Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

charge. He knew, of course, that Benjin Traske was supposed to keep an eye on him, but even still, the Manor was now most definitely his responsibility.

As he walked through the garden, Aurim grew more confident. The Manor virtually ran itself. Despite all those who had accompanied his father and the others to Talak, there were more than enough people left who understood the day-to-day running of the miniature kingdom. The young warlock was there more as the symbol of authority, the final arbiter, he decided.

He felt confident enough in himself that he was willing to try a spell. Not a grand, dangerous one, but a small yet complex incantation. Aurim glanced around. There was no one nearby. The closest structures were the stables, and there Ssarekai the drake and Derek Ironshoe, his human counterpart, would have their apprentices and workers busy. With most of the animals gone, the stable masters were hoping to give the buildings a thorough cleaning out-no small feat.

The younger Bedlam held his hands before him, palms up. With his mind, he sought the forces of the world, forces he thought of as part of the natural makeup of the land but what most folk simply called “magic.” The link was made and drawn upon with but a single thought; to an outsider, the action would have seemed instantaneous. Aurim knew that compared to his parents he was still a bit slow, but the potential-and to his disgust it sometimes seemed it would forever be only potential-was within him to be the greatest mage to walk the realm since his great-grandfather, Nathan.

The expectations people had of him were ofttimes daunting, which was perhaps why Aurim still had trouble with his control. Now, however, no such fears haunted him. In the comfort of his newfound role as temporary master of the house, he was able to use his new confidence to strengthen his will.

A bouquet of flowers formed in his open hands. The bouquet was a good foot high and as wide as his body. Bright colors running the full span of the spectrum decorated the arrangement. Flower after flower blossomed, only to give way to their successors, which in turn gave way, and so on. . . .

To someone standing some distance away, the warlock’s bouquet would have hardly seemed an amazing feat, considering the sort of things even a slightly competent mage was supposed to be capable of creating. It was only upon closer inspection that the complexity of Aurim’s spell became evident.

The flowers were not flowers in the literal sense. Up close, it was possible to see the multitude of tiny, glittering figures constantly rearranging themselves to create new patterns. Each figure was a round, almost spherical, clown no larger than a fly. They crawled, climbed, jumped, and even flew. Aurim did not directly control each movement-no mage he had ever heard of in his mother’s stories had had that much skill-but the young warlock did direct them in the manner in which they created the flowers. Their other actions were based on smaller subspells he had prepared in advance. The main spell, like so many others designed to hone one’s concentration, had no apparent value other than visual delight, but the practice itself prepared a novice spellcaster for the time when such manipulation of the natural forces might mean life or death. Of course, while the practice was important, Aurim also simply enjoyed such fanciful creations. It was a challenge to him to see what he could design next.

He was just starting to expand the bouquet when a commotion from the stables made him dispel his creation. A roar from within hinted at one possible cause of the trouble. There were still some riding drakes and horses in the stables, and it was possible that one of the former was not taking kindly to being moved so that the stable workers could clean its pen. If it was a mother drake, then there was even more chance for disaster.

With Ssarekai and his men inside, Aurim doubted that the situation was very critical, but it behooved him to see if there was any way in which he could contribute to a speedier conclusion. He hurried to the stables, only belatedly recalling that he could have saved precious seconds by transporting himself, and cautiously entered.

“Massster Aurim! You should not be in here!”

Ssarekai himself pushed the warlock to one side just as a long, scaly tail whipped their direction. Aurim regained his balance and watched as two drakes and a short, bearded man, one of Ironshoe’s helpers, struggled to keep a half-grown riding drake under some loose sort of control. The dragon men, one on each side of the beast, tugged at guiding ropes. The human stablehand, meanwhile, was attempting to use a pitchfork to prod the beast toward an open doorway just to the creature’s right. Two other humans stood to the side, one of them binding a wound on the left arm of the other.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my lord! Nothing!” Ssarekai bowed quickly. He and the other dragon men in the stable differed in some ways from the warriors most humans saw. The reptilian riding master and his helpers resembled, for the most part, their fiercer counterparts, but unlike the Dragon Kings and their warriors, these drakes were without crests. Instead, they appeared to be wearing round helms that partially covered the inhuman faces within. No hissing dragon’s head adorned the top. Ssarekai and his kind were members of the servitor caste, a caste rarely seen, since most often servitors generally remained in or around the clan caverns.

The drake turned back to the struggling hands and hissed out a command that Aurim did not catch. The workers redoubled their efforts. Another pair of humans entered the stable. They raced to each side of the stubborn monster and joined the two drakes holding the guide ropes.

Slowly, the beast came back under control. Ssarekai hissed another command, this one evidently to someone beyond the doorway the men were trying to lead the riding drake through. There was an answering shout, then something outside and beyond Aurim’s view caught the beast’s attention and sent it scuttling almost gleefully through the desired entrance.

As the animal and its handlers vanished, Ssarekai hissed the drake equivalent of a sigh of relief. “I ssso much prefer horsssesss to sssuch ssstupid beasssts!”

It was strange hearing a drake speak so. “You like horses better than one of your own mounts?”

His companion smiled, revealing the predatory teeth. A forked tongue darted out and in. “People are alwaysss comparing horsesss to riding drakesss, but in my opinion, we should be comparing the ssstupid beasts like that one to your mulesss! Useful pack animalsss, but ssso stubborn! Horssses can be like that, but for the mossst part, they are quicker to learn and obey. I would choossse them over riding drakesss under almost every circumssstance.”

“I seem to recall that Derek Ironshoe seems fascinated by the qualities of riding drakes,” teased Aurim.

“Only asss animals of war! Massster Ironshoe wasss a cavalry sssoldier once.”

By this point, it was clear that there was no need for the warlock’s presence. Still, trying to give the appearance that he was as concerned as his parents were over the everyday running of the Manor grounds, Aurim asked, “How goes the cleaning, Master Ssarekai?”

The drake shrugged, a gesture more common to humans than to his own kind, but one he had picked up from his years working with Ironshoe. Ssarekai had been one of the first drakes sent to work for the Bedlams when they had been given custody of the Dragon Emperor’s hatchlings. He, more than most drakes, had come to an understanding with the humans who lived here. There was no one who lived at the Manor who did not respect the reptilian stable master.

“We are, asss I sssuspected, behind in our tasssk. Master Ironshoe hasss a group ssstill working on the ssstables where the royal mountsss are kept.” To Ssarekai, mounts used by the Bedlams were as royal as those utilized by Kyl or any of the Dragon Kings. It was debatable as to whom he was now more loyal. Aurim wondered whether the elder drake would depart with the others when Kyl finally left for the Tyber Mountains and his throne.

“Then, I probably shouldn’t trouble you anymore. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right.”

Ssarekai nodded his head respectfully. “Your concern isss appreciated, Massster Aurim. Better to be sssafe, I always sssay.”

“Father would certainly agree with that. Well, good luck to you.” The warlock, his sense of duty satisfied, turned and started toward the doorway through which he had entered.

“And to you, my boy.”

Aurim stiffened. There was a sudden twisting in his stomach, as if someone had thrust a blade through him and now sought to add further to the agony of that thrust. The golden-haired sorcerer remained still, trying to understand the reason for his horror. Something concerning Ssarekai? What? Ssarekai had said nothing out of the ordinary. Aurim turned around. The drake was making an inspection of one of the stalls and seemed to have