The spartan brown robe the corpse wore marked the dead figure as likely once a spellcaster. Wizards, warlocks, and the like made up most of the sentient visitors to the Void. Eager—or more often greedy, as Darkhorse thought them—to expand their knowledge of the arts, they often searched for sources of power beyond those of their own realms.
The eternal had come across a body from this race once before. To him, that bespoke of a people heavily immersed in magic. Of course, it also spoke to Darkhorse of a particularly foolhardy group if at least two of its members had managed to kill themselves reaching the Void.
The shadow steed drifted slowly to the body. It was in far better condition than the previous one. This owl creature looked to him as if it had perished shortly after arriving. The body was full and if not for the lack of any sign of life as Darkhorse knew it, he might have thought the spellcaster only asleep—
The eyelids shut, then opened.
Instead of the round, brown ones he had just seen, these were now as utterly black as the eternal himself.
The beak opened.
What appeared at first to be ink spilled out. Darkhorse, though, knew it as something far more horrific...and also something far more familiar. He backed away from it at a speed any mortal being would have found literally breathtaking.
The ink moved even faster.
Tendrils sprouted from the ever-growing blotch spilling from the corpse’s beak. They snared Darkhorse’s legs and neck and when the eternal tried to severe those captured pieces, he discovered to his increasing dismay that it was impossible. His appendages were suddenly as much a part of him as those of a human.
He was trapped.
The corpse stopped spewing. The body shook...and then the corpse inhaled. The ink rapidly withdrew into the beak.
With it, despite his manic struggles, went Darkhorse.
He shrieked as he entered, for he knew without yet seeing it that what lay within was not within at all. Rather, Darkhorse entered another place entirely. It was as black as the Void was white, yet, where the Void felt like an endless emptiness, here the shadow steed felt as if he were slowly being crushed or suffocated.
If Darkhorse suffered any fear beyond his ancient one where Yureel had been concerned, it was that of claustrophobia. More than once, he had been held a prisoner in small, confined places, generally macabre magical prisons wielded by a variety of sorcerous fiends. Memories of those horrific moments flashed through his mind.
No! I will not be confined!
The fear did what his determination could not. Darkhorse released raw power in every direction. The rush of energy distorted his form, leaving his limbs and head shriveled appendages barely dangling from a rippling torso.
Yet, it was enough. In the blink of an eye, the ink burned away, leaving the pure whiteness of the Void once more surrounding the shaken eternal.
But Darkhorse did not stop even then. He let the power continue to surge out of him, burning away at whatever still might try to engulf him. The shadow steed did not lessen his desperate efforts until he lacked the strength to do anything at all.
And then, with eyes newly reformed, he finally dared to look around him...dared already knowing that not only was he not alone, but that what had just sought to entrap him was also the very source of the siren song.
It filled his gaze, no minor feat in a place so empty. It was as black as pitch, understandable considering that it was of the same substance that had burst from the owl’s maw. As Darkhorse took in the jarring sight, he also both saw and felt the constant pulsations the thing produced.
I am a fool! he swore to himself. I am the greatest of fools!
There was no sense fleeing from it. His attempt to escape from where the tendrils had thrust him had done nothing but destroy the shell that had once been the owl sorcerer. The corpse had merely been a means by which the monstrous thing had sought to finish drawing Darkhorse to it. Darkhorse in particular.
He did not have to ask why. It would have been clear to anyone who looked from the huge, swirling mass to Darkhorse and then back again.
They were one and the same.
No, not quite. Darkhorse knew without understanding how he knew that this gargantuan mass was—as best as time could be measured here—far, far older than him. Indeed, far, far older than Yureel, as well. That meant one jarring thing in particular.
Ever I believed you the first creation, brother, Darkhorse thought to the late, unlamented shadow puppet. Now...now I see that you were nearly as much an infant as me...
Raw energy crackled around the dark, pulsating mass, jagged bolts of magic disappearing off in a thousand different directions. Ten times that many Darkhorses could have fit into the mass and still not matched its tremendous girth. Such power as the eternal could never have imagined gathered here as part of the thing before him.
“It is impressive, is it not?” came a sudden, familiar voice from next to Darkhorse. “But then, anything from which you were ultimately spawned would have to be so impressive, don’t you think?”
The eternal immediately shifted his eyes that direction. Not at all to his surprise, he beheld the hooded and cloaked form of a humanoid figure. The hood was so huge it hung low over the face, obscuring any features. The entire body was the same black inkiness as Darkhorse, but the overall outline was all too familiar.
“I might have known your hand would be involved,” rumbled the stallion angrily. “I might have known, Shade...”
“You might have known...” The head tipped upward, revealing at last what lay within the hood. “Or you might not have...”
The half-formed steed reared in renewed shock. What Darkhorse had expected to see and what in itself would have been a frightening image—the blurred, unreadable face that was the mark of the warlock’s curse—was not there. Instead...instead a black emptiness greeted Darkhorse’s gaze.
The same black emptiness of which the great mass and the shadow steed himself were made...
V
“You are not Shade...” But even as Darkhorse declared that, he knew that he was not exactly correct. There were subtle hints of energy that marked the warlock’s unique nature, subtle hints that nothing could have mimicked. This was Shade.
And yet...
“Call me you...this time,” the hooded shape murmured.
“Ah!” The ebony stallion understood now, but that knowledge only made his concern greater. The peculiar response by his featureless companion—a variation on the introduction each incarnation of the ageless spellcaster made upon their creation—should have also included whatever name the new Shade desired to be called. Each chose a name to differentiate itself from its predecessors in the vague hope that doing so would make it the final incarnation, the one to escape the curse of death and rebirth that also threw Shade from good to evil and back again over and over and over...
“I might have known,” Darkhorse muttered. “You—he—Shade—could never leave anything alone that might break the endless cycle. He knew about me. He knew about Yureel. He calculated that somewhere in this place he would find something...more...did he not?”
“He was certain...I was...so much power...a way to be free at last...” There was no hint of a face, but Darkhorse, long used to reading the emotions of the warlock despite such obstacles, thought that he sensed at least a hint of the original’s yearning in the black figure before him. “Markys was an ambitious one, even for one of us...”
The hooded figure kept skipping between acting as Shade and as part of...of the mass. Darkhorse cautiously considered how best to respond. “He did as he so often did, assumed too much about his own power and believed that he could control what he found. But it was too much for him, was it not?”
The shadow Shade actually shivered. “It tore us apart. Divided us into a thousand fragments still living. It had never felt or sensed anything like him be
fore. It had to taste. It had to absorb...and so it did.”
Now it was Darkhorse who shivered. He knew what that meant. He knew what the incarnation calling himself Markys had suffered, an agonizing, drawn out death. Shade had perished in so many horrible ways, but Darkhorse knew that this had been one of the most terrifying.
“And then, we learned of you. You who are us. We who are you. A so different us...an us with...with more than existence. We had to see you. We had to find you. We had to discover all you know...all you have...lived. We had to be able to experience it all ourselves.”
Darkhorse quietly sought out any potential escape. He had a fairly good idea just how the mass intended to relive all that the shadow steed had experienced. Darkhorse would be absorbed much the way the one incarnation of Shade had been, with only slightly less agony than the warlock had suffered. There was no other way.
“From me, we learned much,” the false Shade went on, indicating himself with one gloved hand. “But not enough. Not nearly enough. So much...otherness! So filled a world...worlds! We would visit them all, but we do not know how we—I—came here.” The hood moved forward. “He kept us from that. He buried the knowledge...he stole it from us! He wouldn’t let us find the way. We can touch into the worlds, taste of them, but not enough to let us completely enter!”
The voice lost all hint of Shade, becoming a booming, inhuman thing that to the shadow steed sounded so much like Yureel or Darkhorse...but without even the humanity of the former.
“Shade...” Darkhorse whispered.
The rant ceased. The hooded head tilted as if listening. The abrupt shift in action did not surprise Darkhorse, who knew well both his own and Yureel’s mercurial tendencies. Thanks to Cabe Bedlam and others, Darkhorse had gradually learned to better control that part of his nature. This thing, however, had not.
“We can be Shade...it amuses us and teaches us...but we could be others, too...we could even bey you...you could teach us in the same way...”
“But you would experience it in a different and even more fascinating way if we stay as we are!” Darkhorse quickly returned. “There would be so many unexpected things...so many surprises!”
He played on what he knew of himself and Yureel. The obsessive need to be entertained. Darkhorse had first filled that need with exploration, then with friendship. Yureel had chosen his macabre games, his tortures and twisted plots. Still, they had had some similar tastes in other ways...including one that came to Darkhorse’s mind now.
“Surprises...” continued the Shade. “I know about surprises. We learned them from him.” The figure patted its chest.
Darkhorse turned his gaze to his true foe, the enormous mass of swirling energy. “Well I have a fine surprise for you! I will give you a name!”
The mass rumbled. Darkhorse recognized the stirring as something akin to excitement.
But then the false Shade commented, “We have a name, though! A glorious name! You can call us Markys...this time.”
The shadow steed had expected just this response. “But that is a name already long used! You deserve far better than that! You deserve something more distinct! You deserve one all your own! Unique to you!”
The false Shade cocked his head the other way. “Yes! A name mine and mine alone!”
The black mass quaked. The false Shade shivered, then, in that more hollow voice said, “Ours...ours alone.”
Darkhorse pretended not to notice the brief independence shown by the floating figure. “Now, of course, it can be based on something around us or some thought or—”
“We have gathered things...”
Before Darkhorse could respond, the huge, cloudlike form began disgorging several objects. A small book drifted toward the ebony stallion. Several loose rocks scattered in different directions. They were things that had likely been collected over a long, long period. Yureel had done something similar, any actual object a rare item in the empty Void.
The, something much larger shot forth. Despite its crumpled appearance, it was still recognizable as a body. Darkhorse had expected it to be the original Shade’s, but saw that instead it was some beetlelike being with an arched back and what looked to be a belt with pouches. In contrast to the avian corpse, this one looked very shriveled, as if its life had literally been sucked out of it.
Repressing a shudder, Darkhorse tried to use the random collection to come up with something which with to distract the mass. He had created his own name by sheer circumstance; perhaps it would be possible to keep his captor occupied with trying to choose parts of the name from its ‘collection.’
“Is there more?”
“There is...more...” the Shade answered. “Do you want to see it all?”
“Of course!”
Several more objects issued forth, including another body.
A dwarven body.
Pretending mild interest in the collection as a whole, Darkhorse gradually maneuvered toward the still form. Once reaching it, he nudged it.
A faint groan escaped the dwarf. The eyes fluttered open.
“Cold...so...so damned cold...”
“We found that outside!” the false Shade announced gleefully. “We were searching for you. We’ve been searching for you ever since we found this one—” It again indicated the hooded form it had reproduced. “—and learned of you. We looked so long, in so many places...but never could find you until now...”
There again was that indication that although the mass could reach into other worlds, it could not go there itself. Why is that? Darkhorse pondered. Why is that?
He decided not to worry about it at the moment. Now his priority concerned the dwarf...or Master Thurn, as the second dwarf had called him. Darkhorse had not expected to find Master Thurn alive, but knew instantly that he could not leave him to such a fate.
A name...I must make the name creation all it focuses on! First, though, Darkhorse had to find out the limits of the mass’s power. It had found him in the hills, then in the libraries. It could trace him wherever he was and reach out within limits.
“You are very strong!” he began. “So much stronger than I am!”
“Yes, we are...” the hooded form remarked with clear pride.
“To reach into the places beyond here, even if you cannot go there yourself! I am so very impressed!”
“Yes, we are strong...” But this time, there was a hint of frustration. “Very strong...”
Darkhorse did a calculation based on what he had seen thus far. His gaze turned to one of the pieces of rock floating away. “Enough of that now! Your name! That piece over there! I have an idea! Retrieve it for us!”
The mass rumbled. The false Shade remained in place, saying, “You will retrieve it.”
“But I cannot without your permission!” It was true as far as the shadow steed could see. His several surreptitious attempts to pull free had utterly failed. He was very much a prisoner, with his mobility limited to the nearby vicinity of his monstrous captor.
“You will retrieve it,” the hooded form repeated.
A shiver ran through Darkhorse, followed by a feeling as if some massive blanket had just been pulled off of him. He started after the rock, waiting for something to pull him back before he reached it.
Nothing happened. The ebony stallion created an arm and used the primitive hand from it to grab the rock.
The oppressive sensation overtook Darkhorse once more. He found himself floating back. Only when he hovered near his original position did his movement cease.
So...there is the truth of it, Darkhorse realized. It cannot move from this position! It is fixed here!
“We want a name...” the Shade muttered dangerously.
“Of course, of course!” The shadow steed eyed everything around him. He thought long and hard about how both he and Yureel had gotten their names. Yureel’s was a simple twistin
g of the shocked words by the first person to see him. ‘You’re real.’ The simplicity would have had a comic nature if not for Yureel’s awful nature.
But despite that knowledge, nothing Darkhorse peered at satisfied him. If he made the wrong choice, the mass might just as easily decide that a used name was good enough. If that happened, Darkhorse believed that both he and Master Thurn would quickly after find themselves a permanent part of the mass. They would be gradually absorbed, just as Shade’s incarnation had been.
Another slight moan escaped Master Thurn. Darkhorse eyed the stricken dwarf.
Out of desperation, he tested out a sound. “Dwar...dwar...”
“Is that our name?” the Shade piped up with abrupt eagerness. “Is that it?”
“Dwar...” Darkhorse declared loudly. “The beginning of it, yes! Dwar! A very strong beginning!”
“We are Dwar...I am Dwar...”
The shadowy stallion shook his head. “No! This is only the first step! Now we must—”
“But I like Dwar!” the hooded shape persisted. “I am Dwar.”
Several powerful human epithets threatened to escape Darkhorse. Things were proceeding too fast. He had yet to discover a way to escape.
“DwarDwarDwarDwarDwar...” the false Shade repeated over and over. “Dwar. Dwar. I—we—are Dwar. We are Dwar.”
“Yes, Dwar.” Darkhorse peered at Master Thurn. “Now—”
“Now...you will take me from here! I will be free! Dwar will be free!”
This time, some of the epithets did escape. Darkhorse seized up Master Thurn and tried his best to retreat.
Instead, an invisible force flung he and the dwarf toward the hooded figure. As they neared, the false Shade reached out as if to embrace Darkhorse.
The hood fell back. The inky head became a wide, open maw, a great black pit into which Darkhorse could not stop himself from falling.
He threw Master Thurn to the side at the last moment. Then, losing all cohesion, Darkhorse spilled into the false Shade’s maw—
Legends of the Dragonrealm Page 21
