Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  For one of his vast experience, the spell was nothing to perform. He felt the tingle as the blade became attuned. It would lead him along the path Cabe and Darkhorse had followed. The lionbird never considered following the magical trail left by the demon steed. As unique as that trail was, enough time had passed that following it would be more troublesome than what he was doing now. A physical object was always better, even in this case.

  His hand and the blade once more buried in the voluminous folds of his cloak, he set out. The vague trail that most every spellcaster left led the Gryphon toward one of the countless stables he knew dotted the city. Likely Darkhorse had been stabled there. The trail grew confusing, however, which meant that not only had Cabe spent much time here, but he had moved around quite a bit in the nearby vicinity.

  Some might have questioned the need to search at all, considering that the dark-haired spellcaster’s last message had mentioned the hills of Esedi, but the Gryphon was concerned with more than just his human friend. The Lady Gwen had not been entirely forthcoming, but he was certain that she was very concerned too with what had happened in Zuu. Cabe’s note was deceptively matter-of-fact. So much so, in fact, that the lionbird had agreed with the enchantress’s assumption that Zuu had not been a simple pause in the warlock’s journey.

  Gwendolyn’s concern was for the health and well-being of her mate. The Gryphon’s concern included Cabe, but also the potential danger Zuu might now represent. Not merely Zuu, either. For all he knew there were already Aramite spies in the city. Again, the raiders were nothing if not efficient.

  Much had happened at the stable, of that he was certain. That along with what he had heard verified much. He would have to relay his knowledge to Toos once this was over, assuming that the lanky former mercenary did not already know. This kingdom would bear watching.

  It was impossible to avoid other folk, but this was hardly the first time the Gryphon had performed such covert activity. His every step was carefully planned despite how casual his actions might appear to an onlooker. At the stables he toyed with one of his boots, acting as if something had slipped inside and was now causing him annoyance. Dressed as an outsider and already having been in more than one tavern, it was hardly surprising that he also staggered to and fro a bit as he walked. Since he was clearly a visitor it was also no surprise that he would be glancing around at everything.

  The trail left the stables simple enough, but near one of the local establishments, a strong pull made him turn. He stared at the well-lit entrance to a place called Belfour’s Champion. There was another trail leading off into the far streets, but this one was stronger, almost as if it were so recent it had not had time to dissipate.

  Now what do we have here? There was no reason for Cabe’s return to Zuu. Knowing the human as he did, if Cabe had finished his mission, he would have returned home to the Manor the instant it was possible for him to do so. Yet, the blade tingled as if the warlock himself sat inside.

  Only one way to discover the truth.

  He entered the inn, all but ignoring the enticing smells. Belfour’s Champion was a bustling place and it was everything he could do just to scan the crowd while not looking suspicious. The blade hidden in his hand gave him focus. He carefully stumbled in the direction, noting with satisfaction that there were a few empty spots on some of the benches ahead of him. Should it become necessary, he could take one and pretend to wait for a serving girl while he continued to search.

  The Gryphon passed around the shapely backside of a particularly fetching girl, then immediately dodged by two very overstuffed patrons on their way out. He paused to get his bearings and could not help but frown. The direction had now changed. Not only had he passed the location, but it was receding from him even as he stood there.

  The Gryphon eyed the path he had taken. He saw no one that resembled the warlock. It was possible that Cabe was disguised and that although the lionbird wore a human face nearly identical to the one Cabe had known him by long ago, he would not know to look for one of his old companions in this faraway city. Still, something was wrong. Could his spell have caused him to follow a coin that the warlock had spent? Unlikely. The trail was too strong. Even if the coin or coins had just left his hands, Bedlam would have had to handle them for quite some time. It also would have required more than a few coins to create such a pull. They passed through too many hands too quickly to generally have much attachment to any one person.

  Pretending to have sighted someone who might be an old chum, the Gryphon started back. His eyes carefully inspected each person. He sidestepped several more patrons entering, the same serving girl, and-

  And the trail altered again. Out of the corner of his eye, the Gryphon glanced at the woman he had twice now passed.

  The more he studied her, which was something no one there would have found unusual anyway, the more he was of the opinion that she had some secret. What?

  I am becoming senile! He knew what it was now. Only sorcerers of some ability would even recognize it, which still gave him no excuse for not having noted it before. Now that he knew, the woman’s secret fairly screamed to him.

  A sorceress! One of some mean skill, too, I would think!

  What was her connection to Cabe? Why did his spell draw him to her?

  She happened to turn in his direction then. Although his actions were still innocent enough, the look that passed briefly across her beautiful countenance told him that she knew he was not what he seemed. In fact, he was certain that she knew what he was, too.

  It had to be the case. Suddenly the golden-haired woman found things to do that took her to the back of the inn. The Gryphon did not wonder whether she would return, only how many exits there might be back there. He doubted she would use her skills while still inside. A sorceress who worked in taverns and inns generally did so because she was hiding what she was. That meant he still had an opportunity to catch her.

  The lionbird had not been idle while he had thought all this out. Already he was at the front doorway. If he could find her before she slipped away, it would simplify things for him. If the unknown enchantress did teleport away, he still had one trick up his sleeve. The same object that had first drawn him to her would allow him to find her again.

  Despite the hour, or perhaps because of it, there were a number of folk wandering about. That encouraged him, for while it slowed his progress, she could hardly use her sorcery in front of people who might recognize her as working at the inn. The blade also informed him that she was still nearby, although it was possible that the sorceress had removed the item from her person. Since she could hardly know why he was after her, he did not think she would know to do that. If he was wrong . . .

  The tug he had felt suddenly ceased.

  Teleported! Cursing quietly, the Gryphon turned round. Nothing was ever too easy. Still, if she ran true to predictability, she was probably not too far away. Just far enough to consider herself safe.

  Sure enough, he felt the same tug. Not for a moment did he think it was anything other than her. He had performed this spell too often, too.

  Without hesitation, the Gryphon teleported after her.

  She was facing his direction as he materialized, but caught off-guard, her reflexes were too slow. Moving with the inhuman swiftness that had allowed him to survive for so long, the lionbird reached forward and caught her with his good hand. Only after that was done did he become aware of where exactly they were. She was bolder than he had thought, for from their location, he could just make out the inn far to his left. The woman had been watching for him rather than simply escaping, an obvious sign that no matter how skilled she was, she was still a novice in many things.

  “If you even think about escape, don’t.”

  It was very clear that the serving woman understood. He could sense the tension coursing through her body. On the other hand, he could also sense the excitement she felt. The Gryphon was familiar with her type, having met more than his share. Very fortunate that
neither Gwen nor Troia came with me! This was not the sort of woman either wife would care to see around their mates.

  In the few seconds since his sudden arrival, she had already become bold enough to ask him questions. “Do we visit the king now?”

  “Should we?” He decided to play along.

  One thing she was, was quick. The toying smile that had started to spread across her exquisite face faltered. “You’re not with the king’s herd of pet mages.”

  The rumored spellcasters of King Lanith. Now he understood her earlier panic. She was hiding, hiding from her own monarch.

  “I should have known.” The smile had started spreading again. “You are much too talented for one of that bunch. Not to mention much more pleasant to look at.”

  He kept her from reaching up and stroking his cheek. Had Troia been here, the scene would have become very unpleasant by now. In her own way, the woman before him was just as much a predator as his bride.

  “Thank you, but I am spoken for.”

  “From the way you followed me, I wouldn’t have believed that.” She leaned forward ever so slightly.

  He leaned forward, too, but not because of the grand and glorious sight before him. “Do not play your games with me. I might surprise you.”

  His tone was menacing enough that she quickly withdrew. Even subdued for the moment, however, the young enchantress was still imposing. She would be much more trouble in the years to come.

  “What do you want of me? If you’re not from the king, then who are you?”

  “My name is unimportant, but I believe you and I share an acquaintance. One from whom you have a token of remembrance.”

  Her smile twisted into a grimace and one hand flinched. The lionbird reached toward a small belt pouch hanging against her thigh. He tore the pouch off. Releasing her but still keeping his eyes focused in her direction, the Gryphon opened the pouch.

  There were several small items in the pouch, but only one that could belong to Cabe. The Gryphon’s high sensitivity to magical auras allowed him to pick it out. A small dagger that many people carried when traveling. It was more useful for mundane tasks than cutting thieves, but then Cabe Bedlam hardly had to worry about thieves . . . excepting this one, of course. “You planned to follow him at some point? Was not one rejection enough for you?”

  “You’re his friend?”

  “We go back a long way. How did you come by this?”

  One look at his eyes warned her about lying. Unleashing her dazzling smile, she replied, “He came into the inn. I could see that he was different, one of us.”

  “And so you tried to seduce him . . . for what?” He thought carefully. “Training and more, I imagine. The road to power for a mage.”

  He had come close to the truth. The Gryphon understood the present situation concerning spellcasters. Hunted for years by the Dragon Kings, they were only now reappearing in any number. Other than Cabe and Gwen, he had only known a handful of mages of any ability who had survived the constant purges. Toos, once his second-in-command during his mercenary days, was one.

  “What is your name?”

  “Tori. Tori Winddancer.”

  Winddancer, just the sort of name one found in this region. The appellation no doubt revolved around the swiftness of horses. She was a native of the kingdom of Zuu, then. There would be even less chance for her to find someone like her in this region. Although the Green Dragon was an ally to humans now and his particular line had always treated people fairly well, the days after the Turning War had seen the beginning of the strongest of the mage purges. That cleansing had been under the control of the Dragon Emperor, and knowing his counterpart in the Dagora Forest, it was said that extra care had been taken to make the purge in and around Dagora very thorough.

  “What happened to my friend while he was here?”

  “You heard about what happened near the stables?” At his nod, she continued. “That was him. That was some horse he had, too. I heard some people claim it could fly, but they probably didn’t know your friend was a warlock.”

  And you do not know about Darkhorse, evidently. So much the better. “Were the king’s men after him?”

  “The guards and the mages . . . or bumblers, after the way they handled him. He made fools out of them I hear.”

  “You hear?”

  She smiled again. “I left the moment I knew they were coming. Your friend didn’t understand about the medallion . . . but you do, I guess.”

  “I’ve been around longer.” So now he had verification. Cabe and Darkhorse had run afoul of King Lanith’s tame spellcasters. He could not blame the warlock for leaving the incident out of his message to the Lady Bedlam; she had more than enough to worry about without adding this. It was over and done.

  “Are you through with me or would you like to talk of other things now?” From the way she looked at him, it was clear what she meant.

  “There are those who will aid in your training without you having to resort to seduction.”

  “I’m looking for more than training as you know, silver hair.” She tried to touch the hair, but he blocked her hand. “I’m looking for much more than that.”

  “My wife would claw you into little pieces if she knew you had even been this familiar with me. Literally claw you.”

  “What is she, a cat?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at him carefully, expecting some sign of amusement, then saw that he was deadly earnest. “Some people will marry into the strangest families. A human and a cat?”

  “Did I say I was human?”

  Tori had no response to that, but he noted that she leaned back a little, as if seeing him in a new and unnerving light. “I asked you a question. Are you finished with me?”

  “Nearly. Are you familiar-” He paused as a drunken trader dressed in the clothes of Gordag-Ai stumbled in their direction. He heard other voices nearby. The Gryphon took Tori’s arm. She did not resist but neither did she try her charms on him again. His comments concerning himself and his mate had her wondering. “Let us walk back to the inn. Be friendly.”

  The enchantress nodded. Ahead of them, the trader was trying to decide which side of the narrow street he wanted to give up to them. The Gryphon pointed to his left and the man steered that way. Turning his attention back to Tori, he started to ask his question again.

  The footsteps of the drunken man stilled.

  A normal man would have been too slow and that fact was perhaps all that saved the Gryphon, for it probably made his attacker just overconfident enough. He threw the woman to one side as the trader fell upon him, knife in one hand. The lionbird heard Tori gasp, but then his attention became completely focused on the battle situation. His adversary weighed far more than he should have, which made the Gryphon certain that beneath the outfit one would find armor.

  Black armor.

  He had grown careless, spending too much of his time on some things and forgetting his own thought that there might be spies here. He had also grown careless in another way, for the face he wore now was the one he often preferred. Cabe would not be the only one capable of recognizing it. After so many years of facing him, it was not surprising that many of the raiders, especially the spies, would recognize that striking countenance on sight. The Gryphon knew he had not only become careless, but also vain. Had he chosen faces of less distinction, he might have avoided this. His maimed hand might still have given him away, but not nearly as quickly as his vanity had.

  They struggled on the ground, the wolf raider maintaining his advantage above through sheer weight and the Gryphon’s inability to get a strong enough grip with his damaged hand. The raider’s own features were nondescript, as was most common with those in his profession, but the quiet determination he radiated told the Gryphon that his adversary was a veteran of many a campaign. There would be no room for mistakes against this man.

  If physical strength was not enough to rid him of his assailant, then the lionbird was more than willing to res
ort to his magical skills. When the situation called for it, one took the advantages one was given and sense of honor be damned, that was his belief. Survival first and foremost.

  The Aramite must have known what he was attempting, for suddenly he abandoned the knife attack and, disregarding injury to himself, swung his head down, catching the Gryphon square in the forehead.

  It was all the Gryphon could do to keep from blacking out. Worse, the force was enough to make the back of his head strike the ground. The world around him began to spin. His grip weakened, allowing the wolf raider to press his advantage.

  “My life for yours!” the dark figure hissed. “A small price for the empire’s triumph!”

  So now it ends, he managed to think. Cut down at night in a street far from anything I might call home.

  He heard a small, startled grunt from the raider. The weight on his body shifted to one side. Instinct took over. The Gryphon followed the shifting of the weight and pushed his attacker off in that direction. He heard a clatter and realized that the knife had fallen from the Aramite’s hand. Now, even with his head still ringing, the advantage was becoming his.

  The raider was by no means defeated, however. Once more he tried to butt heads. The lionbird was ready for him, however, and tipped his own head out of the way. Then he did the only thing he could think of doing that would end the flight in swift fashion.

  He transformed. For most shapeshifters, such an act would have left them helpless for a few precious seconds. For the Gryphon, long practiced at shaping at a moment’s notice, it was not so. Two decades of war had kept that ability well honed.

  The spy let out a yelp that the Gryphon’s taloned hand all but muffled. Taken back by the astonishing sight of his adversary shifting form, the Aramite was too slow to block the attack that came next. With grim satisfaction, the Gryphon twisted his adversary’s head to one side, snapping his neck.