Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  Toma howled in pain as dozens of tiny, fiery avengers assailed him. Several scored hits on his torso while a few lucky ones burned through the membranes of one wing. The dragon staggered back, knocking over yet more of the ancient statues and coming to a halt only when the floor gave way to the steps of the dais. Cabe raised his arms toward Toma to give his attack better focus, ignoring, as he had so many times in the past, the agony caused by an old wound suffered facing the Aramites. None of his pain mattered now; it was secondary to keeping the dragon at bay.

  The battle had at last drawn the attention of the monster, although it still made no attempt to leave Kyl’s side. Toma noticed its attention and, pointing a claw at Cabe, roared, “Kill him now! Kill him before he leavesss you once more without anyone! Kill him before he leavesss you alone again!”

  No! Cabe swore as he heard the creature’s howl take on a new, deadlier tone. A furtive glance informed him that Toma had at last managed to stir the beast from its stupor. Rising, the monstrosity began to lumber toward the warlock, who was quite aware that even at his best he could not possibly take on both the wily dragon and the baleful monster. All the creature had to do was fix his gaze on Cabe long enough . . .

  He was caught between the two of them. Worse, with Cabe forced to spread his attention between the dragon and the monster, Toma was also recovering from his terrible onslaught. There would be no hope whatsoever if the weary mage allowed that to happen, but he could foresee no way to prevent it.

  I’ve failed. . . . Toma would find some way to escape the caverns and eventually Grath, possibly even Kyl, would return to claim the throne. No one would realize that it was Toma making use of some new devious spell.

  A second howl nearly deafened him. With an awkward leap, Toma’s pet covered much of the remaining distance between them. It could have easily dealt with him before this, but Cabe guessed that it was debating between using its inherent magic to destroy him or simply seizing the human morsel in its mouth and swallowing him whole.

  “Kill him!” hissed Toma once again. Still weak from his wounds, which this time he did not instantly heal, the renegade appeared to be satisfied with keeping his adversary occupied enough so that Cabe could not deal with the other threat until it was too late.

  The beast paused. It howled again, but moved no closer. Its horrible eyes focused on the haggard mage.

  A curtain of absolute darkness covered the warlock. At first he thought that this was the prelude to death, but then the curtain moved, and for the first time since the beginning of the struggle, Cabe’s hopes rose high.

  “I have seen some ugly drakes in my time,” boomed a welcome voice, “but you, my misbegotten friend, are positively the most repulsive thing I have ever come across!”

  “Darkhorse!” gasped the thankful warlock. Destroying the blade had worked better than he had hoped. Valea must have made her way through the gate once the spell surrounding the cavern had been broken and warned the shadow steed of what was happening.

  Whether it was due to the eternal’s derisive comment or simply because of Darkhorse’s sudden presence, the creature forgot the warlock and fixed his deadly gaze on the ebony figure confronting him.

  Cabe remembered that Darkhorse knew nothing of the beast’s frightful abilities. “Don’t stand still!”

  It was too late. The horror stared and howled. The warlock could not recall whether it was the stare or the cry or a combination of both that caused the victim to burn from within. Whatever the cause, it was too late to help his companion. The eternal had arrived in time to do nothing but die.

  Yet, even after the creature had long stopped howling, even after it had blinked in confusion more than once, Darkhorse still stood.

  A child of the Void. That was how legends had often described the eternal. He was not like any creature in the world, simply because he was not from this or any other world.

  The power of Toma’s pet was useless against the black stallion. Perhaps there was no inherent heat within Darkhorse upon which the monster could work its horrible spell.

  Even Toma briefly forgot about his part in the battle as he and Cabe stared at the stunning tableau.

  “Well?” mocked Darkhorse. “Was that supposed to mean something?”

  Outraged, the monstrosity howled and charged the eternal.

  “No!” Toma snarled. “Ssstop!”

  His words went unheeded. The creature leapt as it came within range of its motionless prey. Not once did it hesitate to perhaps wonder why the massive horse did not try to flee or fight. It was too furious, too filled with a bloodlust. A victim had survived its power; that could not be allowed.

  Jaws opened and talons flashed as the beast fell upon Darkhorse . . . and continued to fall into his would-be prey. There were those who would have described the eternal as a living hole, a dark abyss with no bottom. Darkhorse was that and so much more. He was and was not the very emptiness in which he had been spawned.

  The howl of anger became a cry of fear. Darkhorse’s form grew distorted from effort; as Cabe had suspected, his companion had not yet completely recovered from his captivity. The stallion persevered, however. It was a strange sight-it was always a strange sight-to behold. Despite the fact that the beast had stood far, far taller than Darkhorse, the monster’s entire form was dragged into the body of the shadow steed. Smaller and smaller the shadow steed’s adversary became, until at last it vanished within. The howling ceased but a moment after.

  Despite all the times he had seen Darkhorse do this to his enemies, Cabe could not help but feel unsettled.

  There was something different about this particular instance, however, for Darkhorse made no immediate move to take on Toma. He did not move at all, but rather stood where he was. His body literally rippled, but it did not collapse as it had done once in the past.

  With effort, the shadow steed finally turned to face the renegade. The dragon eyed him warily.

  “You . . . have attacked my . . . friends . . . monster! You made me a prisoner . . . and tortured me. For that . . . I will make you pay.”

  It was clear that the comments concerning Darkhorse’s imprisonment only puzzled Toma, but the stallion paid that no regard. He started toward the renegade at a somewhat irregular pace.

  This Toma noticed and a calculating look crossed his draconian features. “Come to me then, old nag, and show me what you can do!”

  His form still shifting, the shadow steed prepared to attack.

  Cabe gestured. A wall of energy appeared between Darkhorse and Toma. The shadow steed turned in confusion. “Cabe! What do you do?”

  The warlock took a deep breath. His fear and rage had not been quelled, and now that he had committed himself to his present course, the two emotions began to burn with renewed force. “Take care of Kyl, Darkhorse. Forget Toma. He belongs to me.”

  “What care have I for that traitorous young-”

  Cabe cut him off. “Kyl helped us, Darkhorse. Grath was the traitor. Now do as I say and take Kyl from here. He needs the aid of a healer badly. If you don’t hurry, I’m afraid he might die.”

  “But-”

  “Take care of Valea and Ursa, too . . . please.” He had been about to say especially if I fail, but Cabe did not even want to acknowledge that likely possibility. “Now.”

  Toma absorbed the exchange with something approaching amusement. “Have I given permission for thisss, human? Do you think that I will jussst let him depart with the heir?”

  The warlock was grim-faced. “Yes.”

  “You are mistaken, then.”

  The dragon raised a paw toward Darkhorse, who, obeying Cabe, had backed toward Kyl. Dust began to rise around the shadow steed, dust that somehow clung to the eternal’s form.

  “Let him be.”

  The force of Cabe’s blast threw the great dragon against the steps of the dais. Toma thundered in new pain, his spell dissipating as he lost control. Smoke rose from his form. There was now a gaping hole in the already injured wing.<
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  Darkhorse paused. “Cabe, if you and-”

  “Do what I said, Darkhorse.” The mage dared not reveal just how weakened he already was. Each new assault drained him, but he could not relent. Toma was his. Toma had made himself Cabe’s. He would take the dragon whatever the cost. Whether that was the right thing or the wrong thing to do, the warlock did not care. Toma was his.

  “You insolent mortal!” raged the wounded leviathan. “Who do you think you are?”

  The exhausted sorcerer pulled himself up to his full height and quietly responded, “I am Cabe Bedlam.”

  His next assault forced Toma partway up the dais. The renegade drake roared. Once again Cabe was awash in a storm of flame, but this time the heat and pain were barely noticeable. He pushed his way through the inferno until Toma could maintain it no longer.

  The dragon was breathing heavily when the warlock again looked him in the face. For the first time, there was uncertainty in Toma’s eyes.

  Cabe took the opportunity to look Darkhorse’s way. He was relieved to see that the stallion had obeyed him, for both Darkhorse and Kyl were no longer there. One weight lifted from his heart. Whatever happened here, the others were safe. Kyl and the others would spread the truth about Toma if Cabe failed.

  “We’re all alone now,” he informed the renegade.

  “A pity. Then no one will be able to die with you.”

  “You’ll do.”

  The huge head suddenly dropped toward Cabe. The warlock belatedly noted that he had never estimated the length of Toma’s neck. The world above Cabe became the wide maw of a slavering dragon.

  Toma’s jaws snapped shut on the place where his rival had been, but the sorcerer had been able to dive aside at the last moment despite the dragon’s swiftness. The dragon tried once, twice, three times more. Cabe rolled over, bouncing again and again against the rock floor. He was bruised from head to toe, but at least he was alive to fight.

  The knowledge did not much encourage him.

  “Ceassse hopping and bouncing, flea! You only prolong what mussst be!”

  “You . . . have a . . . point there,” Cabe gasped. It was now or never. If he allowed this battle to go on, Toma would defeat him through sheer stamina. The warlock could hardly keep up his present pace much longer.

  Again, the human struck, choosing force over subtlety. Toma recast his shield, but while it held, the dragon was still driven to the top of the dais. Toma tried to exhale another river of flame, but only a gust of heat greeted his efforts.

  Cabe pushed on, knowing that he had to be relentless. A second bolt and then a third pushed Toma nearly to the throne. The mage ascended the steps, pausing only two or three from the top.

  Toma straightened, unsteady but hardly defeated.

  “What does it take to put you down, warlock?”

  Cabe wanted to ask him the same question, but chose to save the energy for the combat. He attacked again, and this time the dragon’s shield failed him.

  Toma nearly fell upon the throne. His entire form crackled with the power that his adversary had unleashed on him. The dragon righted himself, but now he twitched from pain. His breathing was irregular.

  “You cannot defeat me! I am Toma!”

  Again, a taloned paw rose.

  The steps around and beneath Cabe Bedlam sizzled. Bolts of blue lightning rose from the rock and assailed the warlock. They were not like ordinary lightning, for each one that assailed him remained attached like a parasite, drawing his power away and nearly forcing him to his knees.

  “You are mine, warlock!” Toma the dragon roared his delight.

  Gwendolyn, Valea, Aurim, Darkhorse, the Gryphon . . . all the faces formed before Cabe. They and others looked to him, called to him. Whether it was true or not, the warlock again felt that if he gave in to Toma, he would open the way for all their deaths at the renegade’s claw.

  The warlock fought the lightning, even managing another step up. Toma’s cries of triumph faded as he eyed with disbelief the continued existence of his tiny bane.

  Cabe drew everything he had into one last effort, aware that by doing so he might kill himself where Toma had so far failed. He met, for what he hoped was the last time, the eyes of the renegade. Cabe tried to imagine the faces of all those close to him whom Toma had already killed. Even Grath, despite the young drake’s secret allegiance. Grath had saved Cabe and Valea from the duke’s black blade.

  “From the beginning,” he called to the sinister behemoth, “you’ve desired that it be you and you alone who sat on the throne as Dragon Emperor.”

  “It should have been mine! I was the most worthy! I, Toma!”

  Cabe ignored the outburst. “I can’t make you emperor, Toma, but the least I can do . . . is give you the throne.”

  The attack that Cabe had prepared was fueled as much by his own life force as it was by the sorcerous power at his command. He reached forward with his right hand and pointed at where he knew the dragon’s heart to be. So ensnared was he by his own spell that he no longer even noticed Toma’s own withered assault.

  His last view before his bolt hit Toma in the chest was the dragon’s absolute refusal to accept what was happening.

  Toma’s shield was nothing to Cabe’s spell. Neither was the thick, tough, scaled hide of the deadly leviathan. The bolt burned through all, piercing the dragon completely through and not dissipating until it struck the wall far behind him.

  The dragon stiffened, transfixed by the lethal assault. Toma’s massive form shivered as Cabe continued to pour his life into the effort.

  “Fall, damn you!” he cried, unconsciously mimicking Toma from but a few moments before. “Why don’t you fall?”

  Toma did.

  With a last, pain-wracked roar, the renegade dragon fell back upon the very object he had so long desired to control. Toma’s huge body was too much for the throne, and as he fell upon it, the throne crumbled under his weight. The drake’s head swung back in a horrible arc and smashed against the rock wall to one side of the dais. A burst of fire shot briefly ceilingward as Toma exhaled.

  Cabe did not move. He could not believe that, after all this time, Toma was defeated. Surely, the warlock thought, there must be some last trick.

  There was none. Even as he watched, the dragon twitched feebly once or twice. The head slowly came round so that Toma could see Cabe, but the renegade’s eyes were already clouding. Even still, Toma attempted one last sneer.

  It was the expression that would remain frozen on his face as he died.

  Cabe Bedlam crumpled on the steps, the knowledge that Toma was dead finally giving him release. He struggled to remain conscious, but the effort of his victory had drained him too much. His eyes closed. He forced them open again, only to find an anxious Gwen peering down at him, a vision which made no sense since not only was his wife not here but he would have had to have been lying on his back to see her so. Clearly, the haggard mage thought not so clearly, he had worn himself so thoroughly that he was suffering delusions.

  Then the delusion told him to go back to sleep and Cabe, knowing that he could fight the darkness no longer, finally gave in.

  XXII

  “Are you feeling better?” asked Gwendolyn.

  Cabe lowered his cup and peered at his wife from the bed. She looked concerned, as she had since he had first been carried back to the Manor from Kivan Grath, but she also looked preoccupied with something else.

  “Better than yesterday. Better than the two weeks I don’t remember.”

  His last, fairly clear memory before waking in his bed but two days ago had been of his wife leaning over him, fear dominating her expression. It had not been a delusion, as he had thought, but rather a brief awakening just after Darkhorse had brought him to the Manor. The shadow steed had returned to the cavern the moment that he had assured the safety of Kyl, Valea, and Ursa.

  The eternal had joyfully greeted his human friend yesterday, ecstatic to discover that the warlock had finally recovered. No one k
new exactly what had happened to Cabe, only that he had hung between life and death for two weeks, then abruptly recovered almost completely.

  Darkhorse had described the surprise with which he had viewed the cavern upon his return. He had expected a battle of epic proportions still raging, only to find the dragon Toma dead on the dais, maw still curved in what seemed a cruel smile, and Cabe sprawled on the steps. At first, the shadow steed had feared that his friend had died alongside the devilish drake, but then he had noted the thin thread of life remaining.

  “Praise be that it was not yet time for you to journey down the Final Path!” the stallion had rumbled yesterday. Darkhorse, too, had recovered. He had recovered so much, in fact, that he had made the rare transformation and given himself a pair of long, tentaclelike arms with which to hug the weary mage.

  Everyone had come to give Cabe their best and express their pleasure at his survival . . . everyone except one young drake. Even Ursa had come, although when Cabe had pressed her about Kyl, the female drake had quickly excused herself.

  No one would even tell him what had happened to the meeting with the Blue Dragon. It had, of course, not taken place due to Kyl’s own injuries. The heir, however, had suffered much less than Cabe and had recovered some days ago.

  After Kyl’s heroism in the cavern, Cabe had not wanted to think ill of the emperor-to-be, but again doubts crept into his mind. Kyl had looked willing to join forces with Toma when it had seemed the renegade would win.

  Toma. The Manor had been trying to warn them in its own way about the truth concerning Toma and Traske. The warlock knew that now. He wondered if the other images had any such meaning. He also wondered just how sentient the Manor was. More than Cabe had ever imagined? It would bear looking into once things calmed down.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” asked Gwendolyn, stirring her husband from his thoughts.

  “No, Mistress Belima’s lunch should do fine for the next few days.” The cook had been so gratified by the mage’s recovery that she had made him a bit of just about every specialty she knew. Of course, with Mistress Belima, that was almost everything. Cabe’s lunch could have easily served the army of Penacles. Despite all he had eaten-and his days of sleep had made him ravenous-he had hardly even made a dent in the vast meal. Gwen had used her power on Cabe, but that had only allowed him to survive. He looked forward to digging further into the pile of food later, but now he could only dream of eating.