Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  Only then did the horse king enter.

  A chill wind seemed to precede him, as did a darkness that no one else in the chamber noticed save Aurim Bedlam. Despite the many lit torches, the illumination suddenly appeared muted. Aurim shivered, a spontaneous reaction that not only surprised him, but pleased him as well. The reaction had been independent of Saress's control. That meant that her hold on him was not perfect.

  Lanith was the tallest of the horse people that Aurim had so far seen. He was older and graying, yes, but hardly soft and weak. The horse king's features reminded him of a mountain chiseled by time and weather. Not handsome, but impressive. Lanith was clad in garments akin to those of his guard, an outfit that hearkened back to generations of fierce nomadic warriors. He might have stepped through the centuries himself, so menacing did he appear. The shadow and the chill added to the effect, which made the sorcerer wonder if their presence was planned. Aurim tried to probe the darkness, but found his probe deflected by some magical force.

  With no further ceremony, the horse king seated himself, the darkness settling several feet above him. He glanced first at the captured spellcaster, then at Saress. A thin smile spread across his features.

  "My love!" the enchantress called much too loudly. "I have for you a very special prize!"

  Perhaps it was only Aurim's imagination, but he thought the monarch of Zuu was slightly amused by Saress's obvious attempt to seduce him with her outfit. "I'd imagine he must be, considering that you were supposed to remain in Penacles for another week. How good is this one? Better than the last?"

  She rose, each movement an invitation to her king. Aurim, who was forced to rise with her, was fairly certain that Lanith had accepted more than a few of her invitations in the past, enough so that now she was the puppet and he the master. "Better than any of them! Better than any you hoped to add to the ranks! I have him."

  "Him?" The horse king straightened, studying the golden- haired mage closely. "Rich clothing for a student. A head of hair that almost looks like . . ." The air of disinterest faded. Lanith grew eager. "He's Aurim Bedlam!"

  "You see? I said that I could get him and I did, my love!"

  "Yes, at last." King Lanith stared at Aurim, finally frowning. "But if he's so powerful, then how could you take him so easily?"

  Saress leaned back, her body momentarily pressing against her victim as she touched Aurim's chin in mock tenderness. "A young man in love is apt to think of little else. It was easy to wrap him around my finger and lead him along. Power without thought is easy prey."

  "So it is." Because Saress had her head turned toward Aurim, only the captive saw that Lanith's gaze briefly shifted toward his pet sorceress as he spoke. "But is he that powerful?"

  Saress abandoned her captive, joining the king at his throne. She draped herself over his left shoulder, allowing his eyes to linger on her form before pointing at Aurim. "He can create passages through rivers, passages wide enough to cross an army! His might is such that he transported five of us, including our mounts, all the way from the Serkadian River to your royal courtyard!"

  "Yes, I heard about that." King Lanith's eyes burned into Aurim's. "I could make much use of someone as strong as you, young sorcerer. Would you serve me willingly if I paid you well? You could have almost everything you wanted . . ." His hand rested on Saress's own.

  Once more, Aurim Bedlam's mouth moved of its own accord. "I would try to escape the moment I could."

  The tall warrior almost stood. His gaze turned darker. "Is that so? You arrogant, pampered little colt—"

  "He must answer our questions, my king," the enchantress interjected. "My spell requires it of him."

  "Has he no will of his own, then?"

  "Only in the privacy of his mind. The rest belongs to you—to you, Lanith."

  "To me." The horse king leaned toward Saress. "Make him perform . . . some trick."

  "As you command." Saress smiled at Aurim. "Show him your little harlequins, darling."

  Parlor tricks. He was being forced to perform parlor tricks for his captors. Rage overtook fear. Aurim did not want to perform for them like a trained animal. He was a free man and a sorcerer. His arms rose halfway, but the young spellcaster tried to keep them from rising farther. He would not perform.

  His arms stayed where they were. Aurim could not lower them, but neither did they continue to move on their own. In one sense it was a stalemate; in another, it was a grand victory for him. Saress's spell did not have complete control over him after all.

  Unfortunately, King Lanith also noticed his success. "The boy's not obeying. I thought he had to do every thing we said, Saress."

  "He does!" Seeming more embarrassed than fearful, the sorceress abandoned her position and stalked toward Aurim. The look in her eyes was anything but seductive now. Her prisoner had succeeded in making her appear foolish before the man she obviously adored. "I gave you a command. Do the little trick with the harlequins!"

  His arms rose an inch higher, then settled back to their previous positions. Aurim smiled triumphantly, then smiled more when he realized that he now had control of his mouth again.

  Saress slapped his cheek before realizing that her captive was now partially mobile. The moment she understood her danger, the temptress immediately stepped back.

  "What's wrong, Saress?"

  "Nothing that I can't deal with, Lanith." Despite her tone of assurance, though, the expression on her face, an expression only Aurim could see at the moment, was anything but confident.

  His hopes continued to rise. She still had enough control to prevent him from speaking or casting his own spells, but that control was rapidly fading. Soon he would be able to take matters into his own hands.

  "Naughty boy! No man leaves Saress!" The woman thrust her left hand toward him.

  Aurim felt a crackle of energy surge through him that briefly stole from him the movement and force of will that he had regained. The sorceress smiled at Aurim again, but with renewed effort, the golden-haired mage swept away her second spell and further weakened her first. Now he had enough control of his arms to slowly move them as he desired. Aurim still could not summon enough strength to cast a spell, especially one to transport him away from this evil place, but he only needed a few moments more.

  Beyond Saress, King Lanith did a peculiar thing. He leaned farther to one side and raised his head as if listening to someone nearby . . . only there was nothing but the sinister darkness. Then the monarch of Zuu looked again at Aurim.

  "Cease your efforts, Saress."

  "Lanith—"

  "You're dismissed. That goes for the rest of you as well. Leave now."

  The guards looked as perplexed as the enchantress. Aurim, too. What made the man think that he could face a sorcerer of Aurim Bedlam's ability? It would only be a few moments before the spellcaster was free. Better that the horse king departs with his witch in tow than face his former captive's wrath.

  Despite her obvious reluctance, Saress was the first to obey. The guards followed slowly, each of them glancing from the captured sorcerer to their lord. At the doorway, the enchantress paused while the warriors filed out. Only when she was the last left did Saress finally depart. Even then, her eyes lingered on King Lanith until she was out of sight.

  Throughout it all, Aurim continued to struggle for freedom. His arms were his. Then his entire body began to respond, slowly, then faster. He was only seconds from complete control, seconds from escape.

  All the while, the horse king merely sat on the throne and watched.

  The last vestiges of Saress's spell shattered. Aurim briefly paused, wondering whether he ought to do something about the king of Zuu. The man had ordered his kidnapping. He was ready to begin a great war. Surely if Aurim had the opportunity to capture Lanith, then he had to try.

  The sorcerer glared at the figure on the throne. "King Lanith, you should've run."

  His adversary looked anything but fearful. The king slowly rose, arms crossed. Aurim co
uld sense nothing, but Lanith's attitude put him on guard.

  "I run from no one, especially a pampered little magician with high ideals and, until recently, no control over himself. You think that a few little victories win a war? You've no idea about the workings of strategy, the playing of the game, the writing of the epic—" Lanith broke off, suddenly blinking. "I want him under control now, imp. I've no more time to waste."

  Aurim had no idea what Lanith meant by the last, save that it gave some indication that the pair of them was not as alone as he had thought. He looked around, assuring himself again that no one had remained behind, and finally came to the conclusion that perhaps Zuu's lord was insane.

  It was definitely time to depart. Aurim assumed that if he could transport an entire party across most of the continent, he could still send himself back to Penacles. He summoned up the necessary strength—

  —and felt his effort suppressed by another force.

  He wanted to try again, but suddenly his body was once more a prison. Aurim could not move, could scarcely even breathe this time.

  A giggle echoed through the chamber. Aurim found himself raising his arms in a dramatic gesture, then flapping them like a Seeker trying to take off. He knew that he was an absurd sight, but he could not help himself.

  The darkness floating above Lanith drifted toward Aurim, slowly coalescing as it moved.

  "Stop the games," the king commanded the air. "Keep him still."

  "As you command, 0 great majesty . . ."

  Despite its merry tone, Aurim found nothing amusing about the voice. It was the voice of a creature who had no concern for human life or death. There was something vaguely reminiscent about the voice, too, as if he had heard another akin to it before.

  "You've got him secure? He can't use his sorcery against me?"

  "Oh, no, no, Your Majesty! He is your puppet to command! You want him to dance"—Aurim performed a wild, clumsy series of steps—"and he dances! You want him to—"

  "Enough of the theatrics, imp!" Lanith strode up to his prisoner. "Little brat . . ."

  The spellcaster could do nothing as the warrior king thrust his face near. In truth, what concerned Aurim more than the man was the creature that served him. Only now did he sense something of its presence and that only because the shadow was now an indistinct yet swiftly solidifying blob. What was it?

  "So, Aurim Bedlam. I made you an offer, but it's clear that you won't accept it. I can't trust you to join me. Should I have you then executed? You're a danger to me, boy. Maybe I should have your neck stretched . . . or better yet, toast you over an open fire so that I'm certain you're dead. I've heard a good sorcerer is hard to kill."

  For the first time, the young mage was glad that the spell holding him did not allow him any movement. If it had, King Lanith would have certainly noticed his fear.

  "It would be such a terrible waste, though, great majesty," suggested the voice. "He is, after all, an asset in more than one way! He would lead your Order in battle and also act as bait!"

  Bait? What does he mean? They had to want his parents. That was it. His empty-headed romantic ideals not only threatened him, but his family, too. Lanith probably intended on making all of the Bedlams his unwilling servants.

  Of course, Aurim's mother and father were hardly the simplistic fools that he was. Lanith might have some pet creature working for him, but it could hardly be as powerful as the elder Bedlams or, say, Darkhorse.

  Darkhorse? Thinking of the shadow steed made him stare again at the mysterious form. Now it vaguely resembled a tiny, humanoid figure, a black, faceless thing.

  "He escaped once, imp. His will's very strong. Admirable at other times, but not now. If his will's strong enough, he'll escape again. I can't take that chance."

  "A sorcerer is a terrible thing to waste, Emperor Lanith, but rest assured, where there's a will, there's a way to crush it thoroughly!" The tiny figure giggled, "I can make your will his will, if you like."

  This intrigued the king. "You can do that? You can make him do what I want?"

  "It is difficult to do," replied the demon in a tone that made Aurim suspect that it was anything but difficult. Lanith appeared not to notice, however. "But I think that I can turn him to your grand cause, great majesty . . ."

  The creature had completely formed now. He—for lack of a better pronoun—resembled a foot-tall, unfinished puppet. Aurim saw now that the king's imp had eyes and he was almost certain that he knew whose they resembled.

  "Do it, then. With someone of his power to guide the others, my Order will be the greatest weapon of war ever."

  The puppet floated toward Aurim, eyes fixed on the sorcerer even though his words were for the king. "And let us not forget: as bait, he will garner for you the other great prize you desire, my lord!"

  The creature was barely more than arm's length from the captive—and now there was no denying exactly who he reminded Aurim of. It had to be impossible. There could not be two such astonishing beings, yet, the proof was before him. Coming for him. Burning into his soul with pupilless, icy blue orbs just like those of-

  "Darkhorse," King Lanith whispered, responding to his companion's last words. "Darkhorse."

  It was worse than being trapped in the Void, Darkhorse decided. Nothing but mist surrounded him He could barely see his own limbs, much less anything that might have lurked nearby. At least in the clear emptiness of the Void Darkhorse had always been able to see that nothing watched him, nothing stalked him from behind . . . and nothing tried to reabsorb him, in the horrific process eradicating the sense of self that he held so precious.

  At least I am safe from that! Any fate, any death, was better than the slow draining loss of his identity. It was one reason he had been so pleased when the Vraad sorcerer Dru Zeree led him back to the Dragonrealm. In the Dragonrealm, Darkhorse could hide from the one thing he secretly feared.

  Such thoughts did not, of course, aid him now. It was possible that he might never escape this place, but the eternal planned to exhaust all options before giving in to such a fate. He could not re-create a blink hole from within the very nether region into which a blink hole opened, but there had to be a way of forming another exit. Darkhorse had traced his way from the Void to the Dragonrealm; this should be no more difficult.

  Darkhorse soon regretted his confident thoughts. A scan of the misty nothingness with his senses revealed no trail to the dimension of the Dragonrealm. The place was a veritable blank in terms of sorcery. For the first time, the shadow steed grew anxious. His anxiety was not entirely related to his own fate, either. At this very moment, Aurim Bedlam faced possible danger. Worse, his family was ignorant of his disappearance, thanks to the eternal's mistake.

  "I will be free of this place!" Darkhorse snapped out loud, more to shatter the unremitting silence than because he believed what he said. Without some path to follow, the eternal was at a loss.

  He tried to review what had happened. The dissipation of his blink hole had been no accident. Some spellcaster had taken advantage of his travel spell and disrupted it at the most opportune moment. A very, very difficult form of attack, which meant a sorcerer of tremendous ability. It also meant a sorcerer who had some inkling of his plans or at least had kept a distant but careful eye on him.

  But who . . . and why? One of Lanith's puppet mages? The missing students had promise. Perhaps one of them. Doubtful, but Darkhorse had no other answer.

  A slight tingling in his head scattered all other thoughts. His magical senses came alive as Darkhorse realized that a thin tendril of energy now reached out to him from the mists. It was so very faint that Darkhorse kept expecting to lose it. Immediately he began tracking the tendril's path. The nearer he got to the source, the better the chance that he would find a way to return to the Dragonrealm.

  On and on through the mist the eternal floated. The tendril never grew stronger, but neither did it weaken. Still, the longer Darkhorse followed, the more frustrated he became. Was this another tri
ck? Was he cursed to follow this trail forever? Surely at some point the tendril would cease to be . . . and that would leave him once more stranded in the middle of nowhere.

  Before him, a gaping hole burst into being.

  Darkhorse was sucked through the newborn blink hole before he could even react to its presence. His equine form stretched like so much molasses, twisting and turning until little remained that resembled any sort of animal, much less a horse. The eternal cursed the multiverse, sorcerers, and sorcery in general as he fought to keep himself from tearing into several pieces. He dared not let that happen. The cost not only to himself but the Dragonrealm in general would be too great if even one fragment of his being separated too long. He knew too well what could result from such a disaster. If the fragment survived and, worse, thrived, it might become the monster people had often thought him to be.

  Then, even as he began to believe that he could hold himself together no longer, Darkhorse fell into the Dragonrealm.

  Unable to control his flight, the shadow steed plummeted earthward . . . but it was not earth he struck, rather water. Much water.

  The splash as Darkhorse struck drowned out all other sounds. The eternal registered only that whatever lake or river he had landed in was very deep, for despite the speed with which he had fallen, he still did not touch bottom. Gradually the eternal's wild flight slowed until at last he floated, quite dazed, several feet below the surface.

  Darkhorse slowly recovered, noticing only belatedly that he was drifting along at a good rate of speed. A river, then. The shadow steed regained enough control of his body to halt his progress, then, still underwater, started the process of restructuring himself. The legs formed readily enough, but it took him several minutes to re-create his head and tail and a few minutes more to add fine detail.