“Have you never wondered why I feared no tricks by that doddering old fool, Drayfitt?”
To one side, the ensorcelled guard suddenly moaned and shook his head. Her other spell had failed now. Erini stared at Quorin, who was reaching into his uniform for something that hung around his neck. It proved to be a medallion the diameter of a walnut.
Melicard groaned, though whether from pain or what he saw was debatable. “A Seeker medallion, Erini. One he received from me. It mutes a spellcaster’s abilities. Makes them… helpless.”
“Helpless. Yes.” The counselor snapped his fingers. Two of the sentries from the hallway joined him. One he ordered to assist the man who had just woken up. He looked at the second, then nodded toward Erini.
Beaten and worn, Melicard still tried to save Erini. He rushed past her and tried to tackle the oncoming soldier with his one good arm. Quorin’s servant, however, was a massive ox and he threw the one-armed king against the far wall. Melicard slipped to the floor, still conscious but stunned.
As the man turned toward Erini, she saw Quorin watching her from behind him, his cat’s smile wide across his face and a thin, jagged blade now waiting in one hand. Waiting for her.
XVII
While the night had brought chaos to Talak, it had brought something even more ominous to the Dagora Forest. Just beyond the protected grounds of the Bedlams’ domain, a tree curled and twisted, becoming a gnarled thing that soon cracked and died. From its withering roots, a black blot seemed to spread to the plant life around it, creating a dead, barren patch of earth several yards wide.
Within the boundaries of the Manor, a separate but hauntingly similar incident passed. This one would have been less noticeable, save its victim was one of the birds that nested in the trees. The fate the lone tree had suffered had been kinder. What was left of the bird was barely recognizable.
In the darkened room of a young lad, a golden-haired boy who dreamt of amazing feats of magic he would some day perform, the night seemed to have eyes. Eyes and shape. A shape that slowly detached itself from the rest of the darkness and loomed over the sleeping child, noting even without light the tiny streak of silver in the youngster’s hair.
Shade smiled almost fatherly. Blood will tell, my young one! Great power courses through your parents’ veins! Great power that has pooled together and formed you!
There was a young girl, too, but she was too young, unpredictable. If this vessel proved insufficient, he would wait a few years and take the second. By then, she would be ready.
He touched the boy’s forehead. A name came to his lips and he mouthed it in silence. Aurim. The Golden Treasure. The warlock frowned. He could feel the love the parents had for this child-both children-and it was beginning to disturb him in ways that were alien to him. He had taken subjects for his spells before. It was not as if they were Vraad. They were just… others.
His face resembles Cabe’s, though his nose is his mother’s. The uneasiness began spreading through him. Why was he not already gone? The task was a simple one! Take the child and depart. The defensive spells surrounding the Manor were laughingly simple to one with millennia and the powers of Vraad sorcery on his side.
Take the boy! he demanded of himself.
“Shade.”
The hooded warlock looked up. Another figure stood on the other side of the bed, hands clenched and eyes narrowed. He wore a dark blue robe and much of his hair was silver.
“Cabe.”
“My son, Shade. He’s not for you to do with as you please. Get out of here now while I can still remain civil with you.”
Moving almost like the shadow he resembled, Shade looked closely at the youngster. “He has striking golden hair… how is that possible?”
Cabe tried to contain himself. This was Shade. This man had been his friend. He had also tried to kill the younger warlock. Which stood before Cabe now? “We named him Aurim because, being our first, he seemed so precious. When he was old enough to understand what his name meant, he decided he should have golden hair. The next day… it simply was.”
“A lad of great potential.”
“If he lives to adulthood.” The edge had returned to Cabe Bedlam’s voice. “Which he won’t if you take him.”
“He might. He might not. I have need of him, though.”
“You’ve no right to him.” It was becoming harder for Cabe to maintain his composure. “You’ve no right to anything!”
The other warlock wrapped himself in his cloak. “I am Shade. I am Vraad. My existence is my right. My continued existence is my demand.”
A hand rose. It blazed with green flames that danced about the fingertips. “You’ve lived long enough, Shade. He deserves his chance-and I won’t let you take him.”
Shade chuckled. “No longer the uncertain novice, are you? Is ten years enough? The skill is easy enough, but the reaction time is always the questionable part. Do you know your limits? I have none.”
“You have more than you think. You still thought the Seekers controlled us until I materialized here. I made it seem so. I thought you might come back, Shade. I prayed you wouldn’t, so that I wouldn’t have to fight you. I’ll see you dead a thousand times before I let you take my son.”
“And I shall return a thousand and one times.” The cowled visage lifted enough so that the glow from Cabe’s hand allowed him to see Shade’s true features for the first time. Cabe’s mouth dropped open. “Or I will just take him now.”
Tendrils burst from the cloaked figure of the one warlock and enshrouded sleeping Aurim. They started to withdraw into Shade’s form until the hooded spellcaster checked himself.
“This is not your son.”
“No, he and the other children are safely hidden-even from you. I’ve learned. I thought you might come back, so I laid a few snares. You chose the false Aurim, though I don’t care to think why. It almost fooled you long enough. In fact, it may have.”
A clear liquid showered down on Shade from nowhere. As it touched him, it solidified, becoming harder than marble. The torrent continued, forming a shell about its victim. Shade struggled, but seemed unable to move more than his fingers. Oddly, nothing but the warlock was covered by it.
“I never thought I would thank Azran Bedlam for an idea,” Gwen said as she materialized out of the darkness behind Shade. “I never thought I would want to condemn anyone to this sort of hell-until you came back here for our child.”
The shower ceased. As Gwen had once been imprisoned in a shell of amber by Cabe’s mad father, so had she sought to snare Shade. Only Azran’s fabled demon sword, the Nameless, had succeeded in breaking that prison, and only with an unconscious boost from Cabe.
“It’s over,” she continued, speaking to her husband. “It wor-”
The amber prison exploded, sending deadly fragments spilling across the room in every direction. A fair number flew with unerring accuracy toward the Bedlams. Only their automatic defensive spells saved them at all. Razor-sharp pieces tore into the walls, ceiling, and floor. Minor objects in the room were punctured or shattered. Cabe and his wife were battered into unconsciousness, though bruises were all they suffered. Not one jagged fragment had flown their directions.
When the last particles of the devastating assault had drifted floorward, Shade shook himself free of any remaining fragments and eyed the two spellcasters. Oddly, he was not angry, but rather, impressed.
“I am myself once again and there is no equal to me, Bedlams,” he whispered. Shade turned to the false Aurim, undamaged by the assault. With a glance, he disposed of it in another realm where the surprise within would not threaten him. Two very deadly traps. Together, they might have succeeded.
“I am Vraad, Cabe. That was your undoing.” He took a deep breath. “But you have earned the right to your
