Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  Blane had died defending Penacles, but not before he had killed Duke Kyrg, the drake commander and brother to Toma. It was no surprise that Talak and Zuu were on excellent political terms with each other, not that such prevented each from having their share of spies.

  Blane’s brother, someone named Lanith XII, was now king, but Cabe had no intention of introducing himself to the man. If things went according to plan, he wanted to be out of the city before morning. That meant little or no sleep, but to a spellcaster of his ability, one night missed meant nothing. For the past several years, he had enjoyed a full night’s slumber all but a handful of days. In truth, Cabe did not miss the sleep so much as the peace and quiet.

  He gently prodded Darkhorse’s sides, the signal for speed. There would be no peace and quiet tonight nor likely the next.

  Zuu lay in a valley that was vaguely bowl-shaped. Around it were miles and miles of grassland. The nomadic founders of the city had chosen this location for the latter feature. Horses had been and still were the most valuable possession of any citizen of Zuu. Merchants from all over the continent came to this region to purchase the best animals.

  Because of their obsession with their horses, it was not so surprising to Cabe that even in the dark Zuu resembled one endless array of stables. With few exceptions, no building generally topped more than two floors. Most of the structures had a boxy appearance that was evident even from where the warlock was. Adding to the effect was the one drawback to having business in the city: Zuu also smelled like one vast stable.

  Cabe had wanted to avoid spells, for they had a way of drawing the attention of other mages, but he could already see that the odor was going to become more pungent with each successive step nearer. With a single thought, he adjusted his sense of smell. He did not go so far as to make the odor pleasant, but he made it less noticeable. That required less manipulation. Cabe disliked using sorcery to alter his form. It was there that a mage could cause himself irreparable harm; his concentration might waver just enough that his spell would go awry. There were legends of spellcasters who had died like that. Too often, the ease with which some learned magic made them too careless.

  It was not long before they approached the city gates. Up close, Zuu was a well-lit city, a sign of its prosperity in the horse trade. Behind the walls, Cabe could make out some of the nearer structures. Zuu did not have high walls to protect it; the people relied on their own skills. There were few forces, either drake or human, who willingly went against the horsemen of Zuu. Not only were they expert riders, but they could fire arrows or throw spears with amazing accuracy even when their horses were at full gallop. More important, it was not just the men an enemy had to be wary of. Under Zuu law, every adult, male or female, was a fighter. There were many women in this city who could have stood among the finest warriors in the land. Even the children could be dangerous should a battle somehow reach behind the walls. The citizens of Zuu were of the opinion that it was never too early to teach a child how to defend his own.

  It was something to consider, especially since six of those horsemen were now waiting for him at the gate.

  They were typical of what Cabe had known. Tall, blond, and looking as if they had been riding since birth. Most of them were wearing leather pants and jerkins, the latter not entirely succeeding in covering their bronzed chests. They wore short helms with nose protectors, but otherwise no armor. Not all the inhabitants of Zuu resembled the nomadic image, but the city guards most certainly did. Many of them were likely the latest in a long family line of city guards. People here tended to follow in their parents’ footsteps . . . or maybe horsetracks.

  The evident leader, a somewhat heavier man with a blond and gray beard, urged his horse toward Cabe. He was followed a few steps behind by another rider who carried a torch. The other guards had their bows ready. The warlock wondered if he could teleport away fast enough if he somehow offended them. The archers of Zuu were not only accurate; they were swift.

  “Welcome, stranger! What do you have to declare, eh?”

  There had been the temptation to simply materialize in the midst of the city and forgo meeting the city guards, but despite its reputation for respecting the privacy of its visitors, Zuu paradoxically also liked to keep track of everyone. Had he given in to the temptation, Cabe soon might have found himself the object of several curious and suspicious soldiers. No, passing through the front gates like a normal traveler would much better aid him in the long run.

  “Only myself and my steed. A few supplies for travel, but nothing else.”

  The guard leader was eyeing him up and down. “You’ve never been to Zuu, have you, man?”

  Had he done something wrong? “No.”

  “Hilfa.” At the summons, a sentry from the back of the group rode forward. A woman. She was perhaps a year or two younger than the warlock looked, tall, and just as capable-looking if not more so than some of her companions. Modesty, Cabe saw, was not a strong point of the folk here. Hilfa wore the same outfit as her companions, which made for some distraction above the waist. She seemed unconcerned about his slight embarrassment. How foreigners acted was only a concern if they broke the law.

  When she was even with the guard captain, Hilfa waggled the bow in her hand, a salute of sorts to her superior.

  “Give him a marker.”

  Reaching into a saddlebag, the woman quickly produced a small, U-shaped talisman on a chain. This she tossed to the waiting spellcaster without preamble. Cabe had to move with swiftness to catch the marker before it fell past him.

  The leader pointed at the talisman. “That’s your marker. Carry it with you at all times, either around your neck or in your pocket, but carry it, man. When you buy somethin’ or talk to anyone from our city, produce it.”

  Cabe inspected it. There was a touch of magic to it, but so little it could not be meant to harm him. Unwilling to remove his hood, he thrust the marker into a belt pouch. Zuu evidently had one or more mages who worked for them. An interesting aspect he would remember for the future. How many more were there and what were they doing?

  “Let him pass.”

  Hilfa backed her horse up, allowing the sorcerer access. As Cabe rode by, however, she reached out and put a hand on his. He looked at her. Up close, she had strong features, but not unattractive ones. Like many of the inhabitants, Hilfa looked like she was related to her companions. “That’s a remarkable animal you have there. I’ve not seen one like that anywhere. What breed is it?”

  “It’s unique. A mix.” Cabe had considered this problem. Folk as interested in horse breeding as these would not let a steed like Darkhorse pass through their city without some questions. Mixes were not considered as valuable as purebreds, however, so he had hoped that by calling the eternal a mix, he would be able to dampen some of that interest.

  That was not the case. In the end, a good horse was a good horse to some. “Would you consider selling it?”

  “I don’t think he’d let me. Sorry.”

  She removed her hand, somewhat puzzled by his response. The gates had opened while the two of them had talked, so Cabe quickly took advantage of her silence and urged Darkhorse forward.

  This was the entrance through which most of the foreign visitors first passed and so Cabe found himself entering a bustling market still filled despite the night. Merchants from both Zuu and beyond had set up their tents along his path. Travelers from all the continent over, even far Irillian, wandered about admiring and often buying things they did not necessarily need. The two men from the seaport of Irillian, recognizable in their sailor-style shirts and wide, blue pants, were discussing the need for a pair of small daggers with silver handles. A merchant family wearing the bulky, elaborate garments of Gordag-Ai was sitting at a row of benches eating freshly purchased meat pies. Cabe wondered what sort of meat might be in it. He was discovering that he was now hungry enough to eat almost anything, even horse.

  Soon he would eat. He had forced himself not to so that he might
be able to order meals at more than one inn. From his early days, when he had been but a simple steward at the Wyvern’s Head Tavern, the warlock knew that one of the best places to overhear the local rumors was a tavern or inn. Good company, food, and plenty of drink could loosen a man’s tongue just as quickly as a mage’s spell.

  There were sure to be many such places and Cabe was prepared to visit most of them, but he wanted to find one frequented just as much by the citizenry as it was by strangers. It was more likely he would hear news from a home source than from a stranger, but he did not want to rule out the latter hope.

  Finding a stable would be easier, he soon discovered. They were everywhere. Compared to even the royal stables of Penacles or Talak, these were also the cleanest. The dark-haired spellcaster finally chose one near an inn entitled Belfour’s Champion. From the image painted on the sign, he gathered that the name had something to do with an actual horse once prominent with this quarter of the city.

  At the stable he showed the marker to a groom, who led them to a private stall after an exchange of money. On the pretext that he desired to personally take care of his own mount, Cabe succeeded in being alone with Darkhorse.

  “I like this place,” the shadow steed rumbled. “They know how best to treat an animal. I should visit Zuu again in the near future!”

  “They won’t treat you so well if they find out it’s you scaring all their other horses.”

  What Cabe had said was true. Around them, the other mounts were stirring, the voice of Darkhorse unnerving them. The shadowy stallion tried to speak quieter. “I wish I could enter with you, friend Cabe.”

  “That would certainly raise a few eyebrows and shut more than a few mouths. I don’t think even the locals treat their horses that well anymore. You’d best stay here for the time being. It won’t be a loss, either. This close, you should be able to pick up a number of the voices outside. You’ll also have people coming and going here, too.”

  Darkhorse scraped the floor of his stall, gouging out a valley in the rock-hard dirt. He was not pleased with his end of the mission, but he understood that there was no way he could blend among people. Given time-more than they had now-the eternal might be able to copy the basic structure of a human, but he would not be able to copy their ways. A human-looking Darkhorse would still garner too much attention; despite the centuries among men, the demon steed had a rather unique thought pattern and personality. He did not and could not act like a mortal. Neither, for that matter, would he have been able to pass for an elf or any of the other races.

  There was and there would always be only one Darkhorse.

  The inn was surprisingly clean compared to many that Cabe had experienced. His sense of smell, despite having been dulled, was still able enough to pick up the delicious odors coming from the back. The warlock’s stomach grumbled, hoping to remind him that while he had a mission here, so did it.

  The interior of Belfour’s Champion had much in common with many inns, of course, save that here there was no escaping the symbol of the place, the horse for which it had been named. There were small statuettes, trophies won by the selfsame steed, lining one wall. Tapestries revealing the various feats of a chestnut goliath covered most of the others. If even half of them were true, the animal had been a wonder.

  Perhaps the most unusual bit of decor was the clean, polished skull that hung above the rock fireplace across from him. From the small wreath below it, he gathered that this had once belonged to the famous horse. It was, to the warlock, a peculiar way to honor even a most favored companion, but this was Zuu, after all, and it was Cabe who was the foreigner here.

  Cabe found an empty bench off to one side of the eating area and sat down. Almost the second he was comfortable, a sun-haired serving girl was at his table. Unlike the guards, she was dressed in a more conventional outfit. Yet while the skirt and bodice were of a style that might have been found in any tavern across the Dragonrealm, the form barely hidden within was not. Cabe was of the opinion that there must be much to be said for the Zuu way of life; both the men and the women seemed remarkably fit.

  “What can I get you?” she asked after he had revealed the marker. She had slightly elfin features, but with what could only be described as a saucy touch to them. The warlock was uncomfortably reminded of a serving girl named Deidra who had been all but able to wrap him around her finger when they had worked together in the Wyvern’s Head.

  “What’s best? Food, I mean.”

  “That’d be the stew.”

  Cabe’s stomach rumbled again. “That’s fine. Stew and cider.”

  She vanished in a swirl of skirts, leaving Cabe to recover. He loved Gwen, but a man had to be blind not to notice some women, just as he was certain it worked the other way.

  There were a number of other travelers in the place, not to mention three good-sized parties of native Zuuans or Zuuites or whatever they called themselves. A few scattered individuals here and there verified that Cabe would not stick out. He picked out the loudest conversation, that of a trio of horse merchants, and started to listen.

  His meal and drink came a couple of minutes later, by which time he was more than ready to abandon his first attempt. The serving girl dropped a heaping bowl of delicious-smelling stew in front of him along with a chunk of brown bread. As she reached over and put down the mug of cider, she hesitated long enough for him to admire the view if he desired. Cabe, who was familiar with the ways of some taverns and inns, gave her a noncommittal thank you and enough coins to satisfy both the bill and her. Once she had disappeared back into the crowd, he started in on the stew while at the same time choosing his next target.

  The stew was superb, which made concentrating a bit harder at first, but he soon picked up on one of the other conversations. This one, between a pair of the locals, at first sounded like yet another talk about horseflesh, but then switched.

  The first man, a thin elder, was muttering, “. . . dwarfs keep insisting. Even said they saw the place glow once.”

  “Ain’t nothing happens in that godforsaken place. I don’t even think there’s no Dragon King there. Never hear anythin’.” His companion, about half his age and with as thick a beard as any the warlock had ever seen, picked up his mug and drank long from it.

  “So? We ever hear anything from our drake? You see a few in the city near the king’s place, but old Green never shows up or demands anything. Could be the same with this one.”

  The younger man put down the mug. “But still . . .”

  Their conversation shifted again, talking about Dragon Kings and kings in general. Cabe held back a grimace. The glow and the dwarfs interested him, but he could hardly walk over to the men and ask them. He wished that he could be like Shade had been. The master warlock had not only been able to hide his presence in a full inn, but he would blatantly summon people, ask them questions, and send them away without them recalling or anyone else taking the slightest notice. Cabe could have done the same, but he felt wrong about doing so.

  He focused on two other discussions, found nothing, then discovered that even with his concentration, he could not make out any of the others clearly enough. The stew lost some of its flavor as he realized that he would have to resort to sorcery and modify his hearing. Again, it was a simple spell, but he still did not care for any transformation, however minor.

  It took him but a moment to do it. Now, he was not only able to hear conversations on the far side of the room, but he could pick them out of all the others and hear those speaking as if no one else were making a sound.

  Much to his regret, however, it turned out that no one had anything concrete to add to what he knew. Cabe had expected it, but had hoped for more. He would have to search elsewhere. Rising, he left the nearly empty bowl and mostly untouched cider and departed before the serving girl returned.

  There was no dearth of inns in this quarter. Not all of them were up to the standards of Belfour’s Champion, but all of them were surprisingly neat. Compared to t
he worst, Wyvern’s Head had been a stable.

  No, not a stable, Cabe thought as he entered the next one. You can literally eat off the floor in these stables.

  At the next two places, the warlock picked up a smattering of information. An intruder killed in the west, his identity unknown. He had been carrying a pouchful of foreign gold and a few valuable gemstones. Two guards had died in taking him . . . and the patrol had originally only wanted to ask him the same simple questions they asked every visitor. Another body found, this one stripped of all his possessions. Oddly, the two did not seem directly connected.

  There was mention of the glow again, a brief brightness that had lit up part of the western sky the very night that Cabe had had the second vision. Only a few had actually seen it; most of those he listened to knew of it only secondhand. Evidently Zuu did actually keep a few hours aside for rest.

  After the fifth inn, Cabe came to the conclusion that he had heard all he would hear this evening. While he had not garnered much more than he had begun with, he was not unsatisfied. Slightly fatigued, the warlock started back to the stable where Darkhorse was no doubt impatiently waiting for him. The eternal would probably be disappointed in his findings, but that did not matter.

  He was just passing Belfour’s Champion when he sensed something amiss, although what it was he could not say.

  “Well, it’s our visitor who eats and runs without saying farewell to a girl.”

  It was the serving woman from the inn. In the flickering light of the torches, she almost reminded him of a drake woman, so magical did her beauty seem. She had a shawl over her shoulders that could not have served to keep her warm and certainly had not been chosen to protect her modesty.

  “Is that a custom I missed?”

  The woman, who appeared to have been walking quietly along the avenue, smiled and shook her head. “Only an opportunity.” Slowly she pulled away the shawl. “But there are always other opportunities, other chances, for the right man.”