste. Cabe had no intention of searching too many locations. First of all, chasing after Darkhorse was like chasing after a phantasm. The eternal could be anywhere he chose to be at almost any time. Darkhorse also did not tire as rapidly as a human did. Trying to chase down Darkhorse was pure folly. It was also possible that Darkhorse might journey to the Manor even while Cabe searched the countryside for his old companion. That had happened to the warlock more than once during the first few years of their friendship. He had strived hard ever since the last time to make certain that it never happened again.

There were six locations he thought worthy of searching. After that, the warlock intended to return to his home. If Darkhorse had still not answered his summons by the next day, Cabe would try a few more. If even
that
search failed . . . he was not certain
what
he would do then. Cabe only knew that he never abandoned a friend.

With ease, the blue-robed sorcerer transported himself to the next destination on his mental list. His new location gave him a panoramic view of a bowl-shaped valley in the distance, for Cabe presently stood atop a tall jagged hill. Cabe knew the valley, having been to it with Darkhorse in the past. The city of Zuu, from where the horsemen ruled the land of the same name, lay near the center. In the daytime, the city was impossible to see, but night would reveal a sea of light, for Zuu never slept.

The shadow steed was not here, but the traces Cabe sensed were much more recent than those at the previous site. It had been only days since Darkhorse had passed through here; that much Cabe could ascertain. He tried to trace the path the eternal had taken, but was able to determine only that it went east, which, from Zuu’s southwesterly location, meant most of the Dragonrealm. Still, it
was
something to go on. Two of his remaining choices were directly east. He would try them first, then head north where two of the others were. After that . . .

Again, it took only the simplest of thoughts to send him to his next destination. There had been a time when Cabe would have laughed if someone had told him he would find sorcery so comfortable a piece of his life. The young boy who had worked serving food and drink at inns would have been horrified even to think of wielding such might.

He found himself in a wooded region in the southern stretches of the central Dagora Forest. In truth, he was not at all that far from the Manor; a two-day journey by horse would see him at the boundaries of his tiny domain. However, Darkhorse did not visit this site as often as he did the first two, hence Cabe’s decision to leave this one until now.

Again there was no visible sign of the shadow steed, but it was clear to the warlock that his friend had been here not too long ago. Cabe judged it to be no more than four days since Darkhorse’s departure. Once again, though, it was impossible to judge exactly where the eternal had journeyed next. Darkhorse traveled either by magic or by running, and either method allowed him to move across the Dragonrealm in little time. Teleporting, however, was much harder to trace. It was one skill where Cabe was and probably always would be deficient.

He was ready to depart for the next location on his list when a peculiar sensation touched the edge of his mind. There had been magic cast here, but of a haunting sort. It reminded him of something old, yet something he should have been familiar with. . . .

It was gone. So slight had it been that Cabe was almost willing to believe that he had imagined it. Darkhorse followed a different magic—and, in fact,
was
that magic—but this was not some random trace left by the eternal. Frowning, the master warlock sought it again, but whatever he had felt was no more. Realizing how futile it would be to hunt for something that might have been the product of his own imagination, Cabe returned to the business at hand. He was tempted to depart for the Manor, but decided that it would not take that long to inspect the remaining places. It was possible that he might even find the shadow steed. Each jump seemed to put him closer.

With that thought to encourage him, he leapt to the next site.

A chill ran through him as he appeared among grass-covered ruins. It had been years since Cabe had come to this place, and over those years he had thought he had recovered from the destruction. Now, though, the sight of the broken, weather-worn rubble brought it all crashing back.

The ghosts of Mito Pica, the ghosts of his memory and conscience, danced around him.

He had been raised here. Under a spell cast by his grandfather, Cabe had remained a child for a century, maybe more. The warlock could not recall his early life, and so over the years he had come to wonder if Nathan had actually put him to sleep for most of that time. Still, whatever its elements, it had been a desperate spell, one that had been meant to save a dying baby. Its success had meant Nathan Bedlam’s own death, for he had weakened himself enough so that when he challenged the Dragon King Purple, he had not had the strength to defeat the drake lord. In the end, both sorcerer and Dragon King had perished.

All thought of Darkhorse faded for a time as Cabe Bedlam drank in the macabre vision before him. Some parts of the wall that had surrounded Mito Pica still stood whole, as did several buildings. The city
could
have been rebuilt, but for some reason no one had suggested it. Yet, Cabe did not doubt for a moment that there were people living among the ruins. Scavengers for the most part, with some bandits thrown in for good measure. Possibly even a few half-mad survivors of the destruction itself. They would be old by now and probably very few in number.

After the Dragon Emperor’s death, Melicard of Talak had sent his men to sweep through Mito Pica and bring any refugees they found back to the safety of his kingdom. There had actually been three or four such sweeps, so Cabe was fairly certain that all those who had desired aid had received it. Anyone living in the ghost kingdom now
wanted
to be there.

“Hadeen . . .” he whispered. Mito Pica had died because of him, and with it had perished the half-elf who had been his adoptive father. It was the other reason why Cabe had always found reasons to stay away from the ruined city. Hadeen had dedicated his life to caring for the grandson of Nathan Bedlam and his reward had been death at the claws of . . . of . . .

Toma . . .

He shivered. The voice had sounded almost like Hadeen’s, yet it could not have been.

Toma . . . Cabe . . . Toma teaches . . .

Gasping, the wary spellcaster turned toward the wooded lands nearest to him. In that direction had been the home that Hadeen had built for the two of them. Almost it seemed . . . but that was
impossible.

Toma . . . masks upon masks . . .

My son . . .

“Hadeen?” He could almost swear that the woods were
talking
to him.

Then the strong pull of another power snared his attention. The warlock cried out as he felt the force in the woods recede. He took a step toward the trees, but the second force, terribly familiar, beckoned to him, enticed him. Cabe stood transfixed, eyes darting from the trees to the darkness of Mito Pica, from where the new force seemed to radiate.

“Hadeen,”
he whispered. A rare tear ran down his cheek. There was no reply, not even a gentle acknowledgment. Whatever had called to him from the woods had grown quiet again. It was said that when elves died, their spirits became one with their surroundings, especially trees. Did that also apply to half-elves?

The shivering warlock was not allowed time to pursue the matter, for once more he was pulled toward the ghost-ridden ruins of the city. With a start, Cabe recognized what now called to him. It was not only the same as the trace he had sensed at his last destination, but also identical to something far in his past. Only rarely had the sorcerer encountered such magic, for it was a thing
not
of this world, a thing that had briefly flourished long, long ago, when godlike mages had journeyed from their dying world to this one in an attempt to escape a doom they themselves had caused.