When one Dragon King—Brown—had died trying to slay Cabe himself, his human vassal, the lord of Zuu, had begun his own campaign for power. Lanith had gathered by guile and force a small but deadly group of half-trained mages, pawns not only of him, but his own true master, Darkhorse’s twin, Yureel. Before Lanith’s plan had been foiled and the Horse King and Yureel slain, many had died.
Even before then, Cabe and his wife had begun to gather young humans with the gift into schools where they could be cautiously trained. The Dragon Kings had, over the centuries, attempted to control or eradicate any such humans, but always a few had survived and flourished. Now, with no such threat, more and more were appearing.
And now some of them were disappearing.
Gordag-Ai had produced its share of mages, including the present queen of Talak, Erini. They had been free of the yoke of a Dragon King longer than most realms. Because of Erini, restrictions against magic had loosened and now that her nephew, Edrik, sat on the throne, he even employed a few for the good of the kingdom.
But Cabe had come to wonder whether Edrik might now be desiring to be the next Lanith . . . and that was why he had hesitated to enter the city.
Darkhorse turned his head forward again. “I shall endeavor to keep my identity secret, friend Cabe.”
Cabe patted him on the neck. “I don’t want to lose you.”
The ebony stallion snorted, but clearly appreciated his rider’s comment. The pair moved on, heading toward the great wooden gates leading into Gordag-Ai.
Guards with high, forked helms, bronze-colored breast plates, and wide-hipped military pants watched warily as he and others entered. The banners of the kingdom, a fierce red ram on a field of black and white stripes, fluttered overhead.
In contrast to the broad, almost cumbersome garments of the locals, the buildings were short, narrow, and packed together. Although not nearly so expansive as Talak or Penacles, Cabe still saw no reason for Gordag-Ai to be so cramped. However, as he studied the people, he noticed that they seemed more inclined than in most places to bump against one another, almost as if on purpose.
Something Queen Erini had once said of her homeland came to him. “We are a close-knit people, we of Gordag-Ai. Surrounded by drakes so long, we came to cherish the presence of one another . . . ”
Whatever the truth behind her beliefs, certainly the Gordagians, as they were called, spent much time finding excuses to talk. Several tried to strike up a conversation with each newcomer who entered. A number of onlookers peeked from the open windows and for the first time the wizard realized that, despite their narrowness, Gordagian buildings had more openings than normal—and thus more places to lean out and see or speak with a passerby.
At a clean if old establishment called the Mountain Herder, Cabe dismounted. After going through the pretense of tying Darkhorse to a post, the supposed pilgrim stepped inside.
His smiling host, a young, fair-haired man, came up to him. “Welcome, traveler! I am Brode! Please! Have a seat! Some ale?”
Taken slightly aback by the robust manner of the innkeeper’s greeting, Cabe hesitated before agreeing. “An ale would do wonders for my parched throat, good man. Do I also smell stew?”
“Oh, aye! My wife, she’s finishing it up now! Just be a few minutes!”
With the utmost earnestness, Brode guided his newest customer to a seat. As the wizard sat, he glanced around at the others. Brode had five patrons, all but one clad in local clothes. The fifth wore plain trader’s garb with small badges sewn in at the shoulders that indicated he originated from Talak, far to the east. All seemed perfectly at ease with the innkeeper’s overenthusiastic nature.
After Brode had brought him his drink and meal, Cabe leaned back. Outwardly, it appeared he relaxed, his eyes half-shut while he occasionally took a sip or a bite, but in truth, the wizard now reached out with his senses, trying to detect any disturbance along the invisible, intangible lines of force that crisscrossed everything and everybody. Even the slightest hint of magic would register.
But after a good hour, he detected nothing. His food gone and his ale nearly down to nothing, Cabe focused his will in the direction of the king’s palace. He had seen it from afar as he had entered, a towering, slim structure that gave its monarch a view of everything for miles around. Cabe wondered about the safety of such a needle in the wind-thrashed regions of the northwest, but the tower seemed to take each blast in stride.
The one question remained was how often the king made his way up to the top, certainly a feat requiring exceptional health and patience.
From the palace, he at last noted a slight hint of magical action. The spell, however, was of such minute proportion as to be almost nonexistent. Cabe would have used more magic simply to douse the oil lamps that illuminated the room. Ignoring the faint signal, Cabe turned his focus elsewhere—
Without warning, a force of such magnitude that it made his head feel as if it had been kicked by Darkhorse’s hooves overwhelmed him.
Groaning, Cabe nearly fell forward onto the table. Everything swam. The other patrons glanced his way, although none rose to help.
Brode, just coming from the back, noticed the wizard’s agony. Cabe managed to pull together as the innkeeper approached.
“Are you not well?” the young man asked anxiously.
“Too long on the road, that’s all.” The wizard paid for the meal and drink. “I’m all right. I’ll be going.”
“We also have some fine rooms—”
“Perhaps later, I—” Cabe paused as he sensed the aura of magic approaching.
Through the doors entered three helmed men, soldiers of Gordag-Ai. On the breastplate of the leader, a stout but ready veteran with a thick beard, hung an amulet . . . the source of the aura.
The commander looked directly at the wizard, pointing.
Brode immediately backed away from his guest. The other patrons removed themselves from the premises.
The trio loomed over Cabe, who tried to analyze the spell work of the amulet. Protective, yes, but not dangerous. Certainly not the cause of his earlier distress.
“You are the mage,” rumbled the leader.
The fact that he stated Cabe’s calling as fact, not question, meant that no pretense would convince the soldiers otherwise. The wizard nodded.
“I am he. Is there a reason for disrupting my repass?”
“It is requested you come with us, mage. An invitation by his majesty, no less.”
Edrik? Cabe had not planned to speak with the young king, but the fact that Edrik knew of his arrival intrigued him. “And will I be wearing those upon my arrival in the royal court?” he asked, indicating the iron cuffs worn at the side of each guard. “As a safety measure?”
The bearded veteran kept his craggy face expressionless. “His majesty requests your willing presence.”
Which meant no cuffs. Did Edrik know exactly what mage he had invited?
Sensing the tension building within the soldiers despite their polite attitudes, Cabe nodded, then cautiously rose. Brode had vanished into the back room.
The officer led, with Cabe flanked by the two other guards. As they stepped outside, Cabe noticed that, for the first time, the area had emptied out. Word traveled fast.
Darkhorse gave an equine snort as they appeared. The wizard blinked, signaling his companion to maintain his pose as a simple animal.
A fourth guard sat mounted, the reins of his comrades’ steeds in his hand. The bearded soldier indicated that Cabe should retrieve his own horse.
Patting Darkhorse’s flank, the hooded mage mounted. Surrounded by what could pass for either an honor guard or determined captors, he rode off toward the towering palace.
III
“I’ve my suspicions, yes, I do, that you’re a very, very special wizard.”
The king of Gordag-Ai was young, barely eighteen, and the wide, jeweled throne of cherry wood made him look even younger. He wore the noble, crested crown of his line slightly askew over
his thin, blond hair. Edrik had soft features—not fat, for he was as thin as a rail -- and dark, blue eyes. His nose was arched and his mouth was full. Even without being monarch he would have attracted women, especially those with the innate desire to mother him.
Next to him stood the bearded officer and from Cabe’s study of the man here was a soldier who would give his life for the slight ruler.
“What say you, General Majjin?”
Majjin eyed their guest up-and-down impassively. “I’d place a wager you’re right, majesty.”
The imperial chamber of the Gordagian monarch was a simple affair compared to the plush courts of some kings. Good, sturdy oak walls trimmed in gold surrounded the occupants. Carvings of mountain animals decorated those walls. A gold chandelier with over fifty candles illuminated the room and a purple carpet crossed from the entrance to the dais on which the throne sat. Above the seated figure and his general hung the ram banner of Gordag-Ai.
Cabe decided to end the guessing. “You are correct, King Edrik. I am Cabe Bedlam, a friend of your aunt.”
The young monarch smashed his fist against the throne’s arm rest. His eyes widened and he grinned, making him look even younger. “I knew it! When they detected you, they said you were a powerful mage! Very powerful! I was certain it was you, especially after someone reported you riding on a huge black stallion!” Edrik suddenly looked around. “Majjin! Where’s the stallion?”
For once, the officer looked a bit disconcerted. “Majesty, I could hardly bring an animal into the royal court! It is in the stables where it belongs—”
“Majjin, you fool! Don’t you know what that ‘animal’ is?”
“I prefer to be considered a who, not a what,” boomed a voice from everywhere. “and I have graced the courts of a hundred and more regal kingdoms by invitation!”
The Gordagians whirled this way and that, searching for the source. Majjin had his sword out and stood protectively over the seated king. Edrik, on the other hand, had an expression even more awed than that which had greeted the announcement of Cabe’s identity.
Looking to the shadows in the corner to the left of the throne, the wizard spotted the two telltale blue orbs. Cabe smiled, which caused Darkhorse to chuckle.
Edrik and Majjin turned toward the shadows. Majjin extended his blade, as if a simple steel weapon could do anything against the eternal.
“Careful, general,” Cabe warned. “It doesn’t pay to antagonize him.”
There was truth to what he said. Darkhorse was a loyal comrade, an avenger of wrongs, and he understood humans enough to know simple concern and fright, but if Majjin persisted, the magical stallion might choose to see him as a danger . . . and absorb him.
Absorb was perhaps the wrong term, but Cabe had never come up with any better description. He had witnessed drake warriors and taloned beasts fall into Darkhorse, fall and keep falling as if into a bottomless abyss, finally vanishing. Only one being had ever emerged from that abyss and that had been the warlock Shade, a figure as potent in his own right as the eternal.
“It’s him!” shouted Edrik, now very much the youth. He would have risen and gone to the shadows if not for Majjin’s blocking arm.
The huge, ebony steed emerged from the black corner, forming out of the very darkness. He loomed over the two Gordagians.
“Your majesty!” roared Darkhorse, dipping his head. “I knew your great-grandfather, Edrianos V! A cheerful, cheerful man!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Edrik returned, “That wasn’t my greatgrandfather . . . that was my grandfather’s great-grandfather!”
“Was he? Aah, how time flies, as they say! My error!”
With a graceful, silent leap, the eternal flew up into the air, then landed with a twirl next to Cabe.
“You were supposed to remain inconspicuous,” the wizard remarked dryly.
“Have I not?” his companion asked in utter innocence.
The king squirmed free of Majjin. “But why come incognito, master wizard? Gordag-Ai’s no enemy of yours! You corresponded with my father and grandfather both!”
Cabe bowed his head. “And may once again I give my sincerest sympathies for your father.”
“My thanks, master wizard,” Edrik returned with equal solemnity. “The sickness took him swiftly.”
Edrik’s father, Ermanus X, had been king for only a few scant years when struck down, leaving the young prince, already without a mother since birth, to fend for himself. His aunt, the only sibling of Ermanus, had passed on what knowledge she could, but Erini lived far away in Talak. Edrik had been forced to grow up quickly.
“You have not answered the king’s question,” reminded General Majjin sternly.
“Majjin! Behave! He’s Cabe Bedlam, the master wizard! He doesn’t have to—”
“But I do,” interrupted the spellcaster. “The general is correct. I was remiss in not simply going to you, but—”
Now it was the bearded commander’s turn to interject. “But you were concerned about the wizards his majesty has been gathering . . . and whether my liege seeks to use them aggressively.”
Cabe’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. The general was a shrewd man.
“The lessons of the Horse King are not lost on Gordag-Ai, Master Bedlam. Nor is lost the fact that some of his wizards came from our realm. Be assured, though, that his majesty gathers his for the peace and security of the realm, not dreams of conquest.”
“The Drake Confederation is not stable,” Edrik added.
The dragon clans that had gathered in the northwest represented the survivors of more than half a dozen distinct lines, all with histories of turmoil and competition between them. That they had held together for more than a decade had more to do with their distrust of the rising human kingdoms than any true alliance. If Sssaleese, the unmarked drake who had gathered them, lost control, the repercussions would avalanche over Gordag-Ai.
“Be assured, King Edrik, that Gordag-Ai will not be alone if the Confederation collapses. In addition to myself, both the kingdoms of Talak and Penacles watch the situation.” Marriage, of course, bound Talak to Gordag-Ai. Penacles, on the other hand, was ruled by the half-human Gryphon, sworn foe of the Dragon Kings in general.
“I know that,” responded Edrik, returning to his throne. “And you should know that you’re our guest while you’re here, Master Bedlam.”
“I thank you, but my work is best done if I continue to move about.”
Majjin grunted. “You’re looking for these lost kids. The ones with magic.”
“I am.”
“You think the drakes took them?”
Cabe spread his hands. “It seems a distinct possibility . . . but I hope not.”
“ ‘Distinct possibility’? Hell, man! What else could it be?”
“That remains to be seen. Your own wizards have detected nothing?”
Majjin gave him a sour look. Edrik frowned.
“Our wizards are hardly of your caliber,” the king returned. “Den’s the best. He’s the one who created the spell that let us know you were near.” The young ruler looked to a guard. “Summon him.”
A few minutes later, a young, slightly-bearded man not much older than the king appeared. Clad in a plain, white robe, Den was tall, thin, and very studious. He peered at Cabe through two thick lenses attached by a metal clip to his nose.
“You sent for me, your majesty?”
“Den, this is Cabe Bedlam, the master wizard.”
Den nearly lost his lenses. “M-Master Bedlam!” He went down on one knee. “An h-honor, sir!”
“And beside him is the legendary Darkhorse.”
The thin spellcaster gaped, having somehow not noticed the towering stallion before.
“I’ll take that as a greeting!” chuckled the eternal.
Cabe bid the young man to rise. Den had thinning brown hair, but the silver streak was still quite evident. “So you cast the spell that detected me? I’m impressed.”
“To be frank, it was
to detect any magic. If I may say so, you and your—your companion—radiate power greater than anything I’ve ever experienced!”
But Darkhorse and I both shielded ourselves from the presence of other spellcasters, Cabe thought. This Den has much, much potential if his spell noted us despite that. Out loud, he replied, “But a fascinating feat, regardless.”
Den beamed.
“We summoned you for a question,” Edrik interrupted. “You know the rumors we’ve all heard. Have you detected any other magic or spells that you haven’t told me about? Even the slightest hint?”
“No, your majesty—but, in truth, I’ve been more focused on the west. You know why. Master Bedlam was just a fortunate mistake on my part!”
Cabe shook his head. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
Den adjusted his lenses. “Thank you, Master Bedlam, but I don’t.”
“This region is not the only one from which potential spellcasters have vanished,” Majjin pointed out.
“No, but it’s where the most have.” Cabe glanced at the general. “I take it you’ve been making your own inquiries for some time.”
“And will continue to do so. Gordagian citizens have been kidnapped. It is an affront to his majesty.”
This received a nod from the king. “Whatever help we may offer you, master wizard, it’s yours.”
“Actually, Den would be of use . . . if he doesn’t mind.”
The novice mage nearly lost his lenses again. “It would be an honor—but how may I serve you?”
Den’s awe reminded Cabe how he himself had felt the first time he had realized he wielded great power. “Your spell is better than you think. I’d like to see if we might be able to refine it.”
Before Majjin could protest, Edrik cut him off with a wave of his hand, replying, “Certainly, Master Bedlam! The skills of all my spellcasters are yours to command in this effort.”
“Thank you, but for now, I only need Den.”
Den looked embarrassed. “Actually, I did have some help in the matter. You’ll want her, too.”
“ ‘Her’?”
At that moment, another robed figure entered apprehensively. “My lord, forgive my impertinence for disturbing—”
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 71