A clinking sound echoed through the chamber. A tiny object rolled into view below the sphere.
It was the shattered chess piece from the vision involving Azran and Hadeen.
So cold, so alone for so long . . . then given freedom only to feed some contemptible wizard’s little plot! He thought he controlled me, but I was stronger . . .
The vision of Cabe’s mother formed again. The crystalline eyes stared hungrily at the captive mage.
This isn’t my mother, Cabe realized. It wore her form, but the eyes were not hers. They represented something else inhabiting her.
So clever, the little half-blood, the phantasm said without moving its lips. She drifted toward him. Played right into his hands and his hands played into mine! He wanted all that power in a malleable vessel, one from which he would eventually draw everything to him . . . but I was stronger . . .
She gestured and the chess piece rolled closer to Cabe. He could better see the top, where it was clear something within had escaped. What had Azran unleashed and why? Cabe still did not understand, save that it was Vraad in origin.
He remembered something his captor had said. His mother was a half-blood?
Hadeen! the wizard thought, imagining the half-elf who had raised him. Did you know?
The drake suddenly lurched forward. However, he did not walk toward either Cabe or the apparition, but rather the crest to mage’s left. As the scaled warrior stepped up to the wall, the roots there pulled away. Cabe could not make out the exact details, but saw now that there was a face carved below the crest.
This was a crypt.
The drake pulled back a fist, then struck the wall. The crash of his fist against the stone resounded through the chamber. Cracks already created by the roots spread farther.
Without hesitation, the drake struck again. This time, not only did the stone crack, but so did some of the bones in the drake’s hand.
Despite what should have been a horrific injury, the scaled warrior continued to pound at the wall. Cabe felt actual pity for the drake, who was killing himself for the apparition’s desires.
The roots stretched out, carrying Cabe forward, then turning him toward the task at hand.
No sooner had that been done, then some of the stone fell in, revealing a darkened area behind the wall. The drake now tore at the hole, making it bigger. His breath grew ragged and blood dripped from his hands, but he had no choice but to continue.
And at last, what lay within was revealed.
The tomb was a simple one, with the house crest evident over the silver and stone casket, which itself stood upon a waist-high marble platform. Someone had placed a vase of white roses by one end of the coffin, which Cabe assumed was where the head was.
But the simple elegance of the tomb was ruined by the insidious roots, which sprouted from the casket itself. Cabe frowned, wondering about the contents.
The ghostly female joined the drake as he entered the tomb. She turned to smile at Cabe, who was revolted by the fact that it wore his long-lost mother’s form. They thought they sealed me in, she mocked. but I would not be sealed in again! I fought. I raged . . . and was rewarded when all fell around me . . .
At some unspoken command, the drake worked as best he could with his ruined hands to open the coffin. With a long moan, the top slid back.
Cabe was not certain what he had expected. The true body of his mother, he supposed, either intact or decayed. Instead, a familiar golden substance covered the entire interior and whatever remains might have been placed first place.
Amber. The same substance in which Azran had sealed Lady Gwen for two centuries until Cabe had released her. Its preservative qualities, especially enhanced by magic, were renowned.
Azran had used it as a punishment, but aware of what held him prisoner, Cabe was certain that whoever had cast this had done so to contain something that needed to be contained.
My will was stronger than hers, stronger than his, stronger than all of theirs . . . she began anew. Though he tore my essence free the moment he pulled me from Dru Zeree’s foul prison, he failed to subdue my will! It grew within her, changed her . . .
The drake warrior slammed his fist against the amber. There was more cracking of bone, but nothing more. The roots shoved Cabe closer to the tomb. Although she was in sight now, the ghost continued to speak in his mind.
But then the infant grew strong enough to pull me two ways, weaken me. She prevailed . . . for a time. The infant was born . . . tearing me apart!
Suddenly, she was in front of Cabe, the hungry crystalline eyes burning into his soul in search of something. The wizard shut his eyes, only to have some force open them wide.
Child of mine you are as much as hers . . . more! Dear, sweet Dru would not let me have his darling daughter, but I shall cherish you . . . for the few moments I need to take back what’s mine!
As she spoke, another image briefly overlapped her. Cabe saw a strikingly beautiful yet ominous woman with short scarlet and ebony hair and tear-shaped eyes. He did not need to see that the eyes were crystalline to know that this was the ghost’s true image.
No sooner had it materialized then the other image faded. The twisted vision of his mother—whose name he still did not know—smiled. Cabe shivered.
Now . . . be a good son and open the way . . .
The roots shoved him all the way to the casket. As he closed, the amber took on a slight illumination of its own.
And briefly, ever so briefly, Cabe saw the woman within.
It was the same woman whose form the dark spirit currently wore, but with a softness that the ghost did not have. Her eyes were closed and so Cabe could not see if they had turned crystalline, but one thing that did catch his attention in that moment was her expression. There was a sadness that touched him.
Her hair was also swept back from ears, revealing something else that he only noted after the image had faded back into the thick amber. She had slightly pointed ears. His mother did indeed have elven blood in her.
The roots tightened. The wizard gasped for breath.
Open the way, my darling . . .
It occurred to him that with all her power, the apparition seemed entirely helpless where the amber was concerned. Cabe eyed the the casket, seeking now the spell matrixes.
At first, he thought somehow that he had cast it himself. It was his signature . . . but with a subtle difference.
Grandfather’s, the mage finally understood. Nathan cast this.
Now he understood why she needed him. The complexity was one that rivaled even a Vraad’s. There were elements to it that only Nathan could touch . . . or someone who was also Nathan.
The tragic path to Cabe Bedlam’s birth was also one at least as complex as the spell he now inspected. He knew from Gwen that Nathan had sacrificed a part of himself to save his grandchild, who came to the world already dying. That part of Cabe’s grandfather had only fully melded into him after the younger Bedlam had fought against the Ice Dragon. The wizard also knew that all humans had Vraad blood flowing through them, but had thought it diluted by the thousands of years since that race’s fading.
But now Cabe understood that his father had attempted something even more vile than he could have imagined. In his lust for absolute power, Azran had taken this captive Vraad female’s essence and instilled it in Cabe’s pregnant mother. The mage already knew that his father had intended to sacrifice him and draw his already potent life force into his own body, but by adding including the Vraad into the development of the baby, Azran had created the potential for an even more powerful prize.
The roots began to tighten again. Cabe immediately worked on the spell, but part of his mind still dealt with the truth in the hopes that it might lead him to some escape. He carried within him strong Vraad essence, the powerful life force of the Bedlam line, and the fairly immediate presence of elven essence as well.
Cabe Bedlam had always wondered why he had grown so powerful even being the grandson of Nathan and
the son of Azran. There had been more to it. Much, much more. I am the amalgamation of several potent aspects of magic . . . a thing that could never happen by nature alone. I should not exist.
But that was a moot point. Not only did he exist, but he had loved ones and people to protect. Aware that the Vraad spirit grew impatient, Cabe continued to play at obeying. He needed to buy time until he could find escape.
As he probed deeper into the spell, he once more caught a glimpse of his mother. She was dead, Cabe knew that, dead sacrificing herself for him. Only now did he also see the black flower resting over her stomach. It looked as if it had been plucked full from the ground, for the roots trailed off her body toward the back and vanished below her. Although he could not see where they went, the spellcaster knew too well. While she might not have been able to shatter the amber, the Vraad had managed to penetrate it to a degree so that she could seek some outside power to fully free her.
But evidently, the only power that could was the same power—so to speak—that had imprisoned her in the first place.
Once again, the roots threatened to crush him.
Come, my darling . . . mother would leave this place . . .
That she was mad, the wizard was certain. That she was a danger to the Dragonrealm, Cabe knew as absolute fact, especially if she not only took back what had been stolen from her, but also all else that was him. She would be one of the most powerful spellcasters to ever walk the world.
I should never have followed so gullibly! I should have listened to him, not chased phantoms! As he berated himself, Cabe finally discovered the key to dissolving the spellwork. He kept his thoughts as well-shielded as possible. The Vraad might be strong, but she could not read all his thoughts.
Again, the mage received a tantalizing glance of his mother. He wondered why that kept happening. The Vraad already wore her form; she did not need to tease him so.
Then, Cabe thought about the fact that his mother was a half-elf. He knew what often happened to elves when they died. He had seen it happen to his adopted father.
The wizard placed his hand on the amber casing, hoping that he was not about to set the vengeful spectre free.
Another hand—a feminine one—touched the casing from the opposing side.
Without raising his own hand, Cabe looked in surprise at Marilee . . . or rather, something that wore Marilee’s form.
IX
The eyes met his.
The dark roots suddenly released the wizard. They lunged for the Vraad, who stood stunned at this turn. Despite the fact that she was an apparition, the first root to reach her actually managed to wrap itself around her ankle.
A savage hiss echoed throughout the chamber as the drake grabbed his sword with his ruined hands and severed the end of the lunging root. The Vraad dissipated, leaving Cabe and Marilee with the ensorcelled drake.
The roots now darted for the scaled warrior, but even injured as he was, the drake wielded the blade expertly. Pieces of root lay scattered everywhere.
Cabe almost pulled his hand free, but then Marilee’s hand slid over and pressed down on his. The wizard chose not to struggle, letting whatever used the woman to continue.
The roots began to curl into themselves. As Cabe watched, they quickly withered. At the same time, they also withdrew toward the coffin and the amber.
As if drunk, the drake now stumbled toward the mage and his companion. There was no doubt from the way he gripped the sword that he was after the pair. The Vraad still controlled him, even if that control had grown shakier. Well aware of the might of even a wounded drake, Cabe tried to cast a spell while still maintaining his link with the amber.
But again, ‘Marilee’ interfered. She squeezed the mage’s hand, making him look back at her. The woman said nothing, but there was a look in her eyes that made Cabe halt his casting.
The roots receded faster and faster, finally vanishing into the casket.
The drake dropped to his knees, then collapsed in a heap.
At the same time, Marilee also slumped forward. Cabe caught her before her head would have hit the amber. He pulled her around the casket, then set her against the nearest wall. Satisfied as to her health, the wizard checked on the drake. While still badly injured, the would-be assassin breathed regularly.
Searching the drake, Cabe found the Aramite creation. There was little power left in it, but that did not matter to the mage. With much satisfaction, he crushed it.
Despite the apparent victory, Cabe sensed that the Vraad had not been entirely contained. There was something he felt that he had not done and that he should have done, but all that mattered at the moment was to get Marilee—and the now helpless drake, he supposed—to safety.
No longer caring about spells attracting ghosts, Cabe did not take long in sending both unconscious figures to the floor above. When that was done, he paused to gaze at the ruined tomb of his mother, whose name he still did not know.
But there was someone who could tell him. The same someone he should have listened to earlier. The spectral carriage had been the most blatant summons yet.
“Farewell,” Cabe whispered to the amber. “I’m sorry.”
He vanished from the chamber, materializing a breath later in the room above. With another brief thought, Cabe summoned a new sphere.
Unfortunately, in its illumination he now saw that there was no sign of either Marilee or the drake.
Concentrating, Cabe probed for either one. There was no sign of them, but he did detect Bertran’s presence where he had left the big man. Sending the sphere a few yards in advance of him, the wizard headed to the entrance, hoping that Bertran could shed some light on the situation.
He spotted Marilee’s companion as he neared the arched entryway. Bertran continued to pound his fists against the barrier, only halting when he, in turn, noted Cabe’s return.
The wizard expected anger, but instead Bertran looked horrified. The man shouted something, yet no sound escaped him. That had not been part of Cabe’s spell.
The stone entrance collapsed on the mage.
It was fortunate for Cabe that with the destruction of the device his defensive spells had been fully restored, but even still he risked being crushed to death. Warned by Bertran’s expression, he managed to draw a shield above him just as the first heavy stones dropped. Even then, the force of the collapse pushed the wizard to his knees.
As Cabe struggled to free himself, a figure towered over him. He looked up into the savage, half-visible countenance of the helmed drake.
A drake with crystalline eyes.
“Were you thinking of leaving?” the Vraad asked through her puppet, the drake’s croaking voice mixing with a sly, feminine one. “But you wouldn’t let anything come to harm these poor innocents, would you?”
The Vraad-possessed drake gestured past Bertran to what had been a decorative statue that vaguely resembled a wolf. Although the head still remained, most of the features save one eye had been worn away by time.
But that was not so important as the fact that the statue peered with malevolent intention at Marilee, who was pinned beneath one half-shattered paw.
“I had a very nice pet similar to this one once,” the spirit merrily continued. “Or rather, a series of them! Every Cabal was always so loyal, so obedient! They would snap off someone’s head at my merest whim, just to please me . . . ”
The statue’s carved mouth ripped open, revealing sharp stone teeth. In a grating voice, it asked, “Feast, mistress?”
“Not yet, my dear . . . ” The drake grinned at Cabe. “Not if my sweet son does as his mother asks!”
“You—are not—my mother.”
The possessed warrior raised one hand. The stone wolf opened its jaws and set them around Marilee’s throat. Cabe noticed that Marilee was not conscious. The spirit that had inhabited her for a time—his true mother, he still believed—had gone back to her rest once the amber had been resealed.
But why had not the same happened with the
Vraad?
“I am your mother,” the ghost insisted with indignation. “And I will teach you to say, if only before you die, ‘Yes, Melenea, you are my dear mother!’”
As she spoke, Cabe at last noticed something different about the drake. Insinuated in his armor and spread among the scales was a number of tiny black roots. From what the wizard could see, they all originated somewhere on the warrior’s back. Cabe had the notion that if the drake turned, there would be a black flower there.
Melenea had outwitted them, setting in place a link to the outside that even the sealing of the amber would not sever. She had no doubt done so the moment that she had ensnared the drake.
The sinister spirit saw his interest. “Oh, yes! I’ve had so long to plan, so long to think of all contingencies! I have a thousand plans for a thousand situations, most of them well-crafted over the ages trapped in that chess piece by dear, accursed Dru!”
Twice she had mentioned that name, one vaguely known to Cabe through his contact with Shade. Another Vraad and, if the hints that Shade had made once were true, one whose bloodline consisted these days of the Bedlams.
He did not think Melenea knew this. She had made no such comment. She might know that the legacy of the Vraad race ran through him, but not that her tormentor was the progenitor of the wizard. For the first time since he had learned of the ancient sorcerers, Cabe wished at least that one had somehow survived. There was a shift in Melenea’s tone that hinted that, despite her bravado, she feared this Dru Zeree.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through Cabe’s mind, a voice that the apparition also clearly heard.
Now who said you were allowed out of the game, Melenea?
The voice was ghostly, yet dominating. It had all the arrogance, the power, of a Vraad . . . although Cabe recognized it as someone he had known well, someone who was certainly not Vraad.
And with that declaration came the giant shadow of a chess piece shaped like a lunging wolf, but lacking a head.
For just a moment, the ghost lost her confidence. The ensorcelled drake let out a frightened hiss and stumbled back.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 86