Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

already forgotten his recent visitor.

Why do I feel like this? His stomach continued to feel as if it were being twisted. A sense of dread crept over him, yet Aurim had no explanation for it. The scene before him was hardly conducive to fear. Ssarekai was the most trustworthy drake Aurim knew, more trustworthy than most humans. The warlock’s only other choice seemed to be the stable, but since he had no part in the cleaning of it, for which he was thankful, Aurim could not see how the building could possibly unsettle his thoughts.

Perhaps sensing that he was not alone, Ssarekai looked up from his work. “Wasss there sssomething else, Massster Aurim?”

“No. Sorry.” What could he say to the stable master? Aurim backed out of the building, unable to tear his eyes from it until he was well away. Even then, the feeling of unease continued to shake him. So occupied was he, in fact, that the youth did not notice the trio that stood quietly talking to one another at the edge of the garden until he was almost next to them.

A breathtaking maiden with long, dark hair and exotic, narrow eyes filled his vision. Her face was a dream, her lips full and inviting. The dress she wore was the color of roses and did nothing to hide the lush form beneath it. Had he not grown up with her, played with her as though she were a sister, Aurim might have been spellbound. As it was, he could only think again of the fortunate male who would someday be Ursa’s choice. Peculiar as it seemed, however, that male would not necessarily care that much for her present appearance; he would likely prefer her in her true form.

Ursa was a female drake: sister, albeit from a different clutch of eggs, to both Kyl and Grath. She also bore the royal birth markings, which meant that while she could not be empress, the drakes not permitting such, the young female could be the mother of one. Ursa did not care about that, however. All she cared about was her best friend, her sister in all but the physical sense: Valea.

The two were together even now, but this time a third person was with them.

Benjin Traske looked up from what he had been doing and stared at him, stopping Aurim in his tracks with just that glance. Valea was partly turned to the scholar, as if the two had been in earnest conversation. All wore rather serious expressions, but whether those expressions had to do with whatever conversation he had interrupted or whether they concerned his own agitated countenance, the young warlock could not say. At the moment, that did not matter nearly as much to him as the reason for his own uneasiness. Flickering memories danced about in his mind, teasing him.

“Are you all right, Aurim?” Ursa asked, coming to his side.

“It’s nothing.” A face surfaced in his memory, but it was blurred and distorted.

Benjin Traske gently moved Valea aside. He walked over to Aurim and looked him in the eye. “You do not look well at all, lad.”

“It’s . . . night . . .” The warlock had no idea why he had mentioned nighttime, yet somehow it made sense. He tried to focus on both night and the face, trying to fit them together. “I thought I saw . . .”

“Look at me.” Traske took him by the shoulders. The two matched gazes. The scholar studied Aurim carefully. “I do not see anything. Your eyes look clear. Your face is a bit pale, but nothing terrible.”

The pressure on his mind faded. Aurim began to breathe easier. The memories slipped away, but they no longer seemed of any real importance. All that remained was a slight headache.

“Do you wish to lie down?”

He shook his head. “No, sir. It’s nothing. Just a little headache.”

The massive tutor released him. He still eyed the younger man closely. “Well, if it happens again, come to see me. A reoccurring problem is nothing to be ignored. I should be able to find some way to deal with it. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” It all seemed rather silly now. Aurim could not even recall what had caused the headache, which was already receding.

“Do you want someone to walk with you?” Ursa asked.

He found that he was a little embarrassed by their concern. At least Valea was not fawning over him. His sister remained behind the others, also concerned but only watching. Her mind appeared to be elsewhere, but at the moment Aurim had no interest in whatever it was his sister was thinking about. He only knew that he still felt ashamed at the fuss he had just caused.

Aurim extricated himself from Ursa’s hold. “I’m fine. I am. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Not at all, lad.”

“If you’ll excuse me, then?” Executing a half-bow, the embarrassed youth departed quickly, leaving the others to return to whatever conversation he had disrupted.

What was I doing? he chided himself. Now they’ll think I can’t run this place on my own! Can’t even put up with a small headache!

Tramping across the Manor grounds, he turned toward the kitchens. Some food and water would do the trick. He was probably just hungry. Aurim had hardly eaten at all today. That was all it had probably been: a headache brought on by a lack of food. Considering his normal eating habits, his body had likely just not been used to so little for so long. I’ll feel fine after that! No more headaches!

The throbbing had already all but ceased, and as for the peculiar memories . . . they were once more forgotten.

In a private conversation some minutes after the fact, the Green Dragon informed the Bedlams that he had been unprepared for the request Kyl had flung before the rulers of Talak just prior to the supper’s end. Neither the emperor-to-be nor Grath had given any hint in previous conversations with him. It had startled the Dragon King as much as it had Melicard.

It had startled Cabe equally as much, although he had been able to hide his surprise better than most of the others. Only Darkhorse, who simply shook his head, and Grath, the only one with whom Kyl had, perhaps, discussed his decision, had seemed fairly calm about the matter.

The heir to the dragon throne had requested the opportunity to perform a special ceremony, one that he had claimed was long overdue. It was to be a private but formal ceremony, with wreaths and a speech of apology to both the city and its rulers. Kyl had claimed that he wanted to prove once and for all that the sins of the father would not be ignored by the son.

What was most stunning about the request was that the dragon heir desired to have this special ceremony take place before the burial chamber of Melicard’s father, Rennek.

At first the king had been dumbstruck. Then he had stopped just short of calling the notion something that certainly would have raised the threat of war between the two races. At last, he had looked to his queen for guidance. Erini had simply put one slim hand on his elfwood arm and nodded. That had settled it for Melicard. If Erini thought the idea had merit, the king could not argue. This was a situation where Cabe had known that Melicard would be unable to trust his own judgment. The warlock was rather surprised that the queen had so readily agreed to it, but he, like the king, trusted her intelligence.

That had been last night. By now, late in the morning, the entire castle, perhaps even most of the kingdom, would be astir with rumors. When exactly the ceremony was to take place was still undecided, but the master warlock hoped that it would be soon; if the event was delayed more than a few days, then Cabe feared that . . . well, to be truthful, he had no idea what might happen, just the feeling that something would happen.

“What could’ve possessed Kyl to make such a daring move?” he asked his wife as the two spellcasters walked the grounds of the palace. Unlike most visitors, the Bedlams did not require an escort. That did not mean they were not watched. Cabe could sense eyes on him: eyes, and weak, inexperienced probes. Melicard had himself one or two mages now, it seemed, but neither were of any high level of skill. The warlock knew that Gwendolyn had also noted them and found the probes almost as amusing as he did. With a simple spell, either Bedlam could have left the hidden mages following a false trail for the rest of the day. As guests, however, it would have been bad form. Melicard was only acting in the manner of all cautious rulers past and present. He was by no means either the most paranoid or the most troublesome.

“I am curious as to that myself,” the Lady Bedlam finally responded. “That even Lord Green had known nothing about it bothers me a little. I understand that Kyl did not need to consult anyone, but such an act should have, I think, made him think about doing so. You saw Melicard’s face.”