Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  While he appreciated her efforts, Darkhorse wished that he could tell Rebatha to hurry and remove the saddle and bridle. Unfortunately, the spell of silence prevented that and it appeared that the woman did not realize that it was the equipment that prevented the eternal from escaping.

  "I'm going to untie the rope and lead you away. Is there anything you can do, then?"

  The saddle! The bridle! Can you not see that they are the reason I can do nothing? He twisted his head, trying to indicate the items, but Rebatha still did not understand what he wanted. As the woman turned to undo the reins from the tree, Darkhorse gave up his attempt to communicate. If he could at least escape into the forest, then it might be possible to find someone who would remove the magical bonds from him.

  "I don't know what else to do," she whispered, tossing the reins over his back. "I'd better leave before they notice me missing. Can you escape on your own?"

  At last something to which he could reply. Darkhorse nodded vigorously. Rebatha blinked, then began to back away.

  "Good luck . . . I guess. I'd better leave before anyone notices."

  The warrior vanished back into the camp; her departure as silent as her arrival. Darkhorse watched her until he was certain that she was safely away, thinking all the while of the bravery of Trenlen and his daughters. They had already risked much for him, a creature who they did not even really know. It now behooved him to make those risks pay off.

  He moved slowly from his position, both because he feared disturbing Lanith and because of the possible danger of snagging the loose reins on a limb. No sentries were in sight, but they had to be nearby. However, the sentries were not as great a concern to him as the sorcerers were. Depending on what spells they had cast, they might take notice of him disappearing into the forest. If so, he hoped that they would simply think him some warrior's mount that had accidentally wandered off and assume that his master would soon retrieve him. By the time they realized otherwise, Darkhorse hoped to be far away and free of his bonds.

  It does not matter whether they notice me or not, though, does it? I have no real choice, do I? This is my only opportunity to escape! With careful steps, he wended his way to the nearest path wide enough to enable him to enter the forest, then plunged in. He felt nothing as he passed through the area of the spell, but that did not mean that he had left the camp unnoticed by the sorcerers. Darkhorse chose not to worry about them, his path to freedom more important. The saddle and bridle prevented him from squeezing through extremely narrow gaps, which meant he had to constantly shift direction every time he was confronted by a breach too small. This slowed his flight, but at the same time meant that any pursuit would in turn be slowed.

  That his opportunity had come so quickly had been surprising at first, but in retrospect could have possibly been predicted. Lanith could not help thinking of him as a horse even though he should have known better. Yureel clearly had many other deeds of evil to attend to, so he also had left the seemingly helpless shadow steed alone, probably on the assumption that the king would pay more attention to the guarding of his new prize. Aurim, the only other one who might have been concerned with Darkhorse, was trying to recover from the heavy stress caused by his monumental part in the Order's tasks. As for Lanith's warriors, their only concern was the asof-yet unseen enemy.

  The path continued to be treacherous and was made worse by the fact that the saddle and bridle forced Darkhorse to remain solid. That meant that each step, each movement, caused branches and foliage to rustle or crunch. To Darkhorse, each noise echoed through the forest with the reverberation of a thunderclap. How did mortal creatures survive such racket?

  Adding to his misery were the reins, which had long slipped off his back and since then had been catching on every other tree limb or bush he passed. It was a wonder he was making any progress at all, but fortunately, pursuit had yet to materialize.

  Perhaps no one will discover my absence until the morning. He hoped so, but dared not slow down. The farther, the better—

  The reins grew taut again. Darkhorse pulled up short. He was beginning to despise the disorder of the forest. The shadow steed backed up, trying to see what limb had snared him this time.

  Instead of a tree, however, he discovered the reins in the hands of a being startling even to him, a being more at home in the forest than an elf.

  "Little horse, little horse, where is your rider?" The figure, no more than five feet tall, resembled a tree herself. With his superior vision, one of the few attributes left to him, Dark- horse noted the barklike skin and leafy hair. She was nearly the same shade as the tree next to her. Her features were somewhat human, somewhat elfin, and very youthful. Some males of either species would have probably found her very exotic, although based on what little knowledge he had of tree sprites, any relationship between her and a male of another race would have been short and deadly. Tree sprites were born from shoots broken off and nurtured by their mother sprite; males of any sort were considered little more than sport and, when the woodland creatures were done with them, excellent planting soil. Only their fear of the Green Dragon kept them from mischief, that and their rarity. Few shoots took root and fewer still survived to maturity.

  Whether she now acted as a sentinel for the drake lord or simply dwelled nearby, Darkhorse saw in her the possibility of either freeing himself or, at the very least, being led to the Green Dragon. The tree sprite would have no need for him and certainly a being as magical as she could see that he was no normal steed.

  Darkhorse tried to indicate his predicament, but she pulled hard on the reins. "Little horse, come with me."

  With strength far greater than that of a dozen men twice her size, the sprite pulled Darkhorse toward her. To his surprise, the eternal discovered that he had to obey; the same spell that gave Lanith control over him now worked for her. So long as she held the reins, the sprite was in command. Aurim had been very thorough with his spell.

  If she takes me to the drake none of this will matter. That must be where she goes. What else would she plan?

  "Come, come!" The sprite led him along a path that looked impenetrable at first, but seemed to open up just before them as they proceeded. However, while it was somewhat difficult to see the night sky from within the forest, Darkhorse quickly realized that he and his companion were heading southeast, not northeast, which would have brought him toward the caverns of the Green Dragon.

  What is she up to?

  It did not take long to discover the answer to that. The sprite led him to a secluded location where what first appeared to be a young sapling about two feet tall grew. However, the sapling twisted toward the sprite as they neared. Darkhorse's companion had led him to her offspring.

  "Little one, do you see what I brought you? You will grow big and strong with this."

  The sprite was not a guardian posted by the Dragon King; she was a mother seeking sustenance for her child. He noted the remnants of a pair of small animals nearby and a much larger mound that indicated that something roughly the size of a man had been buried there quite some time before. The sprite intended to slaughter Darkhorse and add his body to the sapling's larder. With such sustenance to support it, the sapling would grow into a more mobile sprite in only a few weeks.

  The immature creature continued to lean toward them, reminding Darkhorse of the grass in the Barren Lands. The grass might have been harmless, but this creature certainly was not. Nor was her progenitor.

  "Good little horse . . ." The delicate-seeming hands of the sprite had altered into long, wicked claws. She meant to tear open his throat.

  Darkhorse could not move, but he was hardly fearful. A captive of the bridle and saddle he might be, but the eternal was still no creature of flesh and blood.

  The sprite raised one hand, then slashed at his neck . . . only to have her claws glance off. She hissed, trying again. This time, the forest creature nearly broke one of her claws. Her second failure left her livid. Her other hand became entangled in the rein
s, causing her to try to tear it off. When that failed, the sprite moved closer and inspected the bridle.

  "Sorcery?" Her interest piqued, she ran her hands over the saddle. Her tone grew merry. "Little horse, you have a pretty, pretty saddle . . . a pretty saddle that makes you so tough- skinned, yes? Must not get it bloody. Must take it off."

  Still convinced that she could slaughter Darkhorse for food, the sprite worked at the fastenings of the saddle. Darkhorse stood as still as possible, not wanting to disturb the sprite's precarious attention span. Once he was free, she would see what it meant to threaten lives.

  "Here," she whispered. "Here." The sprite tugged at the fastenings. They did not seem to want to open at first, but gradually Darkhorse felt her loosen the buckle.

  "Please don't do that."

  No, it cannot happen now! Not when lam so close! Dark- horse glanced to his side, already knowing who it was who had discovered them. Aurim. The sorcerer looked and sounded almost sad as he studied the eternal.

  "I'm almost sorry you didn't make it." The young sorcerer reached out, as if trying to seize the reins from where he stood despite the fact that they were well out of his reach. "But now I'm going to have to take you back, Darkhorse."

  Chapter Twelve

  With one last tug on the partially loosened saddle, the tree sprite looked around Darkhorse at Aurim. The shadow steed stared bitterly at his friend, frustrated that he had come so close to freedom, only to have it torn away from him.

  The sprite's demeanor shifted the moment she realized what stood before her. All savagery vanished. She was now a delicate, vulnerable creature . . . and very much female. It was this she emphasized most as she moved closer to the sorcerer. Her movements were more natural than those of Saress, but still of the same school of seduction.

  "Pretty, pretty man. Is this your horse? He's very pretty, too. Do you think I am pretty?" She was nearly close enough to put her arms around him. Whether the nymph hoped to seduce Aurim first or simply crush him with her incredible strength was a question Darkhorse would never know the answer to, for Aurim suddenly raised his hands to eye level, then brought them down toward the tree sprite.

  He barely touched her, but the sprite transformed. She hardly had time to gasp as her arms stiffened and lengthened and her legs melded into one. Her feet sank into the soil, growing roots as they did. The sprite's face all but vanished as her neck thickened and her hair became a leafy canopy.

  A few seconds later, where once she had stood, there was now a miniature yet adult tree.

  "I'm sorry," murmured Aurim. His interest in the sprite faded. "You should've known someone would notice you pass through the detection spell we placed around the encampment, Darkhorse. You only got this far because the sorcerers on duty didn't make anything of it at first, but out of fear of the king's wrath and probably Saress's as well, they finally woke me."

  Darkhorse twisted around to better face his friend. Aurim's brief moment of regret for the eternal had clearly passed and once more Yureel's spell held sway. Fortunately, it appeared that Yureel himself was not present. That meant that the shadow steed had only Aurim's affected mind to deal with.

  What could he do against the sorcerer, though? So long as the bridle and saddle were attached, Darkhorse was little more than an obedient animal.

  "Why don't you come to me, Darkhorse?" Aurim asked hesitantly. "You know I don't want to hurt you, but I've got to if you don't come willingly."

  He sounded too sincere to be simply mouthing the words of Yureel. Aurim's will was stronger than even the shadow steed would have believed. Perhaps with a little more time, he can free himself!

  What might happen in the future did not matter now, though. Aurim might be fighting against the spell that controlled him, but for now he was still a thrall to Yureel. Darkhorse wanted to go to his young friend and help him, but he could not do that until he himself was free and that was hardly what Aurim had in mind at the moment.

  He backed away. So long as the sorcerer did not touch the reins, Aurim could not command Darkhorse to do anything. The reins seemed to be the key to controlling the eternal’s actions.

  "Please don't do this, Darkhorse. He'll make me hurt you. I won't be able to stop myself. It's taken me this much just to keep from attacking already. I—I don't think I'm strong enough to free myself from his will."

  But you can! the shadow steed tried to roar. However, no sound, not even a whinny, escaped him. The spell of silence still held. Darkhorse's frustration grew tenfold. He had to be able to talk, he had to be able to tell Aurim—

  "You are not completely his!”

  The words startled both of them. Darkhorse blinked, then laughed. Aurim took a step back, hands raised. He seemed caught between attacking and retreating.

  Darkhorse reared, kicking out with his hooves. The shadow steed had no intention of striking Aurim, but he wanted to keep the sorcerer off-guard for the moment. His unexpected success against the spell of silence encouraged him, but he could still sense that complete freedom was not his. The sprite had loosened the saddle, but while Darkhorse could feel it shifting back and forth, it was still attached to him. So was the bridle. He had regained some of his abilities, but not nearly enough.

  Aurim, however, did not yet realize Darkhorse's dilemma. The stallion had to use that to his advantage. "I do not want to hurt you, either, Aurim, so I tell you now to stay back! You are not responsible for yourself! It is Yureel and Lanith who are the true enemies! You know that! Fight their control!"

  "I—" The human shook his head. "You have to—"

  His demeanor shifted, going from confusion to mockery. Darkhorse vaguely sensed a new presence. It was not exactly here, but its attention was.

  Yureel! The shadow puppet had evidently discovered Darkhorse's escape and had linked to the sorcerer in order to recapture the stallion. The transference of control was slower this time, however, possibly a sign that Aurim had indeed shaken off part of the spell. Unfortunately, Darkhorse knew that Cabe's son was not yet strong enough to do more than delay the inevitable.

  "Darkhorse . . ." The true Aurim momentarily broke through. Tears coursed down his face. "I can't—"

  He suddenly seized his head and screamed. Darkhorse fell back, not at all certain what to make of the human's mad struggle. He wanted to help Aurim, but did not know exactly how. A part of him suggested running since nothing would be gained by both of them being captured. Only by regaining his own complete freedom could the shadow steed hope to help his companion recover his own.

  Yet he made no move to depart. Aurim's struggle was so desperate, Darkhorse feared that the lad might be injured or worse. That he could do nothing to help made the matter that much more terrible.

  Aurim screamed again. Darkhorse took a tentative step toward him.

  The sorcerer gasped, then collapsed.

  "Aurim!" Heedless of the possibility of a trap, Darkhorse trotted over to the still figure and inspected him. Aurim Bedlam was definitely unconscious. His breathing was slightly ragged, but steady. Even in the shadows of the night, the ebony stallion could see how pale and drawn the human was.

  When the sorcerer still did not move, Darkhorse gently nudged Aurim's side with his muzzle. The human might have been dead, so limp had he become. Only his regular breathing kept the eternal from fearing the worst. Still, Aurim could not be all that well, not after such a titanic struggle. Darkhorse was amazed at the young man's incredible will. To have battled Yureel to this point . . .

  I have to do something! I cannot simply leave him here. Now there is the chance to completely rid him of Yureel's foul touch. One major problem faced the eternal, though. How was he to move Aurim anywhere? The saddle and bridle still kept him trapped in a solid equine form, useless for lifting objects as large as the sorcerer's body, much less tossing them up onto his back.

  He had only one slim hope. If his power was great enough to remove the fairly simplistic spell of silence, then perhaps, just perhaps, Darkhorse had enoug
h ability to levitate the sorcerer. It was worth a try; he had no other ideas.

  Thanks to the saddle and bridle, the shadow steed could not even estimate how much of his power he now controlled. He could only concentrate and hope that he did not fail. Levitating a heavy, still body was in some ways a much more complicated task than removing a minor spell such as the one that had kept him silent. Removing the simple silence spell had required only momentary effort; levitation demanded constant concentration and a steady flow of energy throughout the entire process.

  Darkhorse focused on Aurim and imagined him slowly rising into the air. At first he grew optimistic; Aurim's arm rose, followed gradually by the rest of his form. However, Darkhorse managed to raise the sorcerer only a few inches high before he lost control and Aurim dropped back to the earth.

  I will not be denied! Darkhorse readied himself and tried again, throwing his will into the task as he had not done in centuries. He was hardly used to such a relatively minor feat being so straining. He was Darkhorse, after all. No spell so simple should have defied him so.

  Perhaps fueled by his growing ire, his second effort met with better success. Aurim's body shot up more than six feet into the air and would have risen even farther if not for the eternal's quick thinking. He regained control of the floating form, then immediately summoned the sorcerer toward him, keeping his concentration steady.

  Darkhorse's most unsettling moment came at the very end, just after he had grown confident enough to believe success a certainty. He lowered Aurim to his back, but just as he was about to release his hold on the unconscious human, the loose saddle shifted somewhat. Aurim nearly slipped head first from the shadow steed's back. It was only through quick concentration that Darkhorse saved his young friend.