But what these survivors of Clan Iron desired with Cabe’s death was a question with many possible answers, none of the good for the Dragonrealm as a whole. The drake confederacy had a treaty of noninterference with most of the human realms. Their nominal leader, Sssaleese, was a drake who constantly had to look over his shoulder at rivals who considered their higher-caste births as reasons they should rule. The last Cabe had heard, Sssaleese still held sway, but perhaps this party of killers represented a new force rising in the confederacy.
The mage noted that when he thought of these subjects, his mind was not impaired. The weapon’s spellwork evidently responded to his magical abilities, perhaps feeding on them and turning them back on Cabe. That might explain the powerful force he had felt before blacking out.
The pain continued unabated throughout his conclusions and though over the years Cabe had become skilled at dividing his thoughts from any physical distress, he finally had to give in to that pain. Exhaling sharply, he shut his eyes and fought to keep from blacking out. Tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks. In the background, he heard the drake’s hacking laugh.
Another voice suddenly intruded, a harsh male—and human—voice. There was a growl and then a heavy thump. The drake’s laugh twisted into a grunt as full of pain as that Cabe felt.
Someone grabbed the wizard by the shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position. The action allowed the wizard to focus on something other than his distressed state.
But when he opened his eyes again, it was to stare into a pair of crystalline ones. Cabe exhaled in dismay—and the eyes vanished, replaced by the gruff countenance of a bearded man.
“What’d you do with her, mage?” the figure demanded. He set a well-worn knife at Cabe’s throat. “What demon’s trick’ve you used on Marilee?”
“Easy, Bertran!” called another from somewhere behind the towering man. “We don’t want him dead, not if he can still return her to us!”
This in no way assuaged Bertran. “He’ll give her back to us if he wants his death to be quicker and cleaner than what he left our people to!”
“I’ve done nothing—” A hard slap from the back of the hand wielding the knife cut Cabe off.
The drake dared laugh again, this time not just at the wizard, but their captors. Bertran whirled on the injured warrior. “You’re only alive for one reason, so remember that!”
“Then—then you are in trouble—for I—I will not be your guessst much longer...” And as the drake declared that, blood accenting his words dribbled from his lipless mouth. He no longer laughed, but merely coughed harder and harder in search of air.
“Stop that, you damned lizard! Stop it or I’ll—”
But the drake let out one last great hiss—that again ended in a hacking cough—and slumped. The narrow eyes lost their fire, the grew milky.
Bertran spat at the corpse. “Marilee never should’ve bothered to have us save him! See what’s all happened now?”
Saved him? Focusing his thoughts, Cabe asked, “What did you save him from?”
The big man sneered. “You came from the direction he did. You saw what happened to his comrades and their beasts, didn’t you?” When Cabe had nodded, Bertran pointed at the drake. “The other pair, they were skewered nicely. This one had managed to steer clear for awhile, but the forest finally got him! The branches were crushing his bones...”
“Was a noisy sight, wasn’t it, Bertran?” someone jested.
“Aye...Marilee, being Marilee, she had some pity and thought maybe we could also learn something about why they were here. We were about to cut him free, but the branches just let him go for us.”
Cabe straightened. “The branches—the branches let him go?”
“Guess the ghosts favored us that moment, we being their kin.” Bertran sheathed the knife, then reached for something strapped to his back. “Gave us the drake and he gave us enough to know how to use this on you.”
The Aramite device was a short, ebony staff topped by a fist-sized crystal in whose center shifted what to the wizard thought looked suspiciously like fresh blood. Cabe could not see any method by which to control the staff’s power, but assumed it had to be simple if someone unversed in magic could manipulate the weapon even to some degree.
“Now, I’ve answered your questions, mage, so we’re going to get back to what’s important...” Bertran’s scowl grew. “Marilee. Don’t think because I talked calmer I’m any less ready to gut you! You’ve got one chance and that’s to give her back to us and now!”
“I didn’t—do anything—but I can help if you release me—”
Bertran raised the staff to strike Cabe, but two of his companions seized him before he could.
“Leave ‘im be, Bertran!” begged one.
“He’s the only one who can bring her back!” added the second.
Cabe had had enough. He had seen what some force in the forest had done to the drakes. A human woman was not likely to last much longer against it. “Would you just—just tell me what happened after I was knocked senseless...”
His emphasis on the last word did not go unnoticed. The second man whispered something in Bertran’s ear.
“She sent us ahead...” Bertran finally told the wizard. He went on, giving what sparse details existed. Cabe continued to fight his pain, forcing it into one part of his mind as he surveyed his captors better. A very ragtag bunch, most of them young, but a few older than Cabe visibly appeared. The older ones wore clothes that still marked them as once of Mito Pica. The garments themselves were not that worn, but it looked as if their wearers had gone to the trouble of retaining the padded shoulders, arched collars, and other aspects of style popular at the time of the city’s demise.
How many loved ones did they lose? How many? The mage tried not to think about those deaths, more deaths that he blamed on himself. With that guilt came a new rush of agony. Cab groaned and bent forward. The voices faded away. He knew only the pain...
Do you play chess? asked a voice that suddenly came not from without but within. It jerked Cabe back to his surroundings. He knew and despised that voice.
It was Azran’s.
Where did you find this set? asked another speaker whose identity equally shocked Cabe. He could never forget the voice of the man who had been his real father.
“Hadeen?” the mage murmured.
Silence reigned around him. Blinking his gaze clear, Cabe saw why. Everyone, even Bertran, was staring to the wizard’s left.
There, two vaguely-seen figures—their translucent forms glowing—sat in the middle of darkened forest leaning over a chessboard not only of unusual size and make, but with pieces that, in contrast to the murky players, even from a distance gave indication to tremendous craftsmanship. Indeed, the fine details of the pieces seemed to magnify before the mage’s eyes and, in doing so, revealed to him that he had seen this set before.
He looked in shock from the set to the pair. For a moment, the player on the left defined enough to reveal a handsome, youthful man with features just sharp enough to hint that he was not entirely human. Clad in forest green and earth brown jerkin, shirt, and pants, the leather-booted figure looked more like a hunter than one who had been very much in touch with the spiritual aspects of elven life. Hadeen had made many sacrifices to raise the grandson of his best friend.
Then, a harsh, clinking sound drew Cabe’s attention back to the board. A single piece lay tipped over, Azran Bedlam’s undefined hand next to it. Cabe could not help but look at where his birth father’s face should be and even though it bore less detail than the ever-blurred visage of the accursed sorcerer Shade, the wizard could not help feel as if Azran stared at him. Shivering, his pain momentarily forgotten, Cabe chose to eye the board rather than Azran.
Only then did he notice that there was something else wrong with the fallen piece. It had been shaped to resemble a huge wolf
in mid-leap, but now the wolf’s head was nothing but a piece of shredded metal, revealing a hollow interior.
The players and the game vanished without warning. Several of Cabe’s captors turned to one another in consternation.
“We should leave this place, Bertran!” someone insisted. “They’re growing stronger!”
“They won’t harm us! We’re blood!”
“How do you know? Maybe the wizard didn’t have nothin’ to do with Marilee! He was knocked out!”
Cabe forced aside both their troubled mutterings and the resurgence of his own pain as he finally recalled just why this particular board seemed so familiar. It was now the property of the master of Penacles, the City of Knowledge...and to Cabe’s memory, the set was whole, its individual pieces unmarred. Yet, according to these phantasms one had been ruined, as if some force within had exploded free.
And although his current plight should have demanded his complete attention, Cabe Bedlam had the distinct feeling that understanding just what the shattered piece represented might mean more to his survival than anything else.
IV
The throbbing pain overwhelming the right side of her face finally stirred Marilee to consciousness. She groaned, which in turn caused a hissing intake of breath from somewhere to her left.
The hulking form of a drake warrior filled her horrified view. Marilee tried to move, only then noticing that her arms and legs were bound. She recognized her pursuer, although he was in a much more ragged state than previous. His armored body was covered in scars, revealing that the scales were indeed part of his flesh, not metal as they appeared. One particularly nasty scar ran across the drake’s throat.
“You humansss...ssso weak! I thought I’d ssslain you with that light ssslap!”
“Why didn’t you?” she couldn’t help ask despite the obvious risk in doing so.
“Becaussse—” The drake pulled himself together and spoke with more precision. “Because you will bring me two things. The staff...and the wizard. That should not be such a terrible thing; your hatred for the wizard is almost as great as mine.”
She managed a sneer. “I despise drakes even more than him! He might’ve been the reason my family and others perished, but your kind wielded the blades!”
“Those were warriors of Clan Gold, against which our lord revolted unsuccessfully.” He waved off any further explanation. “Your cooperation isss not necessary, only that I have you. Your friendsss, they will come for you and they will bring Cabe Bedlam to me!”
As the drake made this last declaration, a sinister creaking sound arose from every direction. Marilee anxiously looked around, but saw nothing at first.
Then, she realized that the trees surrounding them leaned much closer than before. The long, twisting branches looked especially eager to reach the drake, but something held them back.
Her captor laughed. He opened his left hand to reveal a small cube that faintly radiated a dark green light. “Another toy from the wolvesss,” the drake explained unhelpfully. “Meant to be usssed in conjunction with the staff you found on Sssorus. It protects againssst magic and the sssupernatural...quite effectively, too, ssso I discovered.”
As he said the last, the drake indicated his throat. Marilee pretended to care, her mind racing on how to save herself from this danger. Bertran would no doubt be planning something, but he also had the wizard with which to contend. They only knew the basics of the device they had found on the injured drake and it was possible that even now Cabe Bedlam might no longer be a prisoner.
That possibility actually heartened her briefly, something Marilee immediately experienced mixed feeling over. She and her band had heard of rumors of the wizard’s yearly pilgrimage to the ruined city, a time when the ghostly memories of Mito Pica seemed to stir to greater life than ever. There had been arguments as to his reasons for returning annually, but most believed he felt guilt over his part in the bloody event. That Cabe Bedlam might suffer anguish had not in the least redeemed him in the eyes of those who had lost family and lives, but now Marilee desperately wished that the mage would appear and take on both the drake and the sinister force surrounding the pair.
“I sssaw you take Sssorus, but...wasss detained,” her captor went on, leaning closer as he talked. His breath—a carnivore’s sickly-sweet breath—assailed her. “He wasss badly injured, yesss?”
“Probably dead by now,” Marilee dared admit, waiting for the drake to strike her for saying so.
He merely shrugged. “A warrior fallen. All that mattersss in the end isss the wizard’s death. You should want that, too.”
She saw a chance. “I’ll be glad to help—”
The drake chuckled. It was not a pretty sound. “Oh, you will, human. Now that you are conscious, you will...”
He reached for Marilee.
The latest wave of agony subsided enough to enable Cabe to focus on what his captors were doing. He estimated that he had been overwhelmed by the staff’s foul power for at least a quarter hour. It had struck him only moments after the apparitions had vanished. The mage cursed the Aramite device not only for the pain it inflicted, but more so now because it had prevented him from trying to decipher what he had witnessed.
There were ghosts in the Dragonrealm. Some were actual spirits, some were memories burnt into reality itself. Cabe was very familiar with both, but especially the latter, for he and his family inhabited an ancient sanctum—part tree, part stone—simply known through the ages as the Manor. It had housed many inhabitants over the countless centuries, most of their lives a mystery even to the wizard. The apparitions that Cabe had seen now looked akin to the Manor’s memories, but the fact that they had focused on an element of his past was disquieting.
Bertran interrupted his struggling thoughts. “You look pretty sane again.”
Cabe ignored the inaccuracy of the man’s statement. Bertran needed him to help with the missing Marilee and that meant hope of ending this waves of pain.
When the mage said nothing, Bertran held up the Aramite device. “Maybe you understand this enough. Tell me how to make its power weaker and I’ll use it to help you.”
There was a very good chance that Cabe’s captor wanted just the opposite information. Knowing how to lessen the agony also likely meant understanding how to make it worse. Still, Cabe decided that he had to take the chance. Through the Gryphon, the wizard had learned much about both the older magic wielded by the Aramite sorcerers called keepers and the newer, possibly more vile arts they utilized now.
“Hold it—hold it close.” When after a brief uncertainty Bertran obeyed, Cabe studied the head and handle of the staff, deciphering the Wolf Raider script and runes.
“Well?”
“Grip the very bottom of the base. It should—” Another wave of agony threatened the mage. “It should turn halfway to the left!”
Bertran did as bade. “It did. Now what?”
“Runes—runes on one side. Five in a row.” Cabe gasped. “Are there?”
“Five. I see ‘em.”
The wizard inhaled. “First and fifth. Touch them together. That should do it. Tap my head...lightly.”
The strain grew overwhelming. Cabe’s head spun.
Without warning, his agony diminished. It did not fade completely, but became far more tolerable.
“Did that do it?” growled Marilee’s man. “Say something, spellcaster.”
“Maybe you should hit him again,” someone suggested.
“No!” The wizard drew back as best he could just in case his warning had come too late. He was not certain that another touch might not reverse matters again. Cabe could not say why its foul handiwork had not entirely ceased, but at least it appeared to be at a manageable level. “No...the staff’s magic has lessened. Eventually, it should fade away...I hope.”
To not only prove his first point but discourage any tho
ught that they might keep him under their control, he made his bonds turn to dust. One of the other men immediately threw a knife at Cabe, but he had been expecting just such a reaction. The blade froze in the air a few inches from his throat, then changed into a dozen blue and green glowing moths that scattered into the dark sky.
“I trust that’ll be a sufficient display to deter any other notions of attacking me,” the wizard quietly remarked.
Most of the others nodded quickly, but Bertran looked furious. He swung the staff at Cabe, at the same time snarling.
Cabe softened the ground enough to make the large man’s boots sink up to the ankles, then solidified it. Bertran struggled in vain to reach him. In growing desperation, Bertran finally threw the Aramite device at his adversary. Fortunately, used so, the insidious creation was no danger. Cabe took pleasure in forcing the staff to turn head down and bury itself deep in the soil at his feet.
He did not destroy it, aware that it might be needed in some manner. Cabe had no idea what had happened to Marilee and was not positive that she was even alive, but if she was, he might need the Aramite creation to rescue her.
Bertran continued to rail at Cabe, but the rest were clearly subdued. The wizard stepped within the imprisoned man’s reach. Bertran swung at Cabe, only to have his fist stop in mid-air. Cabe sighed, admiring the other’s determination, but wishing that he would learn quicker.
“I will still help you find her,” he told Bertran. “And the sooner you calm down, the sooner we can begin.”
Reason finally returned to the man’s gaze, but he could still not simply accept the reversal of their positions. “All right. Just don’t try anything...”
“I won’t,” Cabe responded, holding back a brief moment of amusement. Then, the seriousness of the situation returned to his attention. “I need you to lead me back to where you took me. That’s all. When we’re close, you can return to the rest here.”
Bertran shook his head violently. The tawny-haired man gritted his teeth. “I’m going with. We find her together.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm Page 14