Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  A hole in the sky opened up ahead of the fleeing dragon.

  Darkhorse cursed, picking up his pace as best he could. He had not thought that Saress would have had enough strength left to perform this feat of sorcery. If he pushed hard, though, the eternal was certain that he could reach her before she made it through.

  A second hole opened directly before him. Darkhorse could neither turn nor stop in time to avoid it.

  The other end opened up in a room, although what the eternal saw of it was only a flash of stone and what was possibly fire. He flew across the chamber, no more able to halt himself than he had over the Serkadian, and struck a wall reinforced by strong sorcery. Unable to shatter it or pass through, Darkhorse ricocheted off and rebounded across the chamber, crashing against the opposite side, which proved also to be reinforced. Each collision was also accompanied by a sharp jolt through his body, yet one more treat no doubt prepared for him by Yureel. Again and again, he careened against the walls, too stunned already to halt his mad flight.

  By the time Darkhorse struck the floor several seconds later, he barely had the strength to even suffer the agony caused by the final jolt.

  Unconsciousness prevailed. Darkhorse vaguely noted a passage of time, but how much was beyond his limited senses. He tried to gather his wits, yet every time something pushed him back toward the darkness.

  What stirred him at last was a sound so terrible, the shadow steed wanted to return to his oblivion. It was a giggle. Yureel's giggle.

  "A little late and a little sloppy, but all things have worked out for the best, don't you think, my dear boy?"

  "Yes, Yureel," responded Aurim from nearby.

  Darkhorse slowly recovered. His gaze, when he could at last focus, fixed on the source of the giggle. The shadow steed's malicious counterpart floated about four feet above the floor. Darkhorse tried to leap at him, but something held him fast. He could neither reshape himself nor cast a successful spell. Once again he sensed Aurim Bedlam's work in this.

  "I hope you'll forgive the long wait, my brother, my self! It was hard to draw myself away from the delicious tableau I've been so busily concocting. I think dear Lanith can make do for now, though, even without his prize sorcerer or his oh-somajestic steed. The drake's warriors are admirable fighters, but their defeat is inevitable, isn't it, my brother, my self? Their first lines have already been routed."

  The shadow steed was startled. Routed? How long was I unconscious?

  Yureel must have noticed something, for he added, "Didn't you know? Of course not! How could you, having been trapped here for more than half a day!"

  Half a day? It seemed impossible, another of the shadow puppet's grand lies, but. . . Darkhorse believed him this time. Half a day . . . How much destruction and death had occurred? What had happened with the Bedlams? He doubted that they had escaped yet. Yureel would not have been nearly so gleeful if they had.

  The tiny figure clapped his hands. "Aaah, there is so much I could tell you about present and future events, Darkhorse, but it would be rather pointless now, wouldn't it? Poor, poor Lanith will be so disappointed, but I think the crushing of his former liege will assuage him! Besides, you made for a most unruly steed, you know!" Yureel giggled. "And a very sloppy one at the moment. You really should learn to hold up better."

  Darkhorse glanced quickly around the chamber. The three of them were the only ones in the place.

  "This is a private discussion." Yureel's tone was no longer merry and the change chilled Darkhorse. "My grand majesty has his little war to keep him occupied. As for the female creature who has accompanied you of late, she is for the moment enjoying a reunion with the king's Saress. They are two very intriguing beings I have yet to incorporate properly into my wonderful epic, but be sure that I will soon! They both seem fond of the lad here; I think there might be something in that. Poor Saress, though, will be so disappointed when she finds that she can't keep this Yssa. They've played quite the game of cat and mouse for years, I understand."

  "Saress does not know of you, does she, Yureel?"

  "She will in good time. That time is not yet now. She was useful, however, although I'm sure that she's still wondering what became of you. It was very fortuitous that she chose this time to bring you to me." By his tone, it had been more than fortuitous. The malevolent figurine drifted even nearer. "You've no idea how I missed you, my brother, my self. It was as if a piece of me had gone away . . . but that is the case, isn't it? Well, I've decided that the time's come for us to be together. No more games, no more epics, just the two of us together."

  The two of us together. He could not mean what Darkhorse thought he meant. It had to be the shadow steed's overwrought imagination.

  Yureel shifted closer until he was only a foot from his captive. "I should correct myself, of course. The two of us together . . . making only one."

  It was true, then. He meant to reabsorb Darkhorse. Yureel intended to swallow him, make everything that the ebony stallion had been his own—and Darkhorse could think of no way to stop him. The old fear reared its horrific head, making it nearly impossible for the shadow steed to think, yet he had to or he would perish. If Yureel absorbed him, there would be nothing left.

  "I so look forward to this, Darkhorse! You've lived an epic yourself, a story I could only dream of during my so lonely, so lengthy internment—"

  "A sentence of your own making, Yureel! A kind punishment, considering your atrocities!"

  "Kind? Kind?" For the first time, the shadow puppet nearly lost complete control. "Better would it have been if they had destroyed me! Do you understand at all my isolation, my loss? I'd intended to let you learn about helplessness a little at the erstwhile hands of Lanith, but the mortal was clumsy. Well, my brother, my self, a lesson lost is one best not remembered at all. I will just have to satisfy myself with living off of your memories." He glanced back at Aurim. "I shall begin. Be ready."

  Aurim nodded, his expression blank. "Yes, Yureel."

  "You're a grand, good boy." Yureel faced his prisoner again, but now his form shifted, seeming to melt. At the same time he expanded, growing more and more to encompass an area as great as that which Darkhorse filled. With each passing second, the differences between the pair lessened until even Darkhorse would have been hard-pressed to find them.

  "Perhaps I'll create another self at some point when I become bored. Perhaps that one will be more manageable than you were, Darkhorse."

  The shadow steed struggled, but Aurim held him fast. There was no sign of recognition in his steady gaze. Darkhorse could expect no help from that quarter.

  The black, floating mass that was Yureel reached out—and touched Darkhorse.

  The eternal felt as if needles had pierced every part of him. Darkhorse roared as Yureel began to flow over him, then quivered as his foul twin intruded into his mind. Darkhorse tried to pull away, but could not. Slowly but surely, the monster began to absorb his essence.

  No! I am Darkhorse! I am my own creature! I am distinct from Yureel!

  We are one that has been separated far too long, brother, returned the intruder. The separation is now at an end. Struggle if you will, but it will not even delay what is inevitable . . .

  He was right. Darkhorse could see that. Despite his defiance, despite his strong will, he was nothing to Yureel so long as Aurim held him in place.

  "Aurim! Hear me! Break his hold! Your will is powerful! He cannot hold you and still do this!"

  Aurim did not respond, though, save to stare down at the shadow steed.

  Nothing! I am undone!

  No, brother, you've been undone all this time! Now at last, the mistake will be corrected . . .

  Darkhorse felt his mind drift. Yureel was tearing him apart . . .

  We are one. What you are will be mine and with it I will turn the Dragonrealm onto its head and remake this land, this world, into my own dream! What a glorious epic I will create!

  I—was all that the shadow steed could think in response.
Already he barely remembered himself. His sense of being was slipping away, becoming nothing more than a fragment of his twin's powerful self.

  He had lost to Yureel . . . for the final time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aurim did not recall much about his time in the Manor. He remembered a struggle for control in the deep recesses of the Dagora Forest, then, for a long time, nothing. When at last he woke it was to find himself in the midst of an intricate bit of spellwork guided by the monstrous puppet master. Disoriented, he had been unable to prevent the completion of the spell that Yureel had used to trap his family.

  Yureel had controlled him completely throughout the process. The creature had first marched him around the Manor's grounds like a toy soldier, then, while Aurim desperately tried to communicate with his parents, the demon had completed the spell turning the protective barrier into a prison wall. Only Darkhorse and the woman who had earlier rescued his father had escaped, although how she had managed to get through, he could not say. Darkhorse had been meant to follow in order that Yureel could trap him again. It had made the demon furious when, after escaping the inescapable trap, the woman had distracted his intended prey.

  Still enraged, Yureel had returned him to Lanith, who had promptly called for a renewal to the torching of the forest. To Aurim, who knew the ways of the shadow puppet well by this time, it was harder and harder to tell when Lanith was himself or when he acted as spokesman for Yureel. Yureel whispered in the mind of the horse king, suggesting things and sometimes even giving outright commands through the monarch. Only General Belfour ever questioned the commands, but he usually quieted after one glance from Lanith.

  Aurim hated linking to the other sorcerers, especially when it came time to launch another terrifying assault in the name of the king of Zuu. The bond the Magical Order forged was much, much deeper than those he had created with his own family. Each and every one of the other spellcasters' personalities became known to him and with only two or three exceptions, they were not people Aurim would have wanted to meet. Hysith was harmless and two of the others, students kidnapped from Penacles, were victims like the young Bedlam. Another student from Penacles, Willar Avon, had willingly joined in return for the gold Lanith had offered. As for the rest of the Order, they were mostly ruffians who had had the dubious fortune of being born with a better than average tendency for sorcery.

  The worst, other than Saress, was Ponteroy. Each time they linked, Aurim sensed the other sorcerer try, ever so subtly, to undermine the connection his successor had created between the band. Ponteroy wanted him to fail just enough that Lanith would rename the northerner second in command. From little snippets of thought Aurim had gained through the connection, he knew that Ponteroy dreamed of seizing control of Zuu, but only if he could get Saress on his side. It was a dream that the gold-haired spellcaster knew would always remain a dream. Saress was Lanith's slave.

  Each time before they bonded, the Magical Order formed a geometric pattern with Aurim the center. There were seven of them this time, the others having been forced by exhaustion to abandon the spellwork. The loss was fairly negligible; those with Aurim were the strongest of the group. Losing someone such as Hysith was not a major blow to the Order.

  Burn the forest! Force them to fight in a more open area like true warriors! Teach the lizards and elves what humans can do! Lanith's words did not take into account that among the defenders were many humans as well. He did not care; the horse king spoke for the benefit of his warriors, who hung on every damnable sentence.

  The drakes had finally tried sending some of their number in the form of dragons, but they had learned all too quickly the folly of doing that. It seemed that for months one of the details of the Order had been to cast spells on the arrows of the horse king's archers. The first dragons who had flown near enough had perished in a hail of remarkably accurate and deep-penetrating bolts, backed up by sudden lightning storms summoned up with ease by the sorcerers. It had not helped that many drakes had become so accustomed to humanoid form that they were actually clumsier in the ones in which they had been born.

  Aurim watched the results of the spellwork. The fires raged strong, destroying all in their paths. Those who simply sought to defend their homes were perishing out there and it was his fault. They were dying in most part because of Aurim Bedlam's much vaunted power. All these years he had failed to reach his potential and now, when that potential had at last become realization, his abilities were the plaything of a demon.

  Lanith commands that the fires be doused, Aurim Bedlam. It seems he wants to let his little soldiers play now.

  The command passed along by Yureel came as both a relief and a new cause of grief. Aurim needed rest, having maintained the fires since being forced to imprison all those in the Manor. Yureel might control his body and be able to make him cast spells for hours at a time, but the weariness was ever Aurim 's.

  He canceled the fires, but some of the spells he and the others had cast continued to play havoc with the forest and the Green Dragon's defenses. Allowed to sit, Aurim watched with sinking hope as Lanith's forces moved ever forward through the ravaged land. Nothing the drake lord had thrown against them so far had done more than momentarily delay the horde. Lanith had lost some warriors, but not nearly enough to stem the tide.

  Father, what do I do? His parents could not help him now. Anything that happened would have to be of his own doing . . . and Aurim could think of nothing he could do. His great attempt to override Yureel's control had not only failed, but had led to greater disaster. But I can't give up! I can't!

  He was still trying to find some answer when the demon seized control of his body again. Come, Aurim, my friend! I've immediate need for you! An opportunity lost has suddenly arisen again!

  The invisible strings once again in place, Aurim rose to his feet against his will and turned to Ponteroy, who was watching the advance with far more satisfaction than he had. "Gather the others," Yureel commanded through him. "There is something that needs to be done."

  "The king said we could rest for now," countered Ponteroy, likely more than uncomfortable in his extravagant clothing. "I, for one, follow his commands, not yours, boy."

  Aurim's hand shot out, seizing the elegant sorcerer's arm near the shoulder. Ponteroy glared, then his face paled in pain as the hand gripping him squeezed tighter and tighter. Aurim felt Yureel pour a touch of sorcery into the grip, preventing Ponteroy from striking back.

  "His Majesty'll appreciate what we're about to do, Ponteroy," Yureel added through his unwilling puppet. "Now do what I told you and make it quick!"

  The hand released the other sorcerer, who nodded and hurried over to the others. Aurim heard Yureel giggle in his head.

  Ponteroy soon returned to him. He was still pale, but bitterness had overcome much of his fear. "They're ready . . . well, five of them and myself. Is that enough?"

  "That's enough. Oh, yes, that's enough," Yureel said, forgetting to sound like Aurim. They joined the weary but obviously cowed sorcerers, who had already formed their part of the pattern. Ponteroy took up his position. Aurim stood in the center of the group.

  He comes! He comes!

  Aurim's head jerked skyward. At first the ensorcelled spell- caster saw nothing, then a shocking sight materialized among the scattered clouds. A dragon. A sleek, swift one racing through the heavens. There was something familiar about it, though, and also something not quite right. It was as if there were two forms up there where only one was and neither of them radiated what passed for the magical signature of a true dragon. In fact, they reminded him more of—

  There! There!

  His gaze shifted to a tiny speck some distance behind the disconcerting dragon. It was as black as night and even from here he could sense who it was. Darkhorse!

  Oh, yes, my wondrous sorcerer, it's my brother, my self! Here I thought he'd gone and found some sense, but he's come back to me after all! Now we can proceed as I intended so long ago! Grand, glorious Lan
ith the Conqueror will just have to make do without his perfect steed. I've other, more important plans for Darkhorse . . .

  Unable to stop himself, Aurim formed the bond between himself and the others. Once more their wills became subordinate to his, which actually meant to Yureel's. Their power joined with his own. Aurim Bedlam felt such strength that he was certain that he could do anything . . . except escape his own tormentor.

  Now, the demon began, you will do the following . . .

  The spell trap was very simple, but very well timed. Aurim stared at the swift figure, trying somehow to contact Dark- horse or give him some other warning, but Yureel's control was insurmountable.

  When the shadow steed vanished through the hole that the sorcerer had created for the demon, tears of frustration slid down Aurim's face. Darkhorse was as good as trapped. The young spellcaster had been integral in creating the holding cell where the shadow steed now resided and he knew how strong it was. Darkhorse would not soon free himself.

  That was it, then. Darkhorse had been captured. There only remained the Gryphon. Yureel had managed to eliminate the other major threats to his insane campaign. Aurim had little faith in the drakes organizing themselves before the forces of Zuu laid waste most of the western half of the continent. Kyl sought for a more unified race, but even those of his kind who believed in the cause could not help bickering with one another.

  The new spell left him even more exhausted. In control of his own body, Aurim Bedlam would have collapsed, but Yureel kept him standing long after the others had settled down. Three sorcerers were always on duty, working in conjunction to monitor the spells already unleashed and watching for any new magical attack by the Dragon King. The demon secretly monitored each group through carefully crafted links to one selected member of the trio. Yureel's commands came as whispers in their heads, whispers they did not realize were not thoughts of their own. Aurim had once wondered why. Yureel simply did not possess all of them, but eventually realized that even his captor must have limits. Besides, it was clear to him that even the ensorcelled members were not possessed to the degree that he was. Like Lanith, they did not realize they were being influenced. Aurim Bedlam was Yureel's prize and received special attention.