Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (59 page)

Cabe put a hand on Grath’s arm. “You would be as good an emperor as Kyl, Grath! When the meeting between your brother and Melicard commences, you’ll do just fine. Kyl would have no other beside him. He’s said so many times, remember?”

“Yesss . . .”

“We’re all weary from the day’s ride, so—”

A familiar presence touched the warlock’s thoughts. Grath, noticing his expression, tensed and glanced around.

“Ho there, Cabe! Hello, young Grath!”

Standing where nothing but the creeping darkness of the coming night had been before, was the irrepressible shadow steed. Darkhorse dipped his head in further greeting, then trotted silently toward the duo.

“You made it!” Cabe fairly shouted. Then, collecting himself, he said more quietly, “It’s good to see you safe.”

“So I noticed! Ha!”

“Welcome back, Darkhorse,” Grath added.

“Thank you, one and all.” The huge stallion’s ice-blue eyes glittered. “It was an entertaining excursion to say the least!”

The warlock’s relief faded. “You found
more
spell traps?”

“Two too many, my friend! Someone was trying to ensure most readily that I was snared!” Darkhorse’s voice lowered to a quiet boom. “I did not admit to you the trouble the first trap caused me. It came very close to capturing me as the other captured you, Cabe!”

Then what would I have done?
the sorcerer could not help thinking.

“Of the other two snares I found, I can only tell you that they were traps of great cunning! Had I encountered one of them first, it might be that both you and I would have struggled in both ignorance and futility while day after day passed without our knowing it!”

“How did you deal with the spells?”

The eternal chuckled. “They were designed to trap, not cope with
being
trapped! Once I understood their nature, I simply
swallowed
them.”

“Swallowed?” Cabe tried to picture the sight, but failed utterly.

“They were quite tasty in their own way!”

Cabe was still deciding whether or not he should ask Darkhorse to expand on his remark when Kyl appeared, trailed by Lord Green and the two guards. The emperor-to-be was still clad in his riding clothes.

“Yesss, I
did
hear your voice after all, Lord Darkhorssse! I give thanksss to the Dragon of the Depthsss that you have come back to usss whole!”

“Did you think it would be otherwise?” returned the shadow steed, an astonished tone in his voice.

Kyl frowned, as if wondering if he had offended the eternal somehow. Darkhorse was famous for his almost childlike self-confidence. “Of course not! I trussst your journey wasss little fraught with danger?”

“A little excitement! Nothing more!” Before the heir to the dragon throne, Darkhorse would want to show no weakness whatsoever.

“Good! I know that you do not eat asss we do, Lord Eternal, but I would be remisss if I did not invite you to sssup with usss thisss evening.”

“I have already eaten,” replied the shadow steed with a quick glance to Cabe. “If you do not mind, I would prefer to begin a search of this region. One never knows what one will come across.”

“Yesss. Lassst night it was Ssseekers.”

“Oh?”

The Dragon King had informed his future emperor of the previous night’s incident. Cabe had wanted to make little of the incident, knowing it would only sow more anxiety, but had agreed that Kyl certainly had a right to know. To Darkhorse the warlock said, “I’ll tell you everything that happened the first opportunity I have tonight.”

“I would be pleased to hear!” Darkhorse gouged the earth with one massive hoof. “The knowledge of the birds’ intrusion makes me all the more determined to survey the surrounding region. Your Majesty, I thank you for your kind offer! Rest assured, one way or another, we
will
speak before this excursion ends.”

Kyl executed a bow. “I look forward to it, Lord Darkhorssse!”

A sardonic laugh escaped the shadow steed. “Not, ‘lord,’ my lord! Never is Darkhorse lord of anything, save perhaps the nothing from whence I came. I am to my friends simply known by my name; to my enemies, I am
Death
!”

The dramatic announcement was followed by another chuckle. Possibly out of habit, the drakes clustered together. Even the guards were well aware of what Darkhorse was capable of, although to their credit they remained at the forefront.

“I shall return shortly, Cabe!” roared the eternal. Before anyone could even acknowledge his departure, the shadow steed had vanished.

“We are all together,” commented the emperor-to-be. “It would require a grand fool to plot mischief now!” Kyl turned to his human guardian. “Will you be joining usss at sssupper, Massster Bedlam, or will you await the demon sssteed’s return?”

Knowing that Darkhorse was safe and now watched over the camp eased the warlock’s tensions a bit. Some food and drink could only help at this point. “I believe I’ll be joining you, Kyl.”

Even as he walked with the drakes in the direction of the heir’s tent, Cabe was aware that the respite was only temporary. Before long, they would reach Talak . . . and there the times would truly become interesting.

For now, though, he would enjoy the evening. After all, a respite
was
still a respite.

AURIM WOKE TO
the realization that there was someone in the room with him. He tried to be as still as possible. Through slitted eyes, the young warlock tried to spy whoever it was he had sensed.

There was no one within his range of vision. Aurim shifted in bed, pretending restlessness in his sleep. As he turned, his gaze swept the room.

Scowling, Aurim opened his eyes wide at the sight to the right of his bed.

A tall, thin man dressed in archaic robes was speaking to the air. Not a sound, however, escaped his lips. Had not Aurim known better, he might have thought he had gone deaf. He watched the man mouth words for several seconds before slipping out of bed to stand beside the silent intruder.

Up close, his suspicions were confirmed. He could see
through
the man to the window beyond.

The Manor held memories, centuries of memories, and some had a life of their own. This one was new to the younger Bedlam, but it looked similar to one his father had described. Cabe Bedlam had notebooks in which he chronicled each and every vision that appeared. Most of them remained mysteries. Over the centuries, many folk, some not human, had dwelled or passed through the Manor. Why their traces remained behind, neither the elder Bedlams nor Aurim knew. There seemed no reason for the particular time and place the visions were seen, nor the manner in which they appeared to the onlooker. Some included sound, others, like this one, were silent. The only link seemed to be that they materialized only before a mage. It mattered not whether the chosen one had any true power; as long as the person carried even a trace of sorcery within, he or she was liable to be confronted by the ghostly memories.

Aurim’s spectral orator began to fade. The warlock circled the dwindling figure, curious as to why it had shattered his slumber so. He had grown up around the visions and was so used to them that, unless they burst into existence before his very eyes, he was hard-pressed to notice them. Unlike his father, the younger warlock was no longer very interested in these particular mysteries.

Until now.

What was so special about this one? It was hardly even a true shape anymore. More a wisp of smoke. Yet, it had disturbed him.

The last vestiges of his ghostly companion evaporated.

The feeling that someone else had been in the room did not.

One spell that Aurim had little problem with was changing one set of garments to another. For the most part, it was a frivolous, minor ability that had served him only when he woke up too late for his lessons. Now, however, he was thankful, for it was only the matter of a single thought to change what he wore in bed to his mage’s robes. Likely it would not have mattered had he decided to forego the change, but Aurim preferred it this way. He did not want to accidentally run into one of the female servants, especially the ones near his own age, while clad in night clothes.

It was difficult to pinpoint where the trace had originated, but Aurim at last decided that the balcony was the most likely place. The trace was just a tiny bit stronger there.

Had someone been climbing into his room? Somehow, it felt more likely that, if there
had
been someone lurking beyond, that someone had remained on the balcony. Perhaps his room had simply been a stop on the way to another location.

As he walked toward the balcony, a tingle coursed through him. There was no explanation, but for a moment the golden-haired warlock faltered. Then, refusing to be cowed, Aurim pushed on. He reached the opening and carefully peered out. The warlock saw no sign of an intruder, but the hint of something lingered. Now, however, it felt a little farther away, almost as if it was coming from . . .

Below.

There
was
someone below him, someone on the path leading into the gardens. Although he could not see who that someone was, Aurim felt he should know the identity. He moved to the edge of the balcony and tried to probe with his power. Sorcery shielded the other, but Aurim did not give in. He knew that the potential lay within him to be more powerful and skilled than either of his parents, but this was the first time the young warlock had ever truly pushed that power to its limits. The Manor was his responsibility as much as it was the rest of his family’s.

Carefully, he sent out invisible tendrils toward the hidden figure. It might only be his sister, once more pining for the drake, but if it was not . . .

His mind touched that of the intruder.

Aurim gasped. There was a familiar mind there, but underneath it, like a second layer of skin, was
another
mind. An evil mind and one that he belatedly realized he knew from stories. Acting instinctively, the anxious mage tried to withdraw before he was noticed. He had to warn the others! All these years, a monster had been masquerading as one of their own. Tears ran down his face.
How long?
How long had the charade gone on?

It was then Aurim found that he could
not
break the link.

It isss not polite to intrude upon othersss, boy!
came the vile voice in his head.

He could barely move. A pressure built up against his mind, a pressure that seemed to be trying to crush all thought. In desperation, the young warlock tried to call out, hoping that someone might at least hear the truth. The devil that his father had often told him about was
here
after all these years. Here, during this most
crucial
of times.

“Tom . . . Toma!”
Aurim croaked.

It was not enough. His voice was barely a whisper.

Aurim was overwhelmed.

HE STIRRED IN
his sleep. Blinking, Aurim raised a heavy head and looked around his bedchamber. For some reason, he found himself expecting to see a ghost. While that happened now and then, for the most part the memories of the Manor did not disturb him. They were interesting to experience, but unlike his father, the younger Bedlam had never made a hobby of them.

Turning over, the warlock tried to go back to sleep. Yet, for some reason he felt a little uneasy, almost as if something had or was about to happen. Aurim sent out a weak probe, found the nothing he expected, and gave up. Probably a nightmare brought on by his new responsibilities. He had not told anyone, not even his parents, just how nervous he was about overseeing the Manor, even if only for a few days. Many people, human and drake, would be looking to him for answers.

Sleep began to take hold of him. His troubles turned to mist. Even the reason he had woke seemed irrelevant. If there
had
been something involved other than a nightmare, he not only would have noticed it, he would have dealt with it. Inexperienced he might be, but he had the power.

Besides
, Aurim thought as he drifted into slumber,
what could possibly happen here?

VI

THE GREETING THE
caravan received at the gates of Talak could best be described as grandly cautious.

The gates opened while they were still some distance from them, which Cabe read as a subtle hint from Melicard that he did not fear his guests. Knowing the king as he did, the warlock was certain that was true.

Banners hung from everywhere and the sight gave pause to more than one drake in the caravan. The flag of Talak, as designed by Melicard himself, consisted of a long, sharp sword crossing the stylized head of a dragon. The crippled king had designed it during his first years of power, when he had begun his vendetta against the race that had plagued his house so long. The vendetta was at an end—so Talak’s monarch had promised—but the flag remained as a constant reminder of the king’s hatred.

“Talak hasss very high wallsss,” Kyl commented to no one in particular. In truth, there were few kingdoms with walls as impressive as those surrounding the mountain state. They would have been even more impressive if Cabe had not been aware that they had failed to stop the drake armies.

There were other defenses now, defenses that made up for the failure of the walls. Should there be a new conflict between the drakes and Talak, the dragon warriors would find the high walls the least of the city’s shields.

Trumpets began to blare. From seemingly nowhere, people from the outer villages materialized on the sides of the road leading into Talak. There was some cheering, but overall the mood remained one of caution. More than a few of the villagers eyed the members of the caravan with suspicion. Most knew little about the heir to the dragon throne, but more than a few readily identified the Dragon King who rode beside him. Responses were mixed, albeit never approaching the point of anger. That Green had generally been a friend to humanity did not matter so much as that he was recognizable as a Dragon King.