“I-” was as far as Erini got. Suddenly she was falling toward Cabe. He caught her at the last moment and stumbled back under her sudden weight. Darkhorse’s eyes glittered. He trotted a few more steps toward them.
“What ails her?”
Cabe adjusted his grip. “She pushed herself too far! She insisted that she be the one to bring us here and like a fool I agreed!”
Darkhorse snorted. “I doubt you had much choice with her! Best take her back to her chambers quick!”
“The private ones where you two sometimes meet?”
“You know them? Good! Take her there! I shall follow! Perhaps, if we are fortunate, good Melicard will be out running down drakes or some such foolishness! Hurry now!”
Tightening his hold, the warlock teleported-
– and found himself face-to-face with King Melicard, who stood within the suite, one hand on the door handle. Another moment and it was likely they would have missed one another, for he was turned as if just planning to depart.
There were still those to whom the lord of Talak was an effrontery or even a thing of horror. Melicard no longer cared what those people thought. Erini and Princess Lynnette were the only two whose opinions mattered to him and they, of course, loved him dearly.
Despite the yoke of leadership he had worn for almost two decades, Melicard at first glance still looked very much like the handsome young prince that Cabe, with his own rather ordinary features, had always secretly envied. Tall and athletic with brownish hair just now turning a bit to gray, he had once been the desire of many a woman, both royal and common. If Erini was the storybook princess, then Melicard, with his strong, angular features and commanding presence, was the hero of the tale.
He was still handsome . . . but now more than half of his face was a magical reconstruction. The left side from above the eye down to the lower jaw was completely silver in color, for that was the natural shade of elfwood. Much of the nose was the same and there were even streaks of silver stretching across to the right side, almost like a pattern of roots seizing hold of what little good flesh remained of the king’s visage.
Magic had stolen most of his face and because of that, the damage had proved impossible to repair. Only elfwood, carved into a reproduction of his very features, could give King Melicard the illusion of normalcy. The wondrous wood, blessed, so legend said, by the spirit of a dying forest elf, was capable of mimicking the movements of true flesh. The more the wearer believed in it, the better it pretended. It could never replace what had been lost, but for Melicard the choice had been the mask or the monster beneath. For the sake of his own sanity and the princess he was to marry, Melicard had chosen the former.
He was clad in a black riding outfit that covered him from neck to foot, including his hands. Melicard generally wore outfits with long sleeves and always used gloves, but not for reasons of fashion. The ravaging forces that had taken much of his face had also taken from him his left arm. Had he removed his gloves, Cabe knew that the king’s hand would also be silver. The king could not so easily disguise his features, but he could at least hide his arm.
“Warlock! What are you-” His eyes, both real and not, focused on his beloved queen. “Erini!”
“She’ll be all right, Your Majesty,” Cabe quickly said. “Just help me carry her to the bed, if you please.”
Melicard was already moving. The two of them helped Erini walk to the bed; the novice sorceress was not actually unconscious, but seemed lost to the world around her.
When they had her lying down comfortably, Melicard hastened to the door and flung it open. Cabe, glancing up, saw two very nervous guards come to attention.
“Get Magda!” the disfigured monarch roared. “Get Galea! Get someone for the queen! She’s been hurt! Now!” He did not wait for them to respond, but rather turned immediately back to the bed, slamming the heavy door shut behind him as he did.
Cabe immediately stood up and faced him. He could not allow Melicard’s anger any leverage. He had to meet the king man-to-man and make him listen.
It was at that time that Darkhorse made the unfortunate decision to materialize. Melicard fell back from the newcomer, but Darkhorse did not notice him at first. “Does she fare better? How-” The pupilless eyes froze when they fell upon the furious king, who stood against one side as if the shadow steed filled the entire room. “Melicard . . .”
“I should have known you would be involved, demon! You may be virtually indestructible, but my queen is not! My Erini-”
“Is to blame for her troubles, my love.”
The three turned to the bed, where a still pale Erini was forcing herself up to a sitting position. She succeeded only as far as leaning on one elbow. Lines of strain marred her beauty.
“Erini!” Melicard, forgetting any pretense of dignity, ran to the side of the bed and hugged the queen.
“Gently, dear Melicard,” she gasped. “I’m not yet fully recovered.”
“Praise be!” Darkhorse bellowed. “You had us all fearful, dear Erini! You must take greater care in the future!”
“Greater care . . .” The king turned to face the warlock and the steed. “What did you make her do?”
“They . . . they did nothing, Melicard. I overextended myself. Cabe would have performed the spell, but I did not think he would find Darkhorse. I knew exactly where he would be if he was anywhere in . . . in that region.”
“Where were you?” He touched her skin. “You’re cold, Erini; I should have noticed that sooner . . . you’ve been to the Wastes, haven’t you?”
It was clear it was a strain for her to keep speaking, but the queen was not one to let others take the blame when she considered herself at fault. Cabe felt guilty that he allowed her to continue, but if anyone could make the ruler of Talak see reason, it was Erini.
“Listen to me, my love. I have to tell you everything the first time. I do not have the strength to repeat myself. Do you understand?”
Much of Melicard’s anger dwindled away as he realized what effect his fury was having on her. Still holding her, he sat down on the bed. “Very well; I’m listening, my queen.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. An older, plump woman, one of Erini’s two longtime companions from her former homeland, peered inside anxiously. “Your Majesties . . .”
Erini steadied herself. “Please wait without until I call for you, Galea. It will be but a moment.”
It was not to the woman’s liking, but she nodded and withdrew. The queen’s ladies were very protective of their charge, especially Galea and Magda.
“Now,” began the queen. “Let me tell you what happened, my beloved.”
She told him everything, glancing at the warlock for understanding. Cabe nodded; he agreed that there was no longer any reason to keep the purpose of his mission a secret. Melicard deserved the explanation even if, to the warlock, it might complicate something already too complicated. The king’s face was a mask in more ways than one now. Neither the real nor the elfwood side betrayed any emotion. Melicard was simply absorbing the facts. Afterward, when he had had a chance to consider what she had relayed to him, he might again become the living fury he had been a moment ago. The warlock hoped not, but there was no predicting Melicard. He would have to wait and see.
Erini was forced to pause several times in order to regain her strength, but at last she finished. More drained than before, the exhausted queen fell back onto the bed. Melicard rose to call her ladies in, but she reached up, put her hand on his, and said, “Not just yet, my lord. Let us finish here first. I’m only tired; nothing more. I promise you.”
“You’re certain, Erini?”
“I am.”
“I would never let anything happen to her, Your Majesty,” Cabe added. “My power stands ready to aid her if necessary. She’s overtaxed herself like she said. It can happen . . . I know that too well . . . when a fairly new mage succeeds too quickly with some spell. I apologize, however, for letting her go as far as she did. T
hat was my mistake.”
“Erini has a stubbornness worthy of me!” commented Darkhorse. He was more his old self now. Cabe was thankful for that; if his old friend agreed to join him, he would need Darkhorse at his best. Distracted, he could become more of a danger, for Cabe would then himself be distracted from his course. “When she chooses to do something, she does it! One might as well ask the Tybers to move aside for them rather than convince the queen to change her mind on certain subjects!”
“I am . . .” the king began, “very much aware of my wife’s qualities. Foremost of those is a tendency to be open and straightforward with the truth. That and her beauty were what struck me that first day we met as adults.” He turned to face the two. His expression was calm, but his tone was just slightly cold. “I take what she says now as the true and complete story . . . as she knows it. You have my apologies, Master Bedlam, for my accusing you of being responsible for her condition.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Your Majesty. Under the circumstances, you reacted as anyone might have.”
“Indeed.” King Melicard rose. “And now that you’ve found what you were searching for, Master Bedlam, I am sure that you must be on your way. This news of Legar and the wolf raiders I will pass on to Iston. I will respect your mission. We will do nothing for now except watch. When you’ve discovered what you can, I would appreciate being told.”
They were being asked to leave and leave now. Melicard’s words teetered on the edge of bluntness, but at the same time he was sounding civil. It was all that could have been expected from him at a time like this. Cabe was more than ready to depart. As the king had almost said, he had found who he had been searching for. Thank the stars Darkhorse didn’t take him to task for that slight!
“I was glad . . . glad to be what help I could, Cabe,” whispered Erini from the bed. She managed to lean up a bit. “Good luck.”
“And where do we go from here, Cabe?” asked Darkhorse. There seemed no question in his mind that he would follow the sorcerer to the inhospitable peninsula. Darkhorse was very loyal to those he considered his friends.
“Thank you, Erini, and you, too, Darkhorse. First to the Manor, I suppose, to let Gwen know I’ve found you. Then, I think on to Zuu.”
“Zuu?”
Much to Cabe’s surprise, it was Melicard who answered the demon steed for him. “Zuu would be appropriate. There is no human city closer to the domain of the Crystal Dragon. They may have some word there that has not reached us yet.” He hesitated, then added, “Good luck, Master Bedlam.”
The warlock bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It may be that this will be simple and swift. The danger may be limited. There is something going on there, though, and for reasons I don’t understand, I seem to have been included.”
“Have no fear now, Cabe!” Darkhorse roared. “With me at your side, it is our foes who must worry!”
The demon steed’s brash confidence, while not enough to change Cabe’s own dour opinion on the matter, still succeeded in bringing a smile to his face. It was hard not to be at least a bit more hopeful when he was with Darkhorse.
“Give Gwen my love,” Erini added from the bed.
“I will.” He looked at his unearthly companion. “Are you ready?”
“I was ready long ago, Cabe! I look forward to this adventure with great anticipation!”
The warlock concentrated. “I’m glad someone is.”
Darkhorse was still laughing when they vanished.
At the southeastern edge of the land of Irillian, a longboat from the lone black ship slowly made its way toward shore. The black ship had waited until just the right time to come close enough to deposit its cargo. There were those who would have gladly sunk the vessel without so much as a question or a warning. Its mere presence, even in the distance, would have sealed its fate no matter who had been aboard.
There were three aboard the longboat, all of whom wore heavy cloaks designed not only to protect them from the spray and rain, but also, if need be, to protect their identities. Only one rowed; the other two sat and watched, wary.
They did not beach the longboat. Instead, when they were near enough, the two passengers climbed out into waist-deep water and waded their way toward shore. The third figure slowly began to turn the boat around so that he could return to the other vessel.
Both passengers moved swiftly through the sea. Their reactions were those of folk who little loved the water and suffered it now only because it was necessary. When they were at last on the beach, the duo shook themselves off, the wild wind and their cloaks making them look like the specters of dead seamen rising from the depths. They then turned and briefly watched their companion row back to the dark hunter. Satisfied that the ship would depart undetected, the two quietly conferred and then started inland, the taller one leading the way.
The journey ahead would be long and tiring, but they were undeterred by that thought. All that concerned them was the reason that had brought them to this shore in the first place. They were hunters, both of them, and they had come to the Dragonrealm because that was where their prey was. Whether it took ten days or ten years, they would complete their quest, for with them it had also become an obsession. Either they succeeded or they died. Living with failure did not occur to them; it was not their way. Either their prey was vanquished or they were killed in the attempt. Those were the only choices.
At the top of a rise overlooking the cloud-enshrouded, rolling landscape of southern Irillian, the lead figure stopped. He motioned to the other, then pointed to the far southwest in a direction that would take them on a route north of the distant city of Penacles. His companion nodded, but said nothing. They had discussed the route in advance. They knew their destination and how long it would likely take to reach it. All that mattered now was getting there without being discovered, a difficult task, but not an impossible one for two with their skills.
Confident and determined, they began both the climb down the other side of the rise . . . and the final leg of their journey to the Dagora Forest.
VI
“I still do not see why we cannot just teleport to where you want to search in Legar and then leap back!” Darkhorse grumbled. In order to converse with Cabe, who rode on his back, he had twisted his head around in a manner that would have broken the neck of any true steed. Fortunately, it was dark now and they were some distance from the actual city, having materialized so far away for safety’s sake. Mages were still a rare and gossip-stirring sight. The warlock wanted no interference with his mission.
Cabe sighed and adjusted the hood of the traveler’s cloak he wore. The hood was the only way he could properly hide the great stretch of silver in his hair. Dyes merely washed away before they even had time to set. It was said that a god had created the mark as a symbol of his respect for the legendary Lord Drazeree, who had borne a similar streak, but if so, Cabe thought that the least the unthinking deity could have done was allow for times when a spellcaster had to hide his nature. Mages were always forced to resort to hats, cloaks, helms, and rather touchy illusion spells to obscure the silver. There were times when that made their lives tricky.
“You weren’t there when the Green Dragon was struck down, Darkhorse. I don’t want to go blindly into Legar. We need to move with stealth. I also want to see if I can find out any information beforehand. It’s possible that not all news has made it back to Talak yet.”
“You should have asked Melicard to give you the names of his spies! We could ask them and be done with it!”
“I’m sure that would’ve pleased the king. Now, for the last time, you’d better start behaving like a real horse. I’d like to avoid too much notice; it’s possible that the wolf raiders, if they are in Legar, might also have spies in Zuu.”
The shadow steed snorted and turned his head to a more savory position. Cabe relaxed a little. For a creature who had lived for thousands of years, the eternal could be very impatient at times. Tonight, he was even more restless than was nor
mal. The warlock was certain that Darkhorse’s anxiety focused around Shade. Darkhorse had done little in the past few years besides search for traces of the ageless sorcerer.
They would have to talk about this some time in the future. Whether Shade was truly dead or not, Darkhorse could not spend eternity thinking about it. He had to be made to see that there were other matters-and friends-waiting for him.
“There is the city,” whispered Darkhorse. Unfortunately, his concept of whispering still resembled more of a shout.
“I see,” Cabe responded quickly. “We’ll have to be doubly careful. We may encounter other riders at any moment.”
His ploy worked. The demon steed nodded and resumed his role of faithful horse.
To the eyes of another traveler, one who carried a good torch, that is, the two would resemble a weary rider and his large ebony stallion. Darkhorse had shrunk down to a more tolerable size, although he was still large for most breeds. Cabe, meanwhile, was clad in a simple gray outfit consisting of pants, cloth shirt, knee-high leather boots, and the aforementioned riding cloak. While his outfit was a bit old-fashioned, it was not an uncommon sight. The style was a throwback to his life near the now ruined city-state of Mito Pica, which had been destroyed by the Dragon Emperor’s forces for having unknowingly secreted a young Cabe Bedlam. Many survivors had become wanderers since then, even almost two decades after the event. Hence, the warlock would look like one of the youngest ones finally grown up. Most people respected the privacy of such wanderers, especially the people of Zuu.
Cabe had never journeyed to the low, sprawling city of Zuu, possibly, he now admitted to himself, out of some small guilt. During the brief war that had been instigated by the Dragon Kings’ search for him, the rather independent-minded folk of Zuu had sent a contingent of their famous horse soldiers to the aid of Penacles. The young warlock vividly recalled the band of huge blond warriors clad in leather and how they had wanted to come to his aid when airdrakes had flown down and attacked Cabe and Gwen. He especially remembered their leader, a scarred man named Blane, the second or third son of the king at that time.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 10
