Aurim also looked up. The shaking slowed, but did not cease. Out of the corner of his eye, Cabe saw the younger warlock squeeze his fists tightly together in an attempt to force his will on the weakening ceiling.
The quake became imperceptible.
That left Cabe to deal with his wife. He dared not attempt a direct attack. As desperate as his own predicament was, to harm her was out of the question. Knowing that she would probably die at Toma’s hand if he did sacrifice himself did not make things easier.
Part of Gwen had to be in there. It was the only way by which the drake could make some use of her skills. Otherwise, she would have been no more than a statue. For Toma to twist her to his bidding, he would have had to keep a flicker of her soul awake. All Cabe had to do was find something that would shock her enough to weaken the spell holding her in thrall.
The deaths of her husband and son would do that, but faking such a scene would require too much concentration. It would leave the shield weakened, something that his bride, even in her present state, would be unable to miss.
The true deaths of her husband and son would awaken her.
He needed something else, but it had to be something stunning or a fear or even possibly-
A fear? Cabe knew of one. It was a fear so powerful that as hard as she had tried in the past to hide it from him, he had noticed the tension, the shaking, time after time.
It would have to be that. The warlock gritted his teeth and whispered to his wife, “I’m sorry for this, Gwen. Another thing that Toma owes us for.”
It was easy in one sense. All Cabe had to do was picture the enchantress as he had first discovered her.
A golden glow materialized around the sorceress. She did not pay it any heed at first, focused as she was by Toma’s command on the process of trying to kill her family. Then, as the glow condensed, took form, a slight look of uncertainty flashed across the otherwise emotionless face.
Beside him, Aurim tried to watch while maintaining his counterspell on the ceiling.
Cabe continued to solidify the glow. It now had a rocky, translucent look to it. He knew that what he was creating was an illusion, but he doubted that Gwendolyn’s mind in its present state would be able to make the distinction.
The Lady of the Amber. That was the name by which she had been known in legend. The story of her imprisonment by Azran had become folk legend. Azran had worked his spell well and only Cabe had somehow managed to shatter it. Perhaps it had been because he was of the mad mage’s bloodline. Whatever the reason, release her Cabe had. Yet, the memory of her imprisonment remained rooted in her mind, haunting her dreams on occasion and filling her with a dread whenever she saw even a small piece of the substance. She feared being entombed again, and while that was not likely to happen, it was impossible to rid Gwendolyn of that dread. The amber prison had become a demon to her. It was why she insisted that no one, without exception, use the title in her presence.
Gwen’s eyes abruptly rounded. Her face twisted from disinterest to outright horror.
She screamed as Cabe had never heard her scream.
Her spells died at the moment of her cry, much to Cabe’s relief. Aurim, groaning, slumped onto the bed, but the warlock could see that his son was merely exhausted. This was the first time the younger Bedlam had been forced to use his power on such a level. Practice would make it easier.
Still his wife screamed, but Cabe could not stop now. She was not yet free of Toma’s control. Only when her mind was completely her own could he dare cease his attack. The sorcerer only prayed that she did not lose her mind in the process of recovering it.
At last, the enchantress ceased screaming and dropped to her knees. She began to cry. Cabe heard his name and those of his children amidst her sobs. Immediately, he dismissed the illusion of the amber prison and rushed to her side.
“Gwendolyn!” Cabe put his arms around her.
The distraught woman gradually looked up. “Cabe?”
He held her close. “It’s all right. The amber wasn’t real. I had to do it to break you out of Toma’s spell.”
“Toma? I don’t . . . I don’t think I remember. . . .”
Of course she would not, the warlock realized. His wife had never actually seen Toma. “Gwen . . . Traske came to you, didn’t he?”
It was clear that, as with Aurim, it was an effort for her to think. “Yes . . . he did. I don’t recall what he . . . what he wanted to talk about, but . . .”
“Gwen . . . Traske is Toma. He may have always been Toma.”
Cabe felt her body grow perfectly still. For a brief moment, he began to fear that she had slipped back into panic, but then she spoke. Her voice was steady but filled with growing hatred. “All this time we’ve cared for a viper in our midst? All this time he’s walked among us, laughing inside?”
“I don’t know if he’s always been Traske, but he has been for some time, I think.”
“Rheena!” The oath was one that the disheveled enchantress used rarely these days, which to Cabe revealed just how horrified his wife felt. “He would have made me kill . . . kill . . .”
Cabe silenced her. “He didn’t. He failed.”
“But not for my lack of trying. . . .”
He dared not let her collapse now. “You’re not to blame! Toma’s to blame!” Cabe made her look him in the eye. “He’s still here, Gwendolyn. He’s still here and he may have Valea.”
“Valea!” The enchantress tried to rise, but her legs would not support her. Toma’s spell and Cabe’s illusion had combined to drain her completely, both emotionally and physically. “We . . . we have to save her!”
“You’ll do nothing but rest here.”
“I can’t leave my daughter to that demon!” Straining, the weary sorceress tried to rise again. This time, she almost fell over.
Cabe helped her to the bed, where he put her down next to Aurim. His son sat up. Aurim’s face was drawn.
“I’ll go with you.”
The master warlock shook his head. “No, you stay with your mother. This is something that requires gradual recovery and we can’t leave her defenseless. I’ll take care of Toma.”
Aurim wanted to argue, but he knew better. He frowned, however. “Father, I think Toma must also have Ursa. She was in this room, helping me with the spell, when Tra-Toma came.”
Another hostage. Another life to worry about. Toma, however, was not one to indiscriminately take hostages, which meant that he would hesitate before doing something to them. Cabe knew that at the very least the renegade had Valea in order to confound him, and Ursa had probably been taken because of her bloodline. Grath? He was the one that the warlock worried about most. Kyl was no doubt allied with Toma, but did the heir need his brother? Did he really care that much for Grath?
Maybe it would’ve been better if your assassins had managed to kill him, Lord Green! If Kyl was Toma’s ally, then he would pay along with the renegade duke, emperor or not.
Although only a few minutes had elapsed since the beginning of his battle with his ensorcelled wife, Cabe knew that he had delayed too long already. Leaning over quickly, he kissed the worn enchantress and patted his son on the shoulder. “I have to go. I have to get Valea.”
“You’ll need help,” insisted Gwen, trying to rise again.
Cabe briefly looked away, his gaze drifting to empty air. After a moment, he turned back to his family. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry. Toma has to be stopped.”
“Good-” the witch began, but Cabe was already gone.
He had no doubt where they would be. Cabe Bedlam had been able to sense the renegade and the others all the time he had been in his son’s chambers. Toma, Valea, Kyl, Grath, and at least three others occupied the chambers set aside for the heir, his brother, and their bodyguards.
The odds were very much against him; the warlock was aware of that. Yet Cabe was concerned only about Toma. The others would be more hindrance to themselves. Kyl was possibly a threat, if Cabe was correct in his assumpt
ion. Toma, however, would have his hands full keeping Valea, Ursa, and likely Grath under control. The drake duke would insist on doing so himself. Toma trusted no one enough, not even his supposed emperor.
He materialized just a few feet from the royal chambers. The spell that prevented magical intrusion was still in place, another reason why Toma would have chosen these rooms rather than his own. The drake had dared not place such a spell on his own suite, for someone would have noticed and questioned why a tutor needed such safeguards.
How best to do this? Toma was making Cabe come to him. Despite Cabe’s intentions otherwise, the warlock was once more being played with by the renegade. Duke Toma had always excelled at manipulating others, but his game of the past several years had been his crowning achievement. Even now, he simply had to wait for his adversary to come to him.
Well, I am coming to you, you damned lizard and, believe me, you will regret that!
Cabe sent a probe toward the doorway, the obvious entrance into a place protected by sorcery, but he also sent out two more subtle probes to seek out the windows on the other side of Kyl’s bedchamber. He doubted that either the door or the windows would do him any good, but it was always a wise idea to investigate.
The probes finally informed him of what he had already assumed. None of the obvious entrances were available to him. There were spells crisscrossing them, spells whose intentions were to assure his immediate death. He could not fight both Toma and the traps the renegade had laid, not at the same time. That was far too much for even Cabe, with all his power, to concentrate on.
It became clear to Cabe that he could either stay here and hope that Toma would tire of waiting-or try to fight his way through the drake’s traps. Neither was a particularly attractive choice. He could not take long in deciding, either, for Valea’s life lay in the balance. Kyl did not likely want her killed, but Toma might. Whatever master plan the renegade had hatched all those years ago, when he had first donned the mask of Benjin Traske, had been shattered, likely by Aurim’s appearance in the library. Traske had seemed visibly startled. With Gwen having failed him, Toma now had to revise his moves.
Which did not mean that the drake had not already planned for this somehow.
He could not wait out Toma. Cabe had to assault the magically defended suite. He had to do it alone, too, for neither his wife nor Aurim were-
There was a sudden tingling in his mind. The tingling was followed by the intrusion of a familiar, albeit ever unique presence. I am here, Cabe! Let me in!
Darkhorse! Enter freely! Come to the hall beyond Kyl’s suite! Quickly!
“What is it?” rumbled the eternal, suddenly beside him.
With the tension so great already, Cabe fairly jumped at the abrupt appearance of his old friend. He quickly scanned the shadow steed. Darkhorse did not look as powerful as he generally did. His presence was just a bit less imposing, as if not all of him was there. “Are you well enough? Can you help me?”
The eternal looked insulted. “Can I help you? I am Darkhorse, Cabe! I am your friend! To not help you, to do less than I am able . . .”
“Toma’s in there.”
That silenced the ebony stallion. The icy orbs that were his eyes narrowed. “Is he now?” Darkhorse started toward the door. “Then I think that we should join him . . . so that we may tear him apart!”
“Wait!” Cabe leapt in front of the eternal. “Listen! Toma is Benjin Traske. He used that identity to draw us to him. I think he has Valea and Grath in there, and I know that the doors, the windows . . . everything . . . are bespelled!”
“Bespelled against you, Cabe!” snorted the shadow steed. “I am Darkhorse! Move aside! I owe the renegade for much and I will see him pay now!”
Somehow, the hulking form of Darkhorse slipped around him. Cabe cursed, reminding himself for the thousandth time that what the eternal resembled was not what he was. It was too late by that time. Darkhorse was already at the doorway.
The massive black stallion rose on his hind legs and struck out with his hooves. The warlock felt a rush of sorcerous energy encompass the eternal. Cabe shielded himself, but nothing struck him. He heard Darkhorse laugh and knew then that his companion had absorbed the sorcery and was now mocking the one who had cast the spell.
“I am coming for you, bloody duke!” Darkhorse kicked the door again. It still stood, a testament to Toma’s own skills, but Cabe estimated that one, perhaps two more kicks would shatter it. He readied himself to enter the fray the moment the way was clear.
It took only one more kick. The door splintered, bits flying this way and that. Again, spells were unleashed. The wary sorcerer was amazed at the preparation his adversary had made. Once more, however, all the preparation went for naught, for Darkhorse absorbed all the power with only a slight glow to show that he had noticed the attacks at all.
The eternal did not wait. He charged into the suite. Cabe prayed that the Manor would be able to withstand all the damage. It would not do to have the ancient edifice come down around them just as they were about to capture Toma.
“What in the name of the Void?” roared Darkhorse in absolute confusion.
Cabe, just entering, paused. He stared at what had so confounded the stallion, his heart sinking as he realized the latest ploy the duke had played on him.
Huddled together like frozen statues were Lady Belima and six of the household staff. They stared without seeing, but Cabe could at least tell that they were breathing.
“Look what hangs on their chests,” Darkhorse muttered.
Stepping forward, a demoralized Cabe saw that each person wore a simple loop necklace from which hung an object. Mistress Belima, a graying, busy-looking woman, wore a small dagger. Another woman wore a ribbon that resembled one worn often by Valea. The warlock studied the other items, finally muttering, “Those are personal items. Something from Valea, something from Kyl . . . something from everyone in Toma’s little group, including himself.”
“We have been tricked!”
He nodded. Darkhorse had the right of it. Toma had played the warlock as a master bard played his harp. Kyl, Grath, Ursa, Valea-they were all gone. Frustrated, the warlock stalked through the suite. He knew that the renegade had departed, but desperation made him hope that perhaps he was wrong. This had to end here and now, not drag on and on and on . . .
In one of the side rooms, the warlock made a grisly discovery. Whereas Mistress Belima and the others were simply under an enchantment, this poor soul had been murdered most horribly. He forced himself to walk up to the figure, whose features were frozen in a scream, and touch it.
“Gods, Ssarekai . . .” he whispered. “You, too. . . .”
Perhaps this murder had been the beginning of the end of Toma’s patient waiting. The drake servitor had not simply been frozen or made to forget again; he had been turned into rock. Solid rock. There was no bringing him back to life, not from this particular spell. The spark that had been the stable master’s essence was gone.
General Toos, the real Benjin Traske-if he had ever existed-and now Ssarekai. More names to add to Toma’s list. More things to condemn the duke, already many times condemned.
Cabe did not like to kill, but he knew that it was up to him to see to it that Toma caused no more deaths.
Cabe? came a weak voice in his head.
Gwendolyn?
It was clear that she was still in no shape to help him. Is it . . . is she . . . what’s happening?
The warlock sighed and told her. She relayed nothing back to him as he quickly described what had happened, but Cabe could sense her growing despair.
When he was finished, she asked, Valea? He still has Valea and we don’t know where he is now?
Cabe started to shake his head, recalled that his wife would not be able to see him do so, then suddenly paused before answering her.
Perhaps he did know where Toma had gone. Considering the renegade’s past, considering his companions and his manner, it seemed to the warlock that
there was only one place that the duke could go. Toma’s arrogance would permit him to go no place else.
“I know where he has to be,” he said out loud.
“Where is that?” asked Darkhorse, trotting into the room. The shadow steed’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he noticed what remained of poor Ssarekai. The stable master, after getting over the typical drake’s fear of the eternal, had pleased Darkhorse to no end with his constant compliments concerning the stallion’s magnificent appearance.
In his head, the enchantress echoed the eternal’s question.
Cabe’s hands balled up into fists as he thought of the place. It was appropriate, for it had been, in a sense, the birthplace of Cabe Bedlam, master sorcerer. From there, the harbingers of fate, in the form of Dragon Kings, had gone out to seek an unsuspecting young man.
“We have to go to Kivan Grath.”
XX
Although the wind and cold could not touch him, Cabe Bedlam nonetheless felt a chill as he stood on a ledge high atop one of the smaller peaks of the Tyber Mountains. In the distance, Kivan Grath stood above all else. Somewhere within, the warlock knew, Toma and the others waited. The spells that now enshrouded the citadel of the Dragon Emperor made it impossible to locate those inside. They also made it impossible for Cabe and Darkhorse to simply materialize there.
“We are not alone,” remarked Darkhorse. The shadow steed had insisted on joining him in this confrontation and, despite Cabe’s awareness of the fact that the eternal was not entirely well, the warlock had been unable to turn down his offer.
Cabe nodded. Besides the creatures who inhabited the Tybers, he could sense two other forms in the direction of Kivan Grath. Two monstrous forms. Dragons.
“Are you ready?” he asked the eternal.
Darkhorse chuckled and kicked the edge of the ledge. A portion of it broke off and tumbled down to the valley below. “Of course!”
“Then let’s see what Toma has waiting for us. You know what I want of you?”
The ice-blue orbs flashed. “I will watch for Valea; you may rest assured on that, Cabe. I will take her from this place and bring her safely back to the Manor. Grath, too?”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 70