General Belfour leaned forward, one hand resting on the quiver. Surreptitiously studying the shafts within the quiver, Darkhorse knew that he did not have to look far to find the horse king's assassin.
"If you've no qualms, demon steed, I'd like to take my lord and my horse, which he borrowed, and depart."
He eyed the officer. "What will happen now, General Belfour? What about his war, his dreams of conquest?"
The human straightened, his face a perfect mask. No one who met him later would realize that he had murdered his own monarch. "This war was wrong, and I am certain that the king had just come to believe that. All that would've been accomplished in the end was tearing apart the Dragonrealm, something we don't need. We had no right to start this in the first place. As senior officer, it's my duty to withdraw our forces from Dagora and return to Zuu. A royal funeral must be prepared. Then, since the king had no direct heir and his brothers are all long dead, one of his nearest kin must be chosen to take his place."
"You are his cousin, are you not, General?"
Belfour actually looked surprised. "Yes . . . I am . . . and I suppose if they ask, I'd take the throne, if only to prevent anarchy."
"I believe you would make a good monarch, General. You look to be a man who believes in peace, not conquest, a man who would realize how rich his kingdom is already. Rich enough, in fact, to aid those whose lives have been ruined by this futile war."
"Yes . . . yes, I'll do what I can."
The shadow steed nodded. "See that you do." He paused, then added, "His brother Blane was a good man."
Belfour dismounted. "Aye. He would've been a good king."
One last thought occurred to Darkhorse before he could take his leave. "What of Saress and the Order?"
"My king's last command was to kill the witch if I saw her again. Something about her disgusted him. It's a command I'll fulfill if the opportunity comes. Sorceress or not, I'll see it done." Belfour removed the shaft from Lanith, studied it, then tossed it aside. He wrestled the king's corpse onto the back of the horse he himself had just ridden, then reclaimed his own. "As for the Magical Order, Zuu prospered for centuries without mages and the like, and what's worked so well for so long is just fine with me."
"That will be good news to many." Darkhorse turned. "Fare you well, General Belfour, and good luck with your future."
"A moment," the warrior said. "Two things I'd tell you still. The first is to watch out for the drake Sssaleese in the north. The king might not have liked his kind, but he was more than willing to deal with them in order to advance things. Watch the north."
It only verified facts that Darkhorse already knew, but he nodded his thanks, nonetheless. "Sssaleese will be watched. The second part?"
Looking somewhat uncomfortable, the general finished, "If you should ever come to Zuu again, you will be welcome. I promise that. It is owed to you and yours."
Darkhorse turned and departed without a word in response. It would be a long time before he would consider returning to the kingdom of the horse people. First he would wait and see how the new monarch fared.
Aurim waited where Darkhorse had left him. The sorcerer had removed the arrow from his thigh and not only stopped the bleeding, but healed the wound, too. The shadow steed was impressed. Even for Cabe, wounds of a sorcerous nature took more time. Some wounds, like the one that had taken the Gryphon's fingers, could never be completely healed.
"I heard your conversation with the general through our link, Darkhorse." Aurim was pale but otherwise in reasonable condition, all things considered. "I heard everything."
"We can sever the link now, Aurim. " Darkhorse chose not to speak further about Belfour and his friend did not press.
"No, if you don't mind, we still have a few more things to do." The young human stood, looking stronger by the moment. "And they can't wait any longer."
Darkhorse nodded. Linked to Aurim, he knew exactly where his friend wanted to go.
The Manor.
"Mount, then. There is nothing more to keep us here any longer." The eternal could not help glancing at the scorched area that marked the last of Yureel. "Nothing at all."
Chapter Twenty-One
When at last the Bedlams had been freed and Darkhorse had been able to verify that General Belfour had kept true to his word by withdrawing the forces of Zuu from Dagora, the shadow steed made a visit to the forest kingdom. No word had come as to the Dragon King's condition. There were even rumors that he was dead, rumors that some of his fellow monarchs seemed eager to believe.
Darkhorse might not have worried save that he had not heard from Yssa since she had fled from the battle with her injured father. That Saress had been not far behind made the matter more vexsome.
The eternal materialized before one of the entrances to the drake's caverns and waited. He knew that they were aware of his presence from the beginning, so it came as no surprise when a dark-skinned human appeared from behind a tree. The middle-aged human, clad in evergreen robes that marked him as one of the reptilian monarch's senior aides, bowed before Darkhorse.
"Is there something I can do for you, demon steed?"
"I would speak to your king."
The news did not please the aide. "His Majesty is very occupied at the moment—"
"It's all right, Gyman," interjected a female voice.
Yssa stood near the cavern, her clothing and demeanor a tremendous contrast to the vital enchantress Darkhorse had come to know. While the brown and tan gown still hinted of Zuu, it covered her far more than the dresses she had worn in the past. More important, her features were devoid of all traces of pleasure at seeing her friend again.
"Yssa! You do live, then!"
His remark brought a faint smile to her face. "That should be obvious."
"And your father?"
The smile vanished. "Come see for yourself."
Darkhorse found himself standing in the chambers of the Dragon King, the enchantress beside him. On a bed formed entirely by plants of a thousand varieties, the master of the Dagora Forest lay sleeping. His chest rose slowly, with intermittent hesitations, and occasionally he twitched as if in pain.
His left forearm was gone, the stump bound with white cloths.
"He'll recover in a few weeks, but until then, I don't dare leave him." She looked over her shoulder where two sentries, one human, one not, watched. "My bro—his son and heir almost ordered him put to death, a drake tendency I've never cared for. I convinced him in the end that our father would still be able to rule well. He believed me."
"And is that so?"
"Yes."
The shadow steed turned away from the unconscious Dragon King. "What happened to Saress, Yssa?"
She looked down. "She followed us. I brought Father to the first place I could think of where I might be able to help him. I hadn't even begun before she appeared and struck me. I thought we were both dead."
"But you are not. How did you defeat her?"
"I didn't. You see, I took my father to the Barren Lands." Yssa looked again at the drake. "She knocked me to the ground and reached for Father. That was when the grass took her."
The grass? It took Darkhorse a moment. The grass had taken Saress— "Her father was of the drake clan Brown."
"Yes. You know how Cabe's spell worked. The grass knew her bloodline despite her human appearance. There was nothing I could do." She shivered. "It was over in little more than a minute."
That would save the new king of Zuu the duty of fulfilling his predecessor's last command. Darkhorse was not entirely dismayed at the fate of the sorceress.
"I really need to see to him, Darkhorse," Yssa added, indicating her parent.
He was being asked to leave already. The shadow steed saw no reason not to oblige her. When the Green Dragon was better, Darkhorse would visit Yssa again. "Very well. I am glad that you are well, Yssa."
"Wait. . ." She reached up and briefly hugged him around the neck. In a quieter yet still tense voice, she said,
"I know most of what's happened. I know you and Aurim dealt with Yureel and that the two of you also freed everyone trapped at the Manor, but I just wanted to find out if everyone is . . . feeling well."
Knowing exactly who in particular she meant, he responded, "Everyone is well. Cabe provided food and there was water and air aplenty. As for Aurim . . ." He noted the way her interest grew at mention of the lad's name. "He will never forget what Yureel put him through, but he is doing fine. His skills and confidence have grown tremendously. You should visit sometime. I think he would enjoy that."
"I doubt his mother would, though." She smiled as she said it, a sign to Darkhorse that the enchantress would be visiting soon.
"I will go now, Yssa, but I hope to see you before long." "You will. All of you. You've my gratitude for many things, Darkhorse."
With a dip of his head, the ebony stallion returned to the surface. He started to open the path to the Manor, but at the last moment chose to turn west.
A brief run brought him to the site of the battlefield. Most of the dead had been removed, but the devastation remained. No spell would restore the Dagora Forest this time. The burnt and shattered trees would have to be cleared, then new ones would be planted. Darkhorse knew the Green Dragon well enough to understand that despite the immensity of the project, the drake would see that it was done. The shadow steed wished him the very best of luck. He would try to assist. After all, it had been his brother who had caused all of this.
His brother . . . Their origins might have been linked, but from then on he and Yureel had been two entirely different creatures. There had been no love, no kinship, no sense of family. In the end, they had only existed as enemies.
"Family . . ." he whispered. In the physical sense, the eternal had no family, especially now that Yureel had destroyed himself. Still . . . he thought about the times he had shared with first Cabe, then Cabe's children. There had also been Queen Erini of Talak and her daughter. He had even shared good times with Melicard, Erini's dour husband, and the Gryphon. Even now, the Bedlams awaited his return to the Manor. Lady Bedlam had decided that a holiday festival was in order to revive everyone's spirits. She had made a special point of reminding Darkhorse to be there. Coming from Cabe's wife, that meant much.
Family . . . The shadow steed turned from the ruined forest. Come the morrow, he would do what he could to assist the inhabitants of Dagora in resurrecting the western half of their realm, but today . . . today. . .
Today he needed to be with family.
Dragon Master
Obsession wears many faces . . .
I
The bronze mask wore a smile. The entire false face, in fact, had been shaped to be jovial, with small crinkle lines at the end of the open mouth and between the arched brows. Even the eye holes had been carved to indicate merriment.
Merriment . . . or mockery.
The hood of a vast, green cloak hung just over the top edge of the mask, obscuring the rest of the wearer’s head. That same cloak draped over wizard’s robes dark brown as the figure sat upon the cracked, crumbling stone throne.
Within the mask, eyes so gray as to be almost colorless watched intently. A true mouth with just a hint of white beard surrounding it set with teeth clenched. Hands scarred and gnarled gripped the ends of the ruined arm rests.
The decrepit throne sat upon a broken dais in a huge, devastated cavern. On each side, massive, winding columns carved from the stone dwarfed the figure. Towering statues lay shattered on the floor, their identities eradicated by some explosive force. Parts of the ceiling had clearly caved in, broken stalagmites and stalactites now intermingled together in toothy displays.
“Now,” he rasped.
A tremendous roar erupted from a high, dark passage far ahead.
Through the passage burst a huge dragon, his greenish, scaly skin tinted with what could only be described as a bronze accent. He reared up, his head nearly touching the ceiling, and roared again his displeasure at his recent captivity.
Narrow, reptilian orbs of crimson marked the puny figure on the throne.
“At lassst! Now isss my vengeance! I will burn your flesh from your bonessss!” the leviathan rumbled. He inhaled, preparing a monstrous blast of flame.
The masked wizard raised his left hand and whispered, “Genin. Hala.”
From two smaller passages below him emerged a young man and woman, both clad in hooded, light green robes. Their expressions were in general blank, but their eyes focused on the beast with hatred mirroring the one who had summoned them.
The dragon paused briefly when he noticed them, then clearly dismissed the pair from his thoughts. Only his captor was of importance. As one, Genin and Hala raised their left arms, pointing at the great beast.
Lightning without any source suddenly struck the dragon from every angle. He roared in agony and astonishment, so harsh, so deadly were the attacks. Scorch marks dotted his body, the scales burnt completely through.
“Houndsss! Jackalsss!” Twisting, the winged behemoth raked at the two, but came up short when an invisible barrier suddenly blocked his way.
From the young woman, Hala, came a momentary gasp. Then, her face resuming its almost inhuman calm, she fixed her gaze again on their adversary.
“Too slow . . . ” muttered the seated figure. “You are all linked. Use that. Finish now.”
The young spellcasters nodded simultaneously.
The invisible force that had blocked the dragon’s claws now buffeted him back. At the same time, every sharp rock formation near the iron-tinted leviathan shook loose.
Now pinned against one wall, the dragon tried desperately to flame his keepers.
But before he could, scores of stalactites and stalagmites flew at him, pincushioning the bronze giant before he could exhale. He roared in agony. Great rivers of blood shot forth, splattering everything save the three tiny figures. The dragon’s roar transformed into a pathetic whimper.
The beast stilled.
Genin lowered his arm.
Hala lowered hers.
The gargantuan corpse tumbled to the cavern floor, its collapse creating a tremor that shook the entire chamber for several seconds. Genin and Hala turned their unblinking eyes to the one who commanded them.
“Better . . . ” he remarked, nodding his head slightly. “Much better . . . ”
“Thank you, Master Tragaro,” the pair piped in unison.
Without another word, they filed out the way they had come. Tragaro leaned back and stared avidly at the dragon, savoring the death.
“Soon . . . very soon . . . we shall rise again . . . ”
II
From atop his horse, the wizard Cabe Bedlam eyed the hilly landscape ahead, noting the lights flickering in the distance.
“Gordag-Ai,” he whispered. “Perhaps the answer lies there. I suppose it’s worth checking out.”
His mount, a huge, shadowy black stallion, twisted his head around at an impossible angle to look at the gray-robed figure. Startling eyes of ice-blue—eyes with no pupils—narrowed in amusement.
“After a week of running around every hill and mountain, questioning every peasant and dwarf, we’re finally going to enter the city?” the steed asked. “Truly this is a glorious day!”
“Hush, Darkhorse! Even out in this wilderness someone might hear you!”
The black stallion snorted. “What would I fear from man or drake?”
“Too many things,” his human companion returned, taking a quick look around. “Your reputation precedes you by several centuries, you know. We don’t need that now.”
Cabe Bedlam wore plain, cloth robes, the type a pilgrim might don. The hood covered most of his dark hair and, more importantly, almost all of the wide, silver streak marking him as wielder of magic, a wizard or a warlock. His face bordered on the unprepossessing, which aided in his present masquerade. No one would ever take the slightly upturned nose, broad mouth, and farmer’s jaw for the features of one of the most powerful mages in all
the Dragonrealm. In truth, Cabe came from a lineage that had produced many of the most famous and infamous spellcasters, including both his grandfather Nathan and his treacherous father, Azran.
Hidden from Azran, who had betrayed his fellow wizards, the Dragon Masters, in their war to rid the lands of the monstrous Dragon Kings, Cabe had been secreted magically for almost two centuries before his elven guardian had dared try to raise him among mortals. That mistake had started a chain of events that had seen the elf’s death, Azran’s destruction of the Red Dragon clan, and much, much more. From it, though, Cabe had emerged as a powerful force for humanity—and a leader despite his own protests.
And in the process, he had gained a wife—the fiery, magical Lady of the Amber—a family, an estate . . . and the true friendship of the legendary eternal, the enigmatic creature called Darkhorse.
Darkhorse himself came from an empty realm beyond reality, the endless Void. The shape he wore was one of his own fancy, taken when he had entered the land centuries before. If necessary, the eternal could manipulate his shape with the fluidity of water, becoming anything he desired. However, his fondness for his present form kept him from rarely doing so and the name he had gained because of his chosen appearance made his inclination to become something else even less.
He had befriended others of Cabe’s line, but Darkhorse seemed to have a special kinship with his current rider, willing to sacrifice himself if necessary to save the wizard or his family. When Cabe had informed the shadowy creature of his intended quest, Darkhorse had quickly volunteered.
In truth, the dark-haired spellcaster was grateful. When news had come to him of the disappearances, he had naturally been concerned; young men and women vanishing so near the enclaves of the Drake Confederation boded ill. However, when Cabe had heard that these were men and women who had shown some potential with magic—that had stirred worries much, much greater.
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