rather, the blurry mask that passed for it. “Not yet, my dear friend, not yet, but-Madrac is fading and I cannot be certain what sort of persona will replace him. A different one from those past, that much is evident. I felt the need to speak to you, though, to tell you, but…”
“If you can free me, I will do what I can for you, Shade.”
“Free you? Don’t be absurd! I rather enjoy the irony of this!”
The tone of the warlock’s voice stirred the eternal’s misgivings far more than the actual words did. Has the curse given way to something darker, something much more sinister? Darkhorse wondered. Shade’s personality seemed to be swinging back and forth unpredictably. If the warlock had not been mad before, he soon would be under the pressure of this new torture.
Putting a hand to his forehead as if trying to relieve pain, Shade continued, “I also came to tell you this: I know where my mistake was made-where my spell went awry. I know why the ‘immortality’ I did receive turned out to be a never-ending agony. That can be rectified-this time.”
He took a step closer to the magical cage. “You-you can do nothing to deter me. Not while you are trapped here. The spellcaster responsible for your pleasant little domain has touched upon Vraad sorcery to create the cage. Do you know what that means?”
Darkhorse did not respond at first, stunned as he was by the warlock’s words, especially the last. “I know of Vraad sorcery. It no longer exists in this reality! The Vraad only live on in the seeds of their descendents; their magic has given way to the magic of this world!”
Shade inclined his head in a brief nod. “As you wish. Test the spell yourself-oh”-the spellcaster may have smiled; it was difficult for anyone other than him to know for certain-“that’s right. You can’t. You’re inside, of course, and the patterns are outside, surrounding the barrier.”
“Why did you come here, Shade? Merely to talk?”
“I came against my better judgment-but-I felt an overwhelming urge. Call it a whim.”
“Call it conscience.” Darkhorse retorted quietly.
“Conscience? I no longer have such a wasteful thing!” The hooded warlock stepped back, growing more indistinct with each step. There was always something not quite right, not quite normal, about Shade’s magic, but Darkhorse could not say what.
“Enjoy your vast domain while you can, friend. When you see me next, if you ever do, I will at last be master of my fate-and so much more.”
“Shade-” It was too late; the warlock dwindled away into nothing. The torch died the moment he was gone, plunging Darkhorse into the blackness again. It was the least of his concerns, though. The brief, puzzling visitation by him who was both enemy and friend interested him much, much more.
To say that Shade’s return to him was contradictory to what the spellcaster should have done was putting it so mildly that Darkhorse had to laugh. Shade did nothing without reason, even if Shade might not know the reason himself. To simply come to mock Darkhorse was not enough; it was not the warlock’s way in any of his countless lives, at least, the ones that the shadow steed knew about.
How old are you really? It was a question he had asked Shade time and again and it blossomed unbidden now, but there was no answer. The spellcaster could never recall. He only remembered a few vague things; that he, an ambitious sorcerer, had tried to gain mastery over powers that were, at the time, known simply as good and evil, dark and light. Perhaps colored by such primitive perceptions, Shade had made some fatal error in the final steps of his master spell. The powers were not his to command; he was theirs to play with. Perhaps the enchantment had even succeeded, but not the way the spellcaster had supposed. That still did not answer the question that always bothered the jet-black stallion. How old was Shade before we first encountered one another? Old enough to recall the Vraad? Old enough to-be one?
The thought was so insane, he cast it from his mind. Generations upon generations of Dragon Kings had come and gone since the brief, fiery appearance of the Vraad in this world. Humans were their descendants, yes, but nothing more.
All plans of immortality eventually fail. Even for the Vraad they did.
Darkhorse knew he was wandering away from the subject. He returned to the reason behind Shade’s brief and mysterious visit. If not to mock his helplessness, then what explanation was there for the warlock’s return? A warning? Perhaps. Possibly that and more. Darkhorse laughed low as another choice suggested itself. Could it be…?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key unlocking the chamber door. This is a busy day! I always thought prison was a lonely place!
The door swung open with a protesting squeal and torchlight flooded into the room. A guard stepped in and, his eyes focused on any spot other than the captive, lit the wall torch. As the human departed hastily, a second figure, tall and familiar, entered the chamber in a much more sedate manner. The gaunt, ancient form waited quietly while another guard, as anxious as the first to be gone, placed a stool midway between the door and the edge of the barrier.
When they were finally alone, Drayfitt spoke. His eyes drifted to a spot to the right of Darkhorse. He seemed a bit preoccupied, as if he could sense that someone else had been in the room. “So… demon. Have you reconsidered what my liege has requested of you?”
The shadow steed shifted to his left, trying without success to meet the gaze of the sorcerer. “That was a request? Do as he commands-without question-and he may free me some day to chase after Shade?”
“He is king and must be obeyed.”
“You are well housebroken, spelltosser.”
Drayfitt flinched, but he did not shift his gaze. It was apparent he knew what might happen if his eyes locked onto Darkhorse’s. “I swore an oath long ago to protect this city. It is my home. Melicard is my lord and master.”
“As I said, ‘well housebroken’! Every king should have such a loyal pup for a sorcerer!”
“Would that I had never needed to make use of these powers!” Drayfitt’s gaze turned upward, toward some memory. Darkhorse cursed silently.
“Why, then, did you?”
“The king needed a sorcerer. Counselor Quorin sought me out, knowing from his spies that I had held one minor political post or another for more than a century, something beyond the lifespan of a normal human, of course. Always before I was able to bury myself in the shuffle of bureaucracy, claim I was my own son or some such lie, and utilize just enough power to make men believe it. I have no desire to follow in my brother Ishmir’s footsteps and die fighting the Dragon Kings. I also have no desire to see Talak destroyed, which is a very real threat should the Silver Dragon ever succeed in his claim to the Dragon Emperor’s throne.”
So many things had happened during the years of Darkhorse’s absence that it was difficult for him to say what was the most astounding. That Cabe Bedlam, grandson of the greatest of the Dragon Masters, had bested the Dragon Emperor and fought his own father, mad Azran, to the death cheered the shadow steed, for he had met the young mortal and even travelled with him for a time. The death of the Gold Dragon had broken the drakes; who now could claim the throne of the highest of the Kings was arguable. Cabe Bedlam and his bride, the Lady of the Amber, had been raising the hatchlings of the Dragon Emperor alongside their own children, trying to teach the two races to coexist. Whether the drakes would accept the eldest royal male as their ruler when he finally came of age- whatever age was to a drake-was a question bandied about with no answer as of yet. Meanwhile, at least two of the remaining Dragon Kings had sought the throne of their “brother” on the basis that to wait for the young to mature was too risky, too speculative. Neither of the two could gain sufficient support among their kind, but the Silver Dragon was growing stronger every day. Drayfitt knew that the first step toward reunifying the lands would be to stamp out Talak, the enemy now within Silver’s own domain. Having just gained its true independence only a few years ago, the city-state was not going to give in, not while Melicard was king.
“Mal Quorin whispers in his ear at every opportunity, urging him to reckless crusades. Survivors of Mito Pica, the city ravaged by the drake Toma, still call for the blood of the reptiles and their voices are strong. Melicard himself is obsessed with the Dragon Kings. Once discovered, I came to realize that the only way to bring some sense to this chaos was to become an integral part of my liege’s court, a voice of reason.”
“And so you summoned a demon?” Darkhorse responded with false innocence. “Truly you are a master of logic! What genius! Never would I have thought of so cunning a plan!”
The sorcerer rose, his brief reverie broken by the stinging words. Almost, he glared at his captive.
