Darkhorse pushed himself harder, only now realizing how accustomed he was to his magical abilities. Though he raced more swiftly than any common horse, the pace was infinitely slower than travelling the path beyond. Seconds, even minutes, had now become hours.
Hours he might not have.
What was occurring in Talak worried him also, but there was nothing he could do, and speaking to Cabe Bedlam and the Lady of the Amber was paramount. The city-state of mad Melicard would have to wait, despite the debt he owed its future queen—future queen only if Talak had a future. Darkhorse needed the mortal’s aid.
Time continued to be his enemy, passing with a swiftness he could never match at his best. Night came, grew old, and began to dissolve. The lands of Esedi, where the Bronze Dragon had once ruled and where Gordag-Ai was situated, had given way to the southwest edge of cursed Silver’s domain. As the sun began to climb, relief touched him. He was now in a region on fair terms with humanity and the Bedlams, the forest lands of the Green Dragon. Through the hateful words of Melicard and the confusing ones of Drayfitt, the stallion had learned how this one drake lord had done the unthinkable, worked it so that there might be a place for both races, so that his own would survive and not give way, which was inevitable to all save the other Dragon Kings.
His hooves grazed the tops of the tallest trees. Something large stirred and fluttered away into the depths of the woods below. Darkhorse thought it at first a small drake, but the glimpse he had of it showed it to be birdlike, yet with the shape and form of a man as well.
Seeker.
There were very few of them now. The brief, horrible winter that had taken place a year after the shadow steed’s exile had apparently claimed many of these once-mighty rulers, predecessors to the Dragon Kings themselves. Confidentially, Drayfitt had indicated that the hordes of hungry, gigantic, digging creatures from the Northern Wastes, monstrosities who had followed the soul-numbing chill southward, had been responsible for the depletion of their numbers more than anything else.
Darkhorse, suddenly hesitated, almost landing on top of a tree. Of all creatures, the Seekers would surely know the Vraad. The avians had controlled this land before the coming of that race of men—and had fallen afterward to the might of the upstart drakes. Perhaps the Vraad had had something to do with that, though it was also possible they had no longer existed as a race by then. Something had changed their descendants into the humans of today. It was a time period that the eternal knew little about, having only known it through encounters with one Vraad, a good man. The shadow steed had not returned to this reality until long after the Dragon Kings had established their rule, long enough for all to have died who might have answered him.
Turning, Darkhorse dove into the forest. If he could only catch the Seeker…
The foliage whipped about the stallion as he entered the forest. The change in his form from phantasm to solid flesh startled him, as it had not been his desire. Darkhorse slowed and landed hooves-first on the ground, leaving deep imprints.
Thanks to the thick vegetation, it was impossible to locate the avian by normal sight. Those other senses that should have been able to aid him in his search failed just as miserably. The Seeker was nowhere to be found. Darkhorse trotted cautiously through the forest in the direction of his original goal, the Manor, while probing the visible world and those beyond for some sign of the Seeker or of any other creature out of the ordinary. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that the Green Dragon might not see him as the ally and friend of the warlock Bedlam. As peace-minded as this particular Dragon King had seemed, he might still consider Darkhorse as the enemy of all drakes.
He came upon a path that showed signs of regular use and chose to follow it, trying to indicate to any hidden sentinels of the Green Dragon that he was friendly. In times past he had travelled this region unharmed, but one could never completely trust what had once been. Perhaps the monarch of the Dagora Forest had not sought his death simply because of his strength. A struggle between titans would have destroyed this wooded land that the drake loved so much. Now, though, he was dealing with a much weakened stallion, a much more tempting target to those who believed they had a legitimate reason for vengeance.
Still the Seeker evaded his senses. It had either been able to shield itself or had fled long before. He knew the power of the avians could be formidable and that they might find him a useful tool in their efforts to regain the Dragonrealm, but if this was a trap, it was an odd one. Darkhorse cursed his present state; he was no longer certain if he could trust what his senses told him.
Darkhorse moved through the woods. The hours continued to become new memories, most of those concerning traipsing through endless forest and all thought of the Seeker was gradually abandoned as the shadow steed passed by tree after identical tree. As much as Darkhorse enjoyed nature, he soon lost all admiration for the color green. There was just too much of it. He was tempted to take to the sky again, but, with his abilities questionable, he preferred to be where he had the best chance of spotting hidden watchers, as futile as that seemed at the moment. The lush treetops made it virtually impossible to see anyone, either in the branches or on the ground. Here, at least, he could study both areas more thoroughly. His eyes and ears were now his foremost senses; they were far sharper than those of his animal counterparts’ and thus afforded him a fairly accurate picture of what lurked nearby.
Though he appeared to be alone, he soon discovered that there were others. Those nearby, insofar as his limited skills could tell him, included small animals, a variety of birds and insects, and three creatures of vague shape and identity who could only be servants of the forest’s master. It was possible, then, that there was presently a welcoming party of some sort on their way. Whether they would merely follow and shadow him was debatable. They would be there, however.
The land before him began to take on a familiar appearance. Darkhorse slowed to a more cautious pace, knowing that, like his cage, what he sought would be invisible to the eye. A decade was long enough in the mortal plane for an entire world to rearrange itself and, though he was not completely certain he had arrived at the outer grounds of young Bedlam’s sanctum, it was best to approach things with the thought of traps in mind.
Darkhorse neared a copse of trees that had grown so close to one another as to be one. The shadow steed knew with little more than a glance that magic had been at work, for the trees wrapped around one another as loved ones might. The sight was a marker of sorts, for it told him that he was indeed close to his destination. The Manor grounds could be no more than—
He felt a great desire to go no farther. It was as if something pungent had been left under his nose. Darkhorse throttled back several steps, trying to recover. He snorted and glared at the location of the aromatic assault.
“Come now, Amber Lady,” he jeered, certain that the horrid scent was a product of the Lady Gwen, Cabe’s mate. “A little smell will not repel your enemies—nor those you insist of thinking as your enemies!”
The jet-black stallion reared and charged swiftly forward.
He found himself running the way he had come from.
“What?!” Darkhorse came to a dust-filled halt. He turned and stared at the direction he had originally charged. There was nothing to indicate when and how he had been turned. The spell was one of the smoothest he could recall seeing in centuries. Unlike many, there had been no sense of reversal, no noticeable tingling.
“Perhaps I’ve underestimated you, Lady Gwen!” He backed up and charged again, building his own defenses as he ran. No mere reversal spell would stop him this time.
It did not—but the sudden panic that he must have been mad to have even come this close to such a deadly, horrifying place sent him reeling back out of control.
Some distance from the stunning attack of nerves, he gathered himself. Darkhorse eyed his destination, then reared back his head and laughed. “My compliments, Lady of the Amber! This is far more an annoyance and far more creative
than the original spell!”
She had placed at least three spells over the magical barrier that protected the Bedlams and their people from outsiders, and Darkhorse was not yet ready to see if there was a fourth. Each had been progressively better, and he suspected that any deeper level would stop being a deterrent and start becoming very, very painful. That left the eternal very few options. Once, when he had first met the confused young mortal name Cabe Bedlam, a Cabe who did not understand who he was and why the concerted efforts of more than one Dragon King had been focused on him, the shadow steed had called out in his mind to the untrained warlock. Had not Cabe responded, the sorcerer would have fallen victim to the wiles of three temptresses, drakes in human disguise. Now, with his powers failing, Darkhorse would have to try again. Out of sheer pride, the shadow steed hesitated, but, in the end, there was not better way.
Slowly, his concentration on the mind of his human ally, Darkhorse made his way around the edges of the barrier. It was ironic, he realized, that he who had spent so much time fighting to free himself from one cage was now desperately seeking entry to another, possibly deadlier one.
Minutes passed. There was no response. He could not even feel the presence of another mind, though that did not necessarily mean anything. It was possible that this new series of spells, so intricate compared to the old one placed on it by one of the Manor’s former tenants, also shielded those within from his silent plea. If so, he might find himself circling the grounds hour upon hour until either of the spellcasters or one of their servants happened to step without. Darkhorse’s eyes narrowed to slits as he thought of the time wasted.
When he had circled the warlock’s domain once, he paused, trying to assess the situation in the hopes that he had missed something earlier. The sun was almost gone and, standing in the midst of the deepest, darkest forest, Darkhorse was already in deep shadow. In a fit of unleashed fury, he gave up all thought of appearance and caution and, backing just a bit away from the edge of the barrier, called out in his loudest voice.
“Cabe Bedlam! Come! Give me entrance! I am Darkhorse, your friend and ally! Hurry, before the hand of Shade tears at the foundation of the Dragonrealm and lays waste to all!” A bit flowery, he decided once he had finished, but it will bring him to me! It must!
Several seconds later, something began to rustle through the brush. It kept itself well hidden behind the trees and bushes, but Darkhorse soon saw that it was too small to be a human of Cabe’s size.
“Darkhorse.” It was a statement, a child’s statement, but with something odd about its tone.
“I will not harm you, youngling! I am indeed Darkhorse, friend and ally to the master of this place!” He tried to talk soothingly.
The boy moved closer, though he still kept himself fairly obscured. There was something a bit odd about his gait and his breathing was fast, as if he had been running. Perhaps he had. He might have been far from this place when he heard Darkhorse.
“Come closer to me, youngling! I mean no harm! If you will take a message to the warlock Cabe Bedlam, I’ll be forever in your debt!”
“I don’t like you. Go away.”
Darkhorse kicked at the ground. He had little experience in dealing with young. Better a trial of combat with a Dragon King than to have to try to placate a child. It was a wonder humans survived to adulthood. “Your sire would do well to teach you manners, youngling!”
The boy straightened and hissed. Darkhorse, about to add further in the hopes that what humans termed a scolding would make the child obey him, hesitated. The boy’s reaction was too violent, too—
“My sssire is dead.”
The words were far too chilling for a human. The ebony stallion voiced his next words quietly and calmly. “You have my sorrow. Who was your sire, young one?”
He knew it would not be Cabe Bedlam, not after hearing the sibilant tones. It seemed impossible that the child before him could be what he believed it was.
As if emboldened by the question of his heritage, the boy stepped out of hiding. From his height, he was likely a decade old, maybe a year or two more. His height was the least of his characteristics. Darkhorse, who had once again come to believe that he had seen everything, found that the child left him speechless.
He had dark hair that flashed a hint of gold. His eyes were narrow, red ovals that burned bright in the darkness. His nose was tiny, almost imperceptible, and his mouth had a cruel yet majestic cut to it, thin-lipped and knowing. He was a child with a mind beyond his years.
The boy was handsome, but in an inhuman way.
The layer of scale that covered his face told the shadow steed what he was even before the boy opened his mouth and revealed sharp teeth and a tongue slightly forked. This close, Darkhorse could see the hatred in his eyes, an overwhelming hatred that no young one should have been allowed to grow up with. It had already twisted him.
“My sire’sss color wasss gold. My sire wasss an emperor.” The drake child stared resolutely into the eyes of Darkhorse—and it was the eternal who looked away first.
The hatchling of the Dragon King Gold triumphantly added, “I will be emperor, too.”
XII
KYL! WHERE ARE you?”
The unnerving drake child turned at the sound of a voice obviously familiar to him. Darkhorse looked up in the direction of the newcomer’s voice as well. He knew who it was who called out, though it was hard to believe that something had turned out right for once.
“There, guardian! He’s there!”
“I see him, Grath. I see—Darkhorse!”
The shadow steed dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Greetings to you, good friend Cabe!”
Kyl, his visage now a mask hiding his earlier savagery, stepped aside as he watched the lean human clad in dark blue robes approach, accompanied by another child. Ten years had and had not changed Cabe Bedlam. With his masterful abilities, he could extend his lifespan and keep himself young for three hundred years or so, possibly longer if violent death, a common problem among spellcasters, did not claim him. He seemed taller, though that might be because of the confidence with which he walked. Cabe looked exactly as he had years before, like a youth in his twenties, but only until one studied his roughly handsome features. The basic face had not changed—attentive eyes that kept track of the disobedient hatchling while still maintaining a focus on Darkhorse, a nose slightly turned, and a strong chin reminiscent of his grandfather, Nathan. Yet, put together, they had an age and experience to them that had not been there before.
He will be greater than his father and his grandfather, the stallion decided. May he live a more peaceful, fruitful life than they.
“Darkhorse!” With a bit of wonder recalled from their time together, Cabe reached out to touch the shadow steed. However, just before he reached the limits of the protective barrier, he paused. His eyes narrowed and literally blazed with built-up power. The great silver streak in his otherwise dark hair seemed to glitter. “You are Darkhorse, aren’t you? I’d hate to think what I might do if I found you were some drake from the Storm Lands or from Lochivar who thought he could sneak in here in the guise of an old and trusted friend. I might do something very, very damaging to you—say, turn you inside out.”
Darkhorse laughed. “Friend Cabe, you have picked up a wicked streak in the years since we met! Of course, I am Darkhorse! Who would dare or want to be me, I ask you?”
To the side, Kyl, whose face had become animated at the talk of damage, lost interest again. The other boy—now the shadow steed saw that this, too, was a drake, but one more human, more gentle—looked relieved.
Cabe’s grin returned. “Enter freely, then, old friend.”
It was as if a portal had opened up in the protective barrier that had for so long frustrated him. Darkhorse stepped through as the others backed up to give him space. Grath, the other hatchling, wanted to touch him, but Kyl suddenly shook his head and hissed, “He’ll suck you in and sssend you to the dark places!”
“
That’ll be enough of that!” Cabe reprimanded. He looked up at his former companion and apologized. “He hears the tales from other drakes—and humans, too. Stories, but what can I do? They’ve been around longer than me.”
“Perhaps it might be best if I altered my appearance a little.” Darkhorse became a true stallion, even altering the appearance of his eyes. “Is that better?”
“Much.”
“I should speak to you as soon as we have some privacy, young Cabe! It concerns my—return—to your land.”
As the four of them started out for the Manor, the warlock nodded. “I thought so. I didn’t think you were ever coming back. The Gryphon said you’d sacrificed yourself to keep Sh—”
“Of that we shall talk—when we have more privacy, if you don’t mind.” He indicated the hatchlings, both of whom were openly curious about what the two were saying.
“Sorry.”
Darkhorse shook his head. “There is no reason to be sorry! Come! While we have a few moments, tell me of yourself and what has become of the Gryphon. I only know tales that have been told to me by untrustworthy sources.”
Cabe informed him first of the Gryphon’s journey across the Eastern Seas to the land of his birth. The Gryphon had discovered his people, the denizens of some place called the Dream Lands, under siege by the black-armored wolf raiders, the Aramites. D’Shay, a particular wolf raider who had dealt with various Dragon Kings over a period of time, had evidently survived an encounter in Penacles that once supposedly had climaxed with his death. The missives, delivered to the Dragonrealm by drake ships of the neutral city of Irillian, did not go into detail on the subject of D’Shay. For the past few years, though, the lionbird had been aiding the revolt of many of the Aramites’ conquered enemies. The wolf raiders’ empire was crumbling, but it was a slow, bloody conflict. The ebony-armored soldiers had not conquered most of their continent by luck.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 16
