Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  With one last glance down the hall, Miklo closed the door. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The details of the decor did not interest him save that the center of the chamber had to be clear of any objects. He saw that this was so, something that pleased him immensely, and eased a sudden nervousness that had just a moment before spread over him. Miklo had been anxious from the start, but this near to his goal the ramifications of what he was about to attempt now became overwhelmingly clear. He was about to assassinate the monarch of one of the leading kingdoms of the Dragonrealm. He was about to change the course of the land, save the lives of countless innocents.

  Almost Miklo Vinimus turned to flee, but her voice echoed in his head, almost as if she stood in the room with him. If you're going to do it, do it then, Miklo! There's no hope for any of us otherwise.

  His brow furrowed as he briefly thought over the last, but the urge to complete his task again took precedence, pushing away the fear and all else. The horse king had to die for the sake of the Dragonrealm.

  Moving to the center, Miklo dropped to his knees. Lanith's personal chambers were directly overhead. Surely the fact that providence had supplied Miklo the perfect location from which to cast his spell of death meant that he was destined to succeed.

  If all worked as planned, the spell would come up from below the horse king's bed and envelop its occupants before they had a chance to stir. Saress no doubt had set her own defenses, but Miklo's mistress had insisted that what they plotted would work, defenses or not. It was clear that she knew Saress reasonably well.

  He coughed once because of the dust, then began to concentrate.

  Like many sorcerers, he saw the power as lines of force crisscrossing everything. Even here, it cut across the darkened room, creating a strange glow visible only when he used magical sight. The sight was useful when one had to draw upon substantial levels of power, but otherwise interfered with normal vision. Miklo was still amazed that more competent spell- casters such as the Bedlams could shift into and out of magical sight in the literal blink of an eye. It always took him a few moments to adjust, both when shifting into and out of the phase. Perhaps those like the Bedlams did things differently than he did. If he survived this, he would ask her.

  Tendrils of power—thin, misty things that only he could see—floated with purpose toward the ceiling. They paused there, as yet unable to penetrate the man-made barrier, but Miklo was not perturbed. He still had to bind the power a bit more. Her instructions had been explicit. If he wanted to slip past Saress's defenses without disturbing anything—

  A sudden shifting of forces made him pause. An oddly foreign presence briefly touched his mind. It vanished before he had a chance to try to identify it, leaving him only with an unsettled feeling. Miklo waited, but when it did not return, he finally shrugged it off as nerves and decided to push on with his effort.

  He raised one hand toward the ceiling.

  A giggle escaped him—no, he realized, the giggle had come from somewhere in the chamber.

  "You've been very amusing, very amusing indeed, little Miklo. I watched and waited with anticipation as you wended your way despite all obstacles to your moment of destiny," piped a voice from the shadows surrounding him. "Very amusing it was, but now I can't let you go on. I've so many plans, so many things to do, and if I let you go through with this, it'll just take that much longer for me to achieve them!"

  Gasping, Miklo rose from the floor. The forces he had been gathering he now turned toward the darkest shadows in the chamber, those being the only place he could imagine the source of the voice hiding. Green and red flashes of energy momentarily illuminated dead Prince Blane's room and stirred up so much dust that despite his predicament Miklo Vinimus had to pause to cough and sneeze.

  A massive hand seized him by the collar and raised him into the air.

  "Don't fret, though, little Miklo. I shall find a place for your name in this great epic I'm creating. A small place, to be sure . . ."

  The hand released the hapless, would-be assassin. Instead of the floor, a huge maw of darkness now opened beneath his feet. Miklo Vinimus found himself falling and falling and falling without end in sight.

  His scream grew distant.

  In the hills overlooking the city, the golden-haired enchantress stirred from her self-induced trance, sweat suddenly enveloping her. She blinked and looked around as if afraid that something terrible now stalked her. Then, her somewhat elfin features twisted into an expression of annoyance, frustration, and not a little guilt at having used a loyal if very naive man whose magical potential was now lost to her.

  "Damn . . ." she muttered. If what she had sensed before breaking contact with Miklo was true, there was no hope left for the ugly little northerner. "Damn . . . damn . . . not another one . . ."

  Lanith stirred from his slumber, slightly disgruntled at having lost the thread of his dream. He had been breaking in a magnificent stallion, a creature more elemental than animal. He dreamed such dreams often, for in his mind there was only one mount worthy of him.

  A giggle from nearby pushed away the last vestiges of the dream from the graying, bearded king's mind. Lanith blinked, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He saw that the giggle could not have come from Saress, for she still slept deeply. He admired her long, flowing mane and the curves of her body before sitting up and looking around for the true force.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  A part of the darkness blacker than the rest coalesced into a tiny figure much like a puppet without strings. It had no mouth or nose; in fact, the only discernible features were a pair of ice-blue, narrow eyes that lacked any sort of pupil. The presence of the macabre nighttime visitor did not disturb the horse king. Lanith was too familiar with the thing by now.

  Despite the lack of a mouth, the figure had no trouble speaking. "Are you sleeping well, my great king?"

  "I was until something woke me." Lanith's craggy features twisted into an expression of annoyance. He liked being woken by no one in the middle of the night.

  The thing, now perched on the end of the bed, giggled. "I think that you will find one of your Magical Order missing, King Lanith."

  "What's that?" The monarch stiffened, dark piercing eyes fixing on the inhuman orbs of his companion. "What have you done, imp?"

  "He was about to send you to join your brother Blane. I thought you might not want to do that, but if I was wrong, then I do apologize."

  "An assassin? Where are the guards? What about the defenses? They should have been sufficient—" Lanith started to rise, but the puppetlike figure shook its head. To his surprise, the king obediently sat back down. Beside him, Saress continued to sleep. She had not so much as shifted since the creature's arrival.

  "He was naughty, so I've sent him away. You'll have to inform Ponteroy that the amusing little Miklo has decided to forgo the rewards of the Order."

  "Miklo Vinimus?" Lanith had nurtured hopes for Vinimus. With a little training from Saress, Vinimus would have been able to replace Ponteroy, something of an egotistical popinjay, as second in the Order. Saress had been hesitant to teach the northerner, however, and now Lanith saw that her judgment had been sound. "You sent him away? Bring him back! There may have been others involved. He'll have to stand for questioning."

  "Oh, dear . . ." Even devoid of features, the ebony puppet somehow physically displayed comic dismay. "I'm afraid that he won't be coming back from where I've sent him." The thing giggled. "They never do."

  Lanith frowned. "Nevertheless, this does not end here. If a member of my Order attempted an assassination on my life, there will have to be some changes made. Fewer privileges. More proof of respect and loyalty to the one who feeds them and pays them good gold. I will have to draw a tighter rein on them."

  "A tighter rein." Another giggle. "You're right, of course, and I shall help you achieve that, but not yet. Let them have their freedoms, their rewards. When their loyalty is demanded, good King Lanith, I'll make cert
ain that they pay their due. Have I failed you thus far?"

  "No . . ." Sleepiness once more touched the monarch of Zuu. Vague images of the magnificent black stallion again began to sprint through his thoughts. "No, you've not failed me, although I do not know why you—"

  "Because I like you, good King Lanith! Because I want to do things for you! You've given a poor, lost soul a home and hearth! That's why soon you'll have the mount a conqueror and emperor deserves . . . because I want to do it for you."

  The horse king leaned back, eyelids barely able to stay open. He did not question how swiftly sleep was overtaking him; he never did. A grin tried to spread across his face, but he was already too exhausted to complete it. "The shadow steed? You'll . . . help me . . . capture him?"

  "Help you snare him, saddle him, and break him. Oh, especially break him . . ." The shadowy puppet rose from his perch and completed a comic bow of obeisance that King Lanith barely noted. "Rest easy now, my lord and master. When all things are in place, I will tell you what to do and you will do it, won't you?"

  "Tell me . . . to do. . . do it. . . yes. . ." The warrior king drifted off to sleep.

  "And no one but you and I will know that I'm helping you, will they?" As he spoke, the thing on the edge of the bed began to grow and as he grew he became more diffuse. Only the eyes remained strong.

  "No . . . one . . ." spoke Lanith even though he was now deep into his slumber.

  "You will be my puppet, great king. You'll serve me, bring me glorious battles and wonderful chaos for my epic, and in return I'll give you a most disobedient and ungrateful child, an offspring who has long been due a lesson."

  "Shadow . . . steed . . ." mumbled the horse king. "Dark . . . horse."

  "Yes. . . oh, yes, indeed. . . nothing will give me greater pleasure . . . well, one thing, but that can wait . . ."

  King Lanith of Zuu did not respond this time, for no response was desired by his visitor.

  Ice-blue eyes studied the horse king a moment longer, then the thing giggled once more and faded from the bedchamber.

  Chapter Two

  Penacles. The City of Knowledge. A place of wonders. It was the location of the magical libraries, a fount of history and information older than the kingdom itself. It was the land ruled by the Gryphon, sorcerer, shapeshifter, and warrior. Here the first victories against the centuries-long reign of the Dragon Kings had been won. Here humans had finally gained the chance to be truly free.

  It was a kingdom that had witnessed many astonishing events and played host to a variety of unusual guests throughout its long history, but for those gathered in the royal court, there was one guest who ever unnerved most of them simply with his presence.

  His arrival tended to do even more.

  A crackle of thunder. A burst of wind. A flash of light.

  Someone screamed. Someone generally screamed, even though it was likely they had witnessed the same entrance a dozen times or more. The shadow steed did not try to hide his amusement as he trotted onto the marble floor. The brightly decorated chamber, newly renovated in the year since the Gryphon's return to the throne, contrasted greatly with his ebony color. The clatter of his hooves echoed throughout, the only sound now other than the gasping of one courtier or another as he passed among them.

  He resembled a huge black stallion, although everyone there knew he was much more. How much more, even his dearest companions did not understand. He would have been hard-pressed himself to explain all that he was and was not.

  There was nothing else in the Dragonrealm that was at all akin to Darkhorse.

  The last humans scurried out of the way. Darkhorse cared little about any of them. Only the three figures ahead were of great importance to the steed. The one seated on the throne, sharp beak clamped tight in an obvious attempt to hold back his laughter, was the Gryphon. He was a humanoid variation on the traditional winged creature, a being as unique and as fascinating in his own way as Darkhorse was. The face was that of a bird of prey, although the feathering at the back gave way to a mane of hair more akin to that of another predator, the lion. A loose robe of crimson and gold covered most of the Gryphon's form, but Darkhorse knew that although the monarch of Penacles seemed perfectly human in body, the knees bent backward and the feet were taloned. The Gryphon also had vestigial wings, although as with the legs and feet, he kept those differences well hidden.

  Standing alongside the Gryphon and looking slightly uncomfortable was the sorcerer Cabe Bedlam, Darkhorse's truest friend. Cabe Bedlam was a plain man by the standards of humanity, save for the silver streak in his dark hair that marked him as a spellcaster. However, his plain demeanor hid a sense of fairness and honesty achieved by very few beings that the shadow steed had met over the centuries. It also hid power such as few had ever attained. Cabe Bedlam could have laid waste to much of the realm just as his father Azran had attempted once, but where the elder Bedlam had been a monster, the son was a protector. It was he more than any other force that had helped shape the peace effort between not only the kingdoms, but also the races.

  But there is still much work ahead, Darkhorse thought. And some kingdoms will never accept a peace they have not achieved through war.

  The other figure standing near the throne was the sorcerer's mate, the fiery-tressed Lady Gwendolyn. Like Cabe's, her hair possessed a streak of silver. Unlike her husband, she was by no means plain. Accenting her beauty most were her emerald eyes, eyes that perfectly matched the sleek gown she wore. Those very eyes now fixed on the newcomer, dampening some of Darkhorse's humor. Lady Bedlam somehow had the ability to make him feel embarrassed, an emotion he otherwise rarely experienced.

  Darkhorse had expected the two sorcerers to be here, having stopped briefly at their abode before journeying to Penacies. Their daughter, Valea, had informed him that her parents had transported themselves by sorcery to the Gryphon's palace only a few hours before. He was glad that they had done so; it would save him from having to repeat himself.

  Just a few yards from the throne, the shadow steed dipped his head. It was as close as he ever came to bowing. "My greetings, Your Majesty! I apologize if my coming has greatly disturbed things!"

  The Gryphon briefly flexed one clawed hand. "No. In fact, you are quite welcome this day. We had just begun discussing some matters that you may be able to lend a . . . hoof . . . with at some point. That can wait, though. To what do we owe your visit, my friend?"

  There had been a time when friend would have been the last word the monarch of Penacles used to describe Dark- horse. There had been a time when the only one who had really trusted the demon steed had been the faceless warlock Shade, himself hardly the trustworthiest of characters. Shade was long dead now—supposedly—but over the past two decades, Darkhorse had gained for himself more friends than he had ever had before. Not only the Gryphon, but the Bedlams and their remarkable children. He was also good friends with the queen of Talak and her daughter, although the king of that mountain realm would never be too comfortable with him.

  "I have the news you wanted about the drake confederation."

  Everyone in attendance quieted. The Gryphon fixed one avian eye on his fearsome guest. "And what news is that?"

  "Sssaleese appears to have strengthened his position. Two competitors seem to have . . . disappeared. The drakes have solidified their holdings in the northwestern region of the continent. They presently hold what used to be the northern half of the Iron Dragon's old domain. They've not moved on the hill dwarves to the east, but I suspect that is coming soon."

  "Just as we suspected," commented Cabe Bedlam. "Sssaleese intends on becoming a Dragon King even if the others will not acknowledge him so. He probably believes that if his confederation grows large enough, Kyl will have to give him such rank."

  "Do you think the young emperor will do that?" The king rubbed the underside of his beak. "He might lose the support of the other Dragon Kings. Storm and Black will certainly not accept Sssaleese as one of them."

 
Both the Storm Dragon and the Black Dragon were neighbors of sorts to Penacles. The Black Dragon had already tried to seize the kingdom and although his forces had been repulsed, no one believed that the lord of Lochivar was not constantly watching for weakness.

  "I can't say. We're due to visit Kyl very soon. I'll try to put the question to him then." The Bedlams shared a unique relationship with the young emperor of the drake race, having raised him after his predecessor's death. That relationship had not always been easy, Kyl not always liking the human way of life.

  "I could pay a visit to Sssaleese." Darkhorse stared at the sorcerer, one of the few who could look into his pupilless, icy blue eyes without flinching. "I could suggest new options to him if you like."

  "That would not be wise, Darkhorse," Lady Gwen interjected. "Don't underestimate Sssaleese's power. We suspect that he has gotten his hands on some artifact. Certainly his success so far has been astonishing."

  "I still say he had some hand in Toma's efforts to subvert Kyl to his cause." Darkhorse snorted. Toma had been a renegade drake, half brother to the new emperor, who had tried to control the throne to which he had not had any right. First he had attempted to manipulate his sire, the former emperor, and then, masquerading as a human teacher, he had sought to twist Kyl's mind. Toma was dead, but some believed that Sssaleese had given him refuge during the many years the renegade had remained hidden.

  The Gryphon nodded. "Perhaps." He looked around at those gathered in the court. "My friends, please forgive me, but I must delay all other requests for an audience at this time. I apologize for letting you wait. Tomorrow, those of you who had business set for today will be first. Now, if you'll excuse me."

  While those gathered still attempted to digest his words, the lionbird departed from the high-backed throne. He did not look at anyone as he hurried away, but the Bedlams followed him as if given some signal. Darkhorse paused only a moment longer, then proceeded after the mages. The shadow steed heard much whispering behind him, but nothing that sounded angry. The people of Penacles knew that their inhuman monarch, however brusque his manner, worked constantly for the benefit and safety of his subjects. He did not cut an audience short without good reason.