Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  Slowly, the beast came back under control. Ssarekai hissed another command, this one evidently to someone beyond the doorway the men were trying to lead the riding drake through. There was an answering shout, then something outside and beyond Aurim’s view caught the beast’s attention and sent it scuttling almost gleefully through the desired entrance.

  As the animal and its handlers vanished, Ssarekai hissed the drake equivalent of a sigh of relief. “I ssso much prefer horsssesss to sssuch ssstupid beasssts!”

  It was strange hearing a drake speak so. “You like horses better than one of your own mounts?”

  His companion smiled, revealing the predatory teeth. A forked tongue darted out and in. “People are alwaysss comparing horsesss to riding drakesss, but in my opinion, we should be comparing the ssstupid beasts like that one to your mulesss! Useful pack animalsss, but ssso stubborn! Horssses can be like that, but for the mossst part, they are quicker to learn and obey. I would choossse them over riding drakesss under almost every circumssstance.”

  “I seem to recall that Derek Ironshoe seems fascinated by the qualities of riding drakes,” teased Aurim.

  “Only asss animals of war! Massster Ironshoe wasss a cavalry sssoldier once.”

  By this point, it was clear that there was no need for the warlock’s presence. Still, trying to give the appearance that he was as concerned as his parents were over the everyday running of the Manor grounds, Aurim asked, “How goes the cleaning, Master Ssarekai?”

  The drake shrugged, a gesture more common to humans than to his own kind, but one he had picked up from his years working with Ironshoe. Ssarekai had been one of the first drakes sent to work for the Bedlams when they had been given custody of the Dragon Emperor’s hatchlings. He, more than most drakes, had come to an understanding with the humans who lived here. There was no one who lived at the Manor who did not respect the reptilian stable master.

  “We are, asss I sssuspected, behind in our tasssk. Master Ironshoe hasss a group ssstill working on the ssstables where the royal mountsss are kept.” To Ssarekai, mounts used by the Bedlams were as royal as those utilized by Kyl or any of the Dragon Kings. It was debatable as to whom he was now more loyal. Aurim wondered whether the elder drake would depart with the others when Kyl finally left for the Tyber Mountains and his throne.

  “Then, I probably shouldn’t trouble you anymore. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right.”

  Ssarekai nodded his head respectfully. “Your concern isss appreciated, Massster Aurim. Better to be sssafe, I always sssay.”

  “Father would certainly agree with that. Well, good luck to you.” The warlock, his sense of duty satisfied, turned and started toward the doorway through which he had entered.

  “And to you, my boy.”

  Aurim stiffened. There was a sudden twisting in his stomach, as if someone had thrust a blade through him and now sought to add further to the agony of that thrust. The golden-haired sorcerer remained still, trying to understand the reason for his horror. Something concerning Ssarekai? What? Ssarekai had said nothing out of the ordinary. Aurim turned around. The drake was making an inspection of one of the stalls and seemed to have already forgotten his recent visitor.

  Why do I feel like this? His stomach continued to feel as if it were being twisted. A sense of dread crept over him, yet Aurim had no explanation for it. The scene before him was hardly conducive to fear. Ssarekai was the most trustworthy drake Aurim knew, more trustworthy than most humans. The warlock’s only other choice seemed to be the stable, but since he had no part in the cleaning of it, for which he was thankful, Aurim could not see how the building could possibly unsettle his thoughts.

  Perhaps sensing that he was not alone, Ssarekai looked up from his work. “Wasss there sssomething else, Massster Aurim?”

  “No. Sorry.” What could he say to the stable master? Aurim backed out of the building, unable to tear his eyes from it until he was well away. Even then, the feeling of unease continued to shake him. So occupied was he, in fact, that the youth did not notice the trio that stood quietly talking to one another at the edge of the garden until he was almost next to them.

  A breathtaking maiden with long, dark hair and exotic, narrow eyes filled his vision. Her face was a dream, her lips full and inviting. The dress she wore was the color of roses and did nothing to hide the lush form beneath it. Had he not grown up with her, played with her as though she were a sister, Aurim might have been spellbound. As it was, he could only think again of the fortunate male who would someday be Ursa’s choice. Peculiar as it seemed, however, that male would not necessarily care that much for her present appearance; he would likely prefer her in her true form.

  Ursa was a female drake: sister, albeit from a different clutch of eggs, to both Kyl and Grath. She also bore the royal birth markings, which meant that while she could not be empress, the drakes not permitting such, the young female could be the mother of one. Ursa did not care about that, however. All she cared about was her best friend, her sister in all but the physical sense: Valea.

  The two were together even now, but this time a third person was with them.

  Benjin Traske looked up from what he had been doing and stared at him, stopping Aurim in his tracks with just that glance. Valea was partly turned to the scholar, as if the two had been in earnest conversation. All wore rather serious expressions, but whether those expressions had to do with whatever conversation he had interrupted or whether they concerned his own agitated countenance, the young warlock could not say. At the moment, that did not matter nearly as much to him as the reason for his own uneasiness. Flickering memories danced about in his mind, teasing him.

  “Are you all right, Aurim?” Ursa asked, coming to his side.

  “It’s nothing.” A face surfaced in his memory, but it was blurred and distorted.

  Benjin Traske gently moved Valea aside. He walked over to Aurim and looked him in the eye. “You do not look well at all, lad.”

  “It’s . . . night . . .” The warlock had no idea why he had mentioned nighttime, yet somehow it made sense. He tried to focus on both night and the face, trying to fit them together. “I thought I saw . . .”

  “Look at me.” Traske took him by the shoulders. The two matched gazes. The scholar studied Aurim carefully. “I do not see anything. Your eyes look clear. Your face is a bit pale, but nothing terrible.”

  The pressure on his mind faded. Aurim began to breathe easier. The memories slipped away, but they no longer seemed of any real importance. All that remained was a slight headache.

  “Do you wish to lie down?”

  He shook his head. “No, sir. It’s nothing. Just a little headache.”

  The massive tutor released him. He still eyed the younger man closely. “Well, if it happens again, come to see me. A reoccurring problem is nothing to be ignored. I should be able to find some way to deal with it. You understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.” It all seemed rather silly now. Aurim could not even recall what had caused the headache, which was already receding.

  “Do you want someone to walk with you?” Ursa asked.

  He found that he was a little embarrassed by their concern. At least Valea was not fawning over him. His sister remained behind the others, also concerned but only watching. Her mind appeared to be elsewhere, but at the moment Aurim had no interest in whatever it was his sister was thinking about. He only knew that he still felt ashamed at the fuss he had just caused.

  Aurim extricated himself from Ursa’s hold. “I’m fine. I am. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “Not at all, lad.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, then?” Executing a half-bow, the embarrassed youth departed quickly, leaving the others to return to whatever conversation he had disrupted.

  What was I doing? he chided himself. Now they’ll think I can’t run this place on my own! Can’t even put up with a small headache!

  Tramping across the Manor grounds, he turned toward the kitchens.
Some food and water would do the trick. He was probably just hungry. Aurim had hardly eaten at all today. That was all it had probably been: a headache brought on by a lack of food. Considering his normal eating habits, his body had likely just not been used to so little for so long. I’ll feel fine after that! No more headaches!

  The throbbing had already all but ceased, and as for the peculiar memories . . . they were once more forgotten.

  In a private conversation some minutes after the fact, the Green Dragon informed the Bedlams that he had been unprepared for the request Kyl had flung before the rulers of Talak just prior to the supper’s end. Neither the emperor-to-be nor Grath had given any hint in previous conversations with him. It had startled the Dragon King as much as it had Melicard.

  It had startled Cabe equally as much, although he had been able to hide his surprise better than most of the others. Only Darkhorse, who simply shook his head, and Grath, the only one with whom Kyl had, perhaps, discussed his decision, had seemed fairly calm about the matter.

  The heir to the dragon throne had requested the opportunity to perform a special ceremony, one that he had claimed was long overdue. It was to be a private but formal ceremony, with wreaths and a speech of apology to both the city and its rulers. Kyl had claimed that he wanted to prove once and for all that the sins of the father would not be ignored by the son.

  What was most stunning about the request was that the dragon heir desired to have this special ceremony take place before the burial chamber of Melicard’s father, Rennek.

  At first the king had been dumbstruck. Then he had stopped just short of calling the notion something that certainly would have raised the threat of war between the two races. At last, he had looked to his queen for guidance. Erini had simply put one slim hand on his elfwood arm and nodded. That had settled it for Melicard. If Erini thought the idea had merit, the king could not argue. This was a situation where Cabe had known that Melicard would be unable to trust his own judgment. The warlock was rather surprised that the queen had so readily agreed to it, but he, like the king, trusted her intelligence.

  That had been last night. By now, late in the morning, the entire castle, perhaps even most of the kingdom, would be astir with rumors. When exactly the ceremony was to take place was still undecided, but the master warlock hoped that it would be soon; if the event was delayed more than a few days, then Cabe feared that . . . well, to be truthful, he had no idea what might happen, just the feeling that something would happen.

  “What could’ve possessed Kyl to make such a daring move?” he asked his wife as the two spellcasters walked the grounds of the palace. Unlike most visitors, the Bedlams did not require an escort. That did not mean they were not watched. Cabe could sense eyes on him: eyes, and weak, inexperienced probes. Melicard had himself one or two mages now, it seemed, but neither were of any high level of skill. The warlock knew that Gwendolyn had also noted them and found the probes almost as amusing as he did. With a simple spell, either Bedlam could have left the hidden mages following a false trail for the rest of the day. As guests, however, it would have been bad form. Melicard was only acting in the manner of all cautious rulers past and present. He was by no means either the most paranoid or the most troublesome.

  “I am curious as to that myself,” the Lady Bedlam finally responded. “That even Lord Green had known nothing about it bothers me a little. I understand that Kyl did not need to consult anyone, but such an act should have, I think, made him think about doing so. You saw Melicard’s face.”

  “Every variation.”

  “Yes, well, we can thank Erini for his relative calm toward the end. Melicard’s parents have always been a touchy subject. Rennek IV was not the best of rulers, evidently, but he had a soft place in his heart for his son.”

  “And too fragile a mind,” added Cabe. Ahead of them, he heard the laughter of a child and the sound of the queen’s voice.

  “It is a clever suggestion,” the crimson-tressed enchantress admitted. “Now that Melicard has gotten over his initial confusion, he should be able to see that himself. It allows Kyl to show his willingness to admit to the terrors committed in the name of his sire, while at the same time it enables the king to show his people that he is strong enough to have the respect of the new emperor of the drakes. That no one but we will witness it makes no difference. Word will get out and that will be sufficient.”

  “Providing it ever takes place.”

  She grimaced. “I think I will urge Erini to convince her husband that it should take place either tomorrow or the day after that. Most likely the day after; with the formal reception this evening, tomorrow would make everyone feel hurried for time.”

  Cabe looked at her, a wry smile spreading across his plain features. “Exactly who runs this kingdom? You? Erini? Lynnette, perhaps?”

  Gwen had no chance to respond to his jest, for suddenly both of them became aware of the sound of soldiers running. The sound came from the same direction where they had both heard the queen and her daughter playing not a moment before.

  No word passed between the two, but suddenly Gwen no longer stood at his side. Cabe hesitated only long enough to ready himself, then also vanished.

  He materialized in the midst of spear points and sword tips. More than a dozen guards surrounded the scene, with yet another contingent arriving even as the warlock drank in his surroundings. Erini stood to one side, a small, delicate-looking girl holding her hand and two massive guards shielding them both from possible danger. Darkhorse stood near the center of the circle the soldiers had formed, but it was not the eternal at whom the weapons were pointed.

  A drake cowered before the captain of the guard. Darkhorse was on the dragon man’s other side, looking more curious than wary.

  “Pleassse! I meant no-”

  “Be silent!” The captain struck the drake across the false helm. Cabe noted the lack of crest; the prisoner was one of the servitors, not a warrior. That did not mean that the drake was not capable of killing, but it did make it unlikely. They were generally not very aggressive for their race, even in dragon form.

  It seemed doubtful that any of the drakes would be so foolhardy as to attack one of the royal family, even as a dragon. True, any one of the draconian visitors had the potential to become one of the legendary leviathans, but in Talak that was more likely to mean death to the shapeshifter than to his prey. It was reasonable to assume that Melicard had planned for such circumstances; the king would never have allowed the drakes in otherwise. And prior to the departure of the caravan, Lord Green had made certain to remind his folk that even an accidental transformation meant punishment . . . possibly at the discretion of Melicard himself.

  To most drakes, Melicard was a demon in human guise. Cabe had been confident from the start that none of the reptilian race would risk themselves so.

  Which brought up the question as to what had happened here.

  “Captain, I command you to stop that.”

  The guardsman looked at his queen, rather befuddled that she would give such an order. With evident reluctance, he lowered his hand. “But Your Majesty-”

  “Stay here, Lynnette,” the queen whispered to the slim, ivory-skinned child. The young princess, despite her appearance, was no fragile flower, but this was one time, Cabe saw, that she would obey her mother without question. Erini stepped past the two reluctant guards and confronted the captain. “I gave you a command.”

  Her words were spoken softly, but the soldier nonetheless paled. He saluted and stepped back.

  The queen finally seemed to notice the Bedlams. “I am glad the two of you are here. Do you recognize this drake?”

  Cabe thought he did, but Gwendolyn spoke before he had a chance to commit himself. “Osseuss, isn’t it?”

  “Y-yessss, my lady!”

  “He was trying to sneak up on the queen and the princess!” snapped the captain of the guard.

  The drake shook his head. “Nooo! No!”

  “Lies!” The soldie
r made to strike the drake again, but a glance from Erini made him falter. “My men saw him creeping around the trees, Your Majesty! Creeping around the trees and watching you and the Princess Lynnette!”

  “And me!” rumbled Darkhorse. “Come, come, Captain! Do you think one drake is any threat to me?”

  Even under the chilling gaze of the shadow steed, the veteran warrior remained steadfast. “I was doing my duty!”

  “And very well,” soothed the queen. “I thank you for your concern, but I have my doubts as to the danger posed by this particular drake. Tell me, Osseuss; why did you come here?”

  The dragon man glanced at the Lady Bedlam, who nodded to him and said, “Tell the truth.”

  Keeping one eye on the captain, Osseuss explained, “I wasss lossst. The landsss, they are ssso beautiful, ssso well-kept! I wandered, then realized that I had become turned around. I thought I knew the way back, Your Majesssty, but found myssself here inssstead! I grew fearful, knowing that I wasss where I wasss not meant to be, and when I sssaw you and your daughter, my heart pounded! I was certain that I had condemned myssself by not paying attention!”

  “Why is that?”

  “A drake near the bride of Melicard the Terrible? Only for the royal party isss that possible! For the ressst of usss, that is surely sssuicide!”

  Judging from the guards’ expressions, it was clear to Cabe that Osseuss was correct in that assumption. These men were ready to kill the servitor simply because he was what he was. To be fair, Osseuss should have known better, but if men could be foolhardy, then so could drakes. In some ways the races were too similar.

  Queen Erini looked at the Bedlams. Gwen studied the cringing drake for a moment longer, then said, “I will vouch for him. His duties at the Manor concern the care of the gardens there. Osseuss has always been one of the most loving caretakers. I will definitely vouch for him.”

  “So will I,” Cabe added in support. Unless Osseuss was a cunning mage comparable in power to the trio of spellcasters before him, his story was genuine. While neither Cabe nor his wife had delved into the drake’s thoughts, it was simple enough to read the truth in the emotions radiating from the mind of the servitor. There was true fear there, fear mixed with confusion and self-recrimination.