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.
There was Vraad sorcery here, but Vraad sorcery with a peculiar taste to it. Cabe shook his head, unwilling to believe this. First Hadeen and now yet another terrible spirit from his past. He tried to reject the notion. The touch was unmistakable, however. Only one spellcaster had wielded such strange magic.
Shade.
Cabe followed the siren trail. He could do nothing else. It was almost a compulsion, but one that he knew was his own doing. He had to know. Hadeen, if it had been Hadeen, was lost to him again, but the trail he now followed was as strong as ever.
If it was the blur-faced warlock, somehow alive, would he be friend or foe? Did another sinister Madrac await Cabe, or would there instead be someone like the kindly but enigmatic Simon? Toward the end, the original personality of Shade had surfaced, or so Darkhorse had said. Would it be that one? What was that Shade like? He had been Vraad . . .
At the battered wall, Cabe paused. Part of him screamed that he should turn around, flee. Shade was more powerful than he. Yet, despite that plea, the warlock finally stepped through the broken wall. He had no choice. It would forever haunt him if he failed to discover the truth.
The first sight that met his eyes was disappointing. Weeds and more rubble. Dragon-torched skeletons of once tall buildings. Two decades of weather that had left some structures virtually unrecognizable. A skull, marking either the last resting place of one of the citizenry or a traveler who had made the mistake of thinking the ruins a safe place to rest.
There was no Shade.
The sensation had not faded. Cabe was close. He eyed the variou
s ruined buildings, seeking the direction from which the Vraad sorcery emanated. His eyes alighted on what looked to have been an inn or tavern. He could not help smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. The first time Cabe had encountered the shadowy warlock had been where the young Bedlam had been serving ales. Shade had sat undetected at one of the far tables, watching the grandson of Nathan. He had spoken in a rather enigmatic fashion about Cabe’s life, then had vanished before the serving boy could ask for clarification.
The path to the ruined tavern was filled with shattered stone and rotting wood, but Cabe chose to dare it rather than risk materializing inside. He kept his magical senses alert, but it was difficult to notice anything else in the presence of so strong a Vraadish force. The warlock could almost picture Shade sitting among the ghosts of Mito Pica, quietly sipping an ale he had summoned from the shadows.
He was nearly at the cracked and open doorway when the earth beneath his feet burst upward.
The speed with which the long black tentacles moved left him too stunned to act. They rose on all sides of him, never touching the spellcaster but instead coming together a foot or two above his head. As they touched, a green shimmer swept over the cage within which Cabe suddenly found himself trapped. The spell was one of the swiftest the baffled warlock had ever been unfortunate enough to experience. Freedom had become imprisonment in less time than it took to blink the proverbial eye.
Recovering, the warlock immediately probed his cell. What he discovered both unnerved and confused him. Other than capturing him, the magical prison meant Cabe no harm. It was simply designed to hold him where he was. He had expected some sort of death trap, but such was not the case.
As relieved as he was by the lack of any imminent threat, Cabe did not relax his efforts. Harmless the cage might be, but in the fulfilling of its basic function it excelled. Cabe searched every strand of the spell and could find no flaw. This was a cage designed to hold a spellcaster of astonishing power. The one who had designed it had worked long and hard. As he studied it again, Cabe had the sinking feeling that escape would be anything but simple. In fact, he had some doubts as to whether he could escape at all.
The warlock had to try, of course. He had no intention of idly passing the time while he waited the coming of the mage who had set the trap.
The trap’s design still perplexed him. Why use traces of Vraadish magic as a lure? Few knew of the Vraad, much less their tainted power. For that matter, the trace had been a specific one, specifically that of Shade. Yet, Cabe doubted that Shade had had anything to do with this. The warlock was dead . . . as far as he knew. Somebody had simply decided to use the memory of him to bait the snare.
Which strongly hinted that the trap had been set for a particular being. . . .
Even as he contemplated that, the tenacious warlock was already at work seeking a way of escape. The tentacles themselves were not likely to break, but the place where they joined together above him might be a weak link. With intense concentration, Cabe sent a tendril of power up to the point of convergence. The tendril was thin, barely a whisper, but behind it he built up an incredible reservoir of energy. All Cabe had to do was find a slight gap in the point of connection, and then he would be able to funnel the stored power through. That, the warlock was fairly certain, would give him the opening he needed to destroy his cell.
The fault in his plan proved to be the simple fact that no such gap existed. Try as he might, Cabe could not locate a break. The tendrils had bonded together so perfectly that it was almost possible to believe that the cage had been created whole. Frustrated, the imprisoned mage continued to poke futilely about the top with his sorcery, trying to create his own gap. But even after he had exhausted every bit of sorcerous energy he had gathered for his escape, the spell controlling the magical prison remained unchallenged and unweakened.
This was the work of someone who had planned long and hard for this time. Yet how could they know that he would come here? Why such an elaborate ploy for him?
“No . . . not me . . .” Cabe muttered. The cold chill of reality danced down his spine. They could not have known so quickly where he would be, but whoever had devised this cunning trap might have been familiar with the ways of Darkhorse. Cabe doubted that he and Gwen were the only ones who knew that the shadow steed haunted this miserable place. Someone else must have noticed him.
There were many, not all of them drakes, who wanted the eternal for one reason or another. Most, though, would have been satisfied with destroying him . . . if such was within their power. Yet, this spell did nothing but keep one prisoner. Someone wanted Darkhorse, but for a purpose. In that, Cabe considered himself fortunate. A death trap created with the shadow steed in mind would have stood a better than average chance of killing the warlock. He was only human, whereas Darkhorse was . . . Darkhorse.
Cabe tried physical action, first pushing against the side of his prison, then attempting to tear through it. Success still mocked him. After several minutes of useless maneuvering, the weary mage finally sat down and stared at his surroundings. It appeared the creator of the sinister spell had planned for all contingencies.
Momentarily putting aside his escape plans, Cabe wondered where his captors were. Considering their effort, he would have expected them to appear the moment the trap had been sprung. Yet, as the minutes passed, no one came to claim him. It occurred to him that perhaps this might be an old spell left over from the destruction of the city, but the use of the false trail, the scent of Shade’s sorcery, seemed to indicate otherwise. No one would have bothered setting such an elaborate trap in the midst of Mito Pica’s downfall. Besides, Darkhorse had been to the ruins too many times for the shadow steed not to have noticed this spell before. At the very least, the eternal would have seen to it that the trap was harmlessly sprung rather than leave it for some unsuspecting fool . . . like Cabe Bedlam.
As he grimaced at his own ignorance, something that two decades of magical training should have had some effect on by now, Cabe suddenly became aware of the faint presence of another person.
No, he almost immediately amended, two. Repositioning himself, he tried to use his magic to seek out the newcomers. The cage, however, evidently muted his skills, for the two faint figures remained just that. With his magic unable to help him, Cabe resorted to simply scanning his surroundings, but a quick examination of the devastated region revealed nothing new. Everything was exactly as it had been the moment before he had been snared . . . yet somewhere out there were two nearing figures. Try as he might, the warlock was unable to discover any more.
Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the two vanished. Cabe could not feel their presence anywhere. The imprisoned mage had no time to wonder what had happened, for only a breath or two after the first pair disappeared, a third presence, more evident to his senses, popped into existence somewhere very near the warlock. Cabe glanced around the area again, but still the scene through the cage remained as it had. The new presence was nearly overwhelming in comparison to the first two, but where the others had been unfamiliar to him, this one he felt he should know.
The cell shook then, tossing Cabe around in the process. Stunned, it took the warlock time to realize that his magical prison was being probed . . . and by someone with seemingly no interest in his safety.
Had his captor come for him at last? That did not seem likely. The newcomer was inspecting the cage as if having never come across its like before. The sorcerous probes were tinged with a sense of curiosity, that much Cabe could note. He wondered, Could it be . . . ?
As the warlock had done before, the newcomer began to focus his efforts on the top, where the tentacles had come together. For the first time, Cabe’s prison shimmered in a way he did not think was normal for it. Whatever the one on the outside was doing, it was having more effect on the magical cage than Cabe’s own efforts. Yet the spell withstood the new attack. The hapless mage frowned as he felt the probes of the outsider finally withdraw. It was beginning t
o dawn on Cabe that he might be trapped within until he starved to death.
He moved as close as he could to the side of his prison. The scene around him remained static, yet the warlock was able to sense that his counterpart on the outside had not left.
Putting his face as close as he could to the wall of shimmering energy that ran between the tentacles, the desperate mage called out, “Hello? If you can hear me, please come closer! I mean no harm!”
According to what his magical senses told him, the other should be practically in front of him, yet Cabe could see no one. Was his would-be rescuer invisible?
He called out again, but still received no response.
With no warning, the probes of the top of his cage began anew. This time, though, there was more purpose to them. Whoever it was, he understood better now what he faced. It was clear even from within the cell that the new series of probes had one purpose in mind and that was finding a weak link. Cabe grew disheartened at that; he had already tried and failed.
The walls of his prison suddenly crackled. Tiny mites of sorcerous energy darted about the interior, forcing the warlock to briefly cover his face.
Stealing a glance upward, Cabe initially saw no change in the cell’s condition. However, when he adjusted his sight so as to see the world through the eyes of sorcery, Cabe was stunned to discover that his mysterious benefactor had managed to wreak some minor havoc on the spell that held the sphere together. To his great regret, though, the mage also noted that the spell began almost immediately to compensate for what had happened to it. The crackling ceased and the weakened bonds strengthened again. Once more the invisible probes of the unseen mage retreated.
“No . . .” Cabe groaned. An idea blossomed even as the other abandoned his efforts. The warlock was certain that he had a way out of the cage, but he needed the newcomer’s aid. If it was left up to Cabe alone, the warlock had little chance for success.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 41
