“Yes, sir.”
Kyl, still standing, had not noticed what was happening. His own attention was fixed on the two combatants. Toos blinked. He could not even recall the beginning of the bout, but the drake’s champion and Vergoth’s man had obviously already been at it for several seconds. The skill of the knight was already telling, however, for Kyl’s king was beginning to lose ground. The general scratched his long, narrow chin. He had expected better of the king, but that was the way of the game. The soldiers who took part did not play the same way twice. One time, they might seem unstoppable; other days, they might fall after only a few blows. It was part of what made his variation on the game of chess a much more interesting one in his opinion.
The sense of danger again pervaded his being. Yet, surveying the scene, Toos could find nothing amiss. Servants had not yet reached the Dragon King, who, surrounded by his own soldiers, was virtually invisible. Grath and the scholar were wending their way toward the lord of Dagora, but they appeared to be safe. What could-
As it had happened so many times in the past, he saw what was to be. No one, not even the Gryphon, truly understood the workings of the former mercenary’s limited yet potent magic. Toos himself did not, for he had never met another in whom the power had so focused itself in one direction. Had he been asked to transport himself from one end of the arena to another, the regent would have been unable to comply. Had he been asked to levitate a sword, even that would have been beyond him. Yet, despite this seeming lack of skill, he had one of the most unusual gifts of sorcery, one that had saved his life time and time again.
He had heard of only one mage skilled in prophecy: Yalak of the Dragon Masters, who had once created a crystal egg that could show images of possible future events. Knowing prophecy had not prevented Yalak from being murdered by Azran Bedlam, however, which was why Toos had always been careful to cultivate his ability and had shared its full secrets with no one, not even the Gryphon. He had always felt guilty about that, but what was done was done.
The image came at its own chosen time, just like all the others. He had only time to gasp at its implications and marvel at the audacity of the one behind it before he became aware that the true event was just taking place.
It began with the striking of the two champions’ weapons against one another. The mace of Kyl’s king was knocked from the warrior’s hand and, before the startled eyes of the many, flew almost unerringly toward the astounded heir. As it neared, however, it was clear to most that it would fall short. Kyl took a step back, but did not otherwise protect himself from the misshaped projectile.
Only Toos knew that the true threat was only now coming into play. Leaping toward the drake, he cried, “Get down!”
The former mercenary reached Kyl just as the draconian guards stirred to life. Perhaps they had not heard his cry, or perhaps they felt that it was their duty to protect their master, not his. Toos only knew that he had barely thrust the dragon heir to the floor when a massive, armored figure shoved him aside, causing the general to spin in a half circle.
Something hard and swift thudded against his back.
He thought at first that the mace had somehow managed to fly over the arena wall, but then a fierce pain wracked the general’s chest and it was all he could do to keep from collapsing there and then. Grimacing, the regent forced open his eyes, which he could not recall closing, and peered down. To his surprise, Toos saw no sign of the wound that should have been there. Then, as his legs began to buckle, it occurred to him that the entry point had to have been from the back. The bolt, or whatever the assassin had used, had not quite pierced him all the way through.
The world spun around. Toos fell to his knees, which did nothing to alleviate the agony. Around him he knew that there was panic. Someone called out to him, but it was as if they were receding even as they spoke.
He knew he was dying. For once, his magic-wrought ability to outmaneuver his foes had worked against him. He had beaten the assassin, for Kyl must certainly still live, but it had not been the general’s intention to make himself the new target.
Sloppy, Toos thought. Been away from the field too long. Shouldn’t have listened to those jackanapes! Next maneuver, I go out with the men . . . get myself back in shape. . . .
Things grew hazy. Someone was in front of him. Toos tried to focus. The figure coalesced into that of the Gryphon, but that was nonsense, the regent knew. The Gryphon was with the Bedlams.
He chuckled, which caused him to shake as renewed pain coursed through him. Toos tried to speak to the imaginary Gryphon, but all that escaped his lips was blood. Putting one last great effort into his attempt at speech, he told the apparition, “It’s . . . yours again . . .”
Toos closed his eyes, knowing that the meaning of his words would be clear. After so many years of trying, he had finally found a way to force his old commander to reassume the throne. It was the Gryphon who had made Penacles what it was. Toos had simply been its caretaker while the lionbird recovered from his great labors. Now, however, the regent’s work was done. It was time to move on.
A sound caught his attention. Horns. He had little trouble recognizing the notes; it was the call to arms of his old company, the one in which he had first followed his commander.
Rising, Toos the Fox unsheathed his sword and went to join his old comrades in one last, glorious battle.
XV
“They’ve killed him, Cabe. . . .” The Gryphon snarled, his claws unsheathing and sheathing. His entire body quivered with unreleased fury. His mane bristled as the lionbird struggled to maintain his control. “They killed Toos!”
Cabe Bedlam stared in horror at the grisly tableau before him. The regent of Penacles lay face forward in the Gryphon’s arms, a scarlet blossom of blood across his back. The bolt had penetrated so deeply that it had nearly burst through the rib cage, if the warlock was any judge. It was a wonder that the old mercenary had lived even the few moments he had. That he had done so had made the situation that much more tragic, for Toos had lived just long enough for the Gryphon to return, then had died almost in his former commander’s arms.
When the Gryphon had looked up from his so-far futile attempts to free the minds of Aurim and Ssarekai and warned about danger in Penacles, his companions had been stunned. Cabe knew that his old friend kept some sort of link with both his mate and his former officer, but not even the warlock had known how strong or immediate those links were.
The lionbird had not even paused to explain. He had asked permission to leave, received it, and had vanished, leaving the Bedlams to recover their wits on their own. Naturally, Cabe and his wife had followed as quickly as they could, but even then it had been too late.
The arena was in chaos. Guests ran about in full panic and there were shouts of “Assassin!” from all corners. Toos was sprawled on the floor of one of the boxes used by the chess players. Kyl was gone, evidently spirited away by his two bodyguards. Around the fallen regent and his former commander stood a wary and fearful group of human soldiers.
Cabe had never seen the Gryphon this distraught. It was clear to the warlock that he would have to handle matters for the moment. “Which way did the bolt come from?”
One of the guards pointed upward and to his right. He added, “Our men already give chase, Master Warlock! We shall have them before the hour is ended!”
The mage was not so certain. “Have you discovered how they got so close?”
The sentries looked frustrated. The spokesman slowly replied, “No, Master Warlock. . . .”
“This . . . smells of . . . of magic,” Gwen commented. Cabe glanced at her. There were tears streaming from her eyes, but there was also a hardening in her face. He knew that his own visage now held a similar cast.
He made a decision. Too much time had already passed. “You stay here with the Gryphon, I’ll-”
Cabe was interrupted by a group of pale guardsmen. Two of them carried bundles. An officer, a captain by rank, gave the Gryphon a half-he
arted salute, which the lionbird did not even notice. Cabe signaled the officer his way.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, Master Bedlam!”
“You can tell me everything. Have you found them?”
This last caused the captain to grimace. “In a matter of speaking, my lord. . . .”
“Please, Captain . . .” begged one of the men. In one hand he carried a glove that appeared to be full of some substance. The Bedlams glanced at one another, then Cabe indicated that the officer should explain his words.
Swallowing, the captain indicated the bundles two of his men were carrying. “I think . . . uh . . . I think this is all that’s left of them, Master Bedlam.”
“What?” For the first time, the Gryphon acknowledged the presence of the newcomers. Still clutching the form of his old comrade, he glared at the captain and added, “What do you mean?”
“One of the men s-saw it, Your Majesty.” The captain had the bundles brought forward. He also signaled the man holding the one glove to join them. “The assassin . . . he . . . he was . . . my lord . . . he was crumbling! Darion saw him and Darion doesn’t lie, Your Majesty!”
“Aye! I’ll swear to it, my lord!” added one of the guards laden with a bundle. The burly soldier looked around as if daring someone to contradict his words. “It’s truth!”
“Explain in more detail,” encouraged Gwendolyn Bedlam.
His arms filled, the guard called Darion used his chin to indicated his captain. “He said it all! I saw the man . . . it was a man, lordships-ugly and bearded. Looked like a northern type maybe. All I really saw was him look my way, then his eyes, they went wide, they did.” The veteran hesitated, still unnerved by the sight. “Then . . . then, he just went to pieces, like he dried out and crumbled to sand!”
The captain took over. “Your Majesty, we brought all that was left of him. Some others found a second figure, but he . . . he was already dust.”
The Gryphon looked up to his two comrades. “Could you . . . do you think you can verify . . . ?”
Gwendolyn nodded. Without a word, the two spellcasters took the bundles from the grateful warriors. The third man held out the filled glove toward Cabe.
“What’s this?” the warlock asked.
“It’s one . . . uh . . . it’s one o’ them, lordship.”
Cabe almost snatched his hand back, but if the guards had forced themselves to bring back some of the remains, it behooved him to do what he could with it.
The enchantress inspected her bundle. “What about the weapon? Where is it?”
There was something stiff in Cabe’s bundle. Gingerly, he opened up the cloth, which appeared to be some sort of glittering cape folded inside out, and discovered a crossbow. Oddly, there were no more bolts to go with it. “I’ve got it here.”
“These will need a more thorough examination later,” Lady Bedlam commented, her interest in discovering the truth for the moment overwhelming her sorrow, “but there is something we can do now.”
Both of them were already at work. Those who had gathered around watched in wary curiosity. To the eye, all that the two did was pass a hand over each bundle, Cabe also repeating the process for the glove and its grotesque contents. He gasped as his fingers traced patterns over the glove. It was as the guard had said; this had once been human. He could tell no more about the unfortunate assassin save that whatever had killed him was no ordinary sorcery.
“This . . . is . . . strange,” was all his wife could add at first.
From where he squatted, the Gryphon cocked his head. There was an unhealthy look in his avian visage, Cabe thought. “You said ‘strange.’ How so?”
“It reminds me of . . .” She looked at her husband for aid.
“We both know what it reminds us of.” The warlock hesitated, but when he saw the further tensing of the Gryphon’s body, he decided that a swift response was the better choice regardless of what results the truth might then bring. “It reminds both of us of Darkhorse. It bears his trace.”
“Or something akin to him,” interjected the enchantress. There had once been a time when Gwendolyn Bedlam would have been the first to call Darkhorse demon, but now she was his champion. He had saved the lives of all the Bedlams more than once.
“There is nothing we know of in all the Dragonrealm that is akin to Darkhorse.” Yet it was clear that the lionbird did not think the eternal was responsible for the day’s tragedy. He looked down at the still form in his arms and in a much gentler voice added, “But perhaps he, like old Toos, has become a pawn.”
“He’s still missing,” whispered Cabe, his blood going cold. He had feared that the shadow steed had been captured by the one who had set the magical snares, and now it seemed that that fear was likely a thing of substance.
The Gryphon started to rise, but could not without leaving the body of Toos lying alone on the cold floor. Freeing one hand, he waved the nearest sentries over. “Take him gently. Bring him to his bedchamber and have the doctors clean him up as well as they can. I also want a pair of you to take these bundles and bring them to my rooms. They should be guarded until I have time to more thoroughly inspect them. I shall give you further orders when you return.”
The ease with which leadership shifted from the murdered regent to the former king did not surprise Cabe Bedlam in the least. The Gryphon was legend and the regent had always made it quite clear that he would have gladly stepped aside at any time. There was also inherent in the lionbird’s manner a natural sense of command, one which made others willing to follow him. He was, the warlock concluded, meant to be a leader, and now, despite his best attempts to forever discard such a role, it appeared as if the Gryphon once more had a kingdom to rule.
With great care, the guards slowly lifted the body of Toos from the floor. The Gryphon, rising, watched each and every movement. Under such a baleful gaze, the men dared not fail in maintaining their holds. No one desired to test the wrath of the distraught monarch.
Two of the men who had brought the remains of the assassins took both the bundles and the glove back. Cabe was not sorry to give up the gruesome objects. The Gryphon was welcome to do what he wished with them as long as it helped them discover who was responsible for the death of Toos.
When the guards and their terrible burden were out of sight, the Gryphon at last returned his attention to the mages. From the crowd still gathered emerged his mate, Troia. She moved past the Bedlams and enveloped her husband in her arms. The cat-woman was well aware of the place Toos had had in the Gryphon’s life. The tall, cunning general had been family, a brother in spirit if not in blood.
Taking hold of his wife, the Gryphon looked at Cabe Bedlam. There was now a cold calm in his voice that did not bode well. “I want the one behind this, my friend. Was it . . . do you think it was Talak?”
“There’s no proof one way or the other,” Cabe quickly responded, the notion of a war between the two powerful kingdoms filling him with horror. “And I don’t think that it was Melicard, Gryphon.”
“I know it isn’t,” added Gwendolyn. “Erini would never forgive him, and he cares more about her love than he does his old vendetta.”
“Then it seems to me,” growled the lionbird, unsheathing his claws again, “that it must be Zuu. They would gain in a war in the east.”
Cabe put a hand on his friend’s free shoulder. “Before you do anything, you’d better make certain. We’re so close, Gryphon! Toos would’ve advised caution; you know that.”
At first, the angry monarch simply stared at the warlock with his unsettling avian gaze. Then, some of the anger faded. The Gryphon nodded. “You are correct, of course. There are others who would benefit by what happened today. It’s . . . it’s hard to recall that Toos was not even the target; it was Kyl, after all.”
“Kyl!” gasped the enchantress. “We haven’t even seen how he is!”
“Then go to him, friends. I’ve lost a dear comrade, true, but the young drake’s faced death up close.” The
Gryphon looked around at the gathered guards and functionaries. “Besides, I think that there is enough here to keep me occupied . . . for a lifetime, even.”
“Will the guards have taken Kyl back to his suite?”
“That would be most likely, yes.” The lionbird sighed. “And good luck with him. I cannot say what effect this may have on the heir; we will have to watch him closely.”
The warlock agreed. “Once we know a little more about how Kyl is faring, one of us will have to search for Darkhorse. More than ever I fear that he’s in grave trouble.”
“I think you are correct.” With a shake of his head, the Gryphon added, “Why is the process of peace always so violent?”
Cabe had no answer. Instead, he simply wrapped his arm around his wife and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Their surroundings altered. The scene of the regent’s assassination became the extravagant chambers put aside for the visiting emperor-to-be. Several draconian guards leapt to action as the pair materialized, but the Green Dragon, standing to one side of the room, signaled for them to relax.
Kyl sat in a tall, cushioned chair next to his bed. At first he stared ahead, but upon the Bedlams’ sudden arrival, he turned to the mages. His eyes gleamed with a combination of anger, confusion, and fear. Grath stood beside him. He looked at the two spell-casters with an unreadable expression.
“They tried to kill me!” the heir to the dragon throne abruptly spat. “They tried to have me assssassssinated!”
“Did they catch the assassins?” the Dragon King asked in a quieter, calmer voice.
“The assassins are dead. They either killed themselves or were killed by whoever sent them.”
“Ssso no one claimsss to know, then. Convenient.” Kyl looked to his brother, who only shrugged. The heir leaned back, his hands gripping the chair arms tight. “I want to go back to the Manor.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 61
