Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

would know best whether they could trust Benjin Traske to be loyal to them when the time demanded it.

“By all meansss, he may go, Ssscholar Trassske! I have no need of him at thisss time. I have many things to attend to that will keep me busssy for the next few hoursss. If I have need of my brother, I know where to find him.”

“My gratitude, Kyl.” Benjin Traske bowed his farewell. Grath did the same, a barely perceptible nod following.

Left alone with Faras and Ssgayn, which was almost the same as being completely alone, Kyl contemplated his next move. He needed but a moment to refresh himself. It was true he was weary, but not weary enough to forget the importance of letting the exotic young witch know that he had not forgotten her. The glance he had been able to give her would keep her hoping, but it would be wise to follow with an actual meeting, even if it included her parents. All that was essential was to make her think that he had spent the entire visit to Talak thinking of her, which was, at least, half true. Valea was a prize he and Grath had worked long and hard to obtain, and Kyl knew that she was at last within his grasp.

She was both beautiful and a pleasure to be around, which only served to make each encounter that much easier for him, but those facts were secondary next to her greatest asset to the drake.

Valea was a Bedlam, a scion of the most powerful line of sorcerers. She was the daughter of Cabe Bedlam and the Lady of the Amber, an enchantress of vast might. The young witch had not yet displayed more than a fraction of the extraordinary power the line was known for, but everyone knew that the potential in her was possibly as great as it was in Aurim. If not, she could still pass the power of the Bedlam line on to her offspring.

His offspring. It was possible for the two races to interbreed, although how that could be was a question not even Grath was able to answer. Kyl knew that it was true only because his brother had come across evidence-evidence which Master Bedlam seemed to know about, too.

He realized that he had not moved from the spot where he had been standing when Grath and the scholar had left. Precious time was being wasted. Turning to his two shadows, he hissed, “Well? What are you two waiting for? Come!”

The two draconian warriors, looking properly chastised, hurried to keep pace as the dragon heir moved on. He would have to dismiss them before he located Valea. There was nothing romantic about two scowling lizards, which, in his opinion, was what the duo resembled. Kyl was quite pleased with his more human looks, mingled as they were with his draconian origins to create a unique, provocative appearance. Grath was the only one who resembled him at all, but even his brother’s looks were more rough-hewn than his own.

She could not fail to want him. All that really stood in his way was her parents, but Grath had assured him that they would be no trouble whatsoever.

Kyl had been careful not to ask how his brother could be so certain. He simply had faith that loyal Grath would do what had to be done . . . whatever that might be.

Things were at last calming down, and none too soon as far as Cabe Bedlam was concerned. The caravan was being dismantled and the Manor itself appeared in fine order. Aurim had only had control of the Manor for a short period of time, but the warlock was aware of how many things could go wrong in just one day. It was a wonder that the place was not more chaotic. Sometimes he thought that the ancient edifice itself watched over those who lived in it, much the way the Dragonrealm seemed to watch over its people. Yet, the mind of the Dragonrealm, assuming it had one, was a rather perverse one, for it seemed to take fondness in thrusting Cabe and his friends into one danger after another whereas the Manor simply seemed protective.

The Green Dragon had given his apologies and had departed only minutes after returning with the caravan. Cabe understood; the Dragon King had neglected his own realm for much too long already. Gwen and their offspring-it was growing impossible to call them children-were in the gardens talking about Talak, Darkhorse also adding a word here or there, but mostly just enjoying the companionship of his mortal friends. Aurim and Valea loved visiting the mountain kingdom, if only because the spectacle of the Tybers looming in the background was breathtaking. They also loved the strangeness of the city, having lived much of their lives in the relative calm of the Manor.

Cabe had left them in order to organize some notes Aurim had given him. One of the few peculiar things his son had reported to him was a sudden increase in the number of hauntings by the memories of the Manor. At first, Aurim had simply ignored them, but when three sightings had occurred in the same day, all suffered by the younger Bedlam himself, he had started to make a list. Almost all of the hauntings had occurred in the last three days, a record eleven. One had appeared as recently as last night. All but two had involved Aurim; the others had been seen by Valea.

Most of the visions were familiar ones. The archaic wedding ceremony. The Seeker landing on the terrace overlooking the gardens. A closed book with the symbol of a tree on it . . . which had always puzzled Cabe since it did not exist in the old library. A being who resembled a wolfman, probably of a race that had preceded not only the Dragon Kings but the Seekers and the Quel as well. All of these had been registered by the master warlock, some of them many times. But Aurim had experienced three first sightings as well, images that, especially in one particular case, his father would not have expected.

A Quel had stalked through the halls. Aurim had never seen one, but knew of them from his father’s tales. The huge, armadillolike race existed only in the very southwest of the continent, their once mighty empire reduced to a few ruined, underground enclaves. Cabe had never known them to exist this far east, although it made sense to think that at one time their empire had covered much of the continent the way the drakes’ or the Seekers’ had.

The massive, armored figure had been swinging an ax at something, but what it was Aurim could not say. He only knew that the beastman had been frightened out of his wits, and the last image of the Quel had been that of the monstrosity falling on his back in terror.

Sometimes it was sobering to think of all that must have happened in this place. Cabe had little desire to know what had attacked the Quel as long as it no longer existed to threaten his own family.

The second image had been barely glimpsed, but in his scribbled notes Aurim had described what sounded to Cabe vaguely like a sword slicing through the air. What that was supposed to represent, the sorcerer did not know. It was different from other images in that his son had sworn that, being so nearby when it had materialized, he had actually felt a slight wind as the blade had moved. To Cabe’s recollection, no other ghostly memory had ever proven even the slightest bit tactile.

Even that paled in comparison to the final new vision. It was the first of its kind that any of them had ever come across, and its existence shattered every theory that the master warlock or his wife had ever devised concerning the ghostly images.

Aurim had seen his father.

Cabe had joined the ghosts of the Manor.

The image was a very recent one. That, too, was unsettling. Aurim’s description of the short scene had registered in the elder Bedlam’s memory. It had taken place but a few days prior to their departure for Penacles. The occurrence had not been of any significant moment as far as he could see. It was merely Cabe using a knife to cut open a srevo, one of the lush fruits often found in the markets of Penacles and long a personal favorite of the sorcerer. Cabe was not one to use his power for something so simple as cutting up fruit. He considered such misuse both wasteful and criminal. That day, however, the black-haired mage wished that he had broken his cardinal rule.

Aurim’s description of what had followed was exactly as Cabe recalled it, save that much of the surrounding scene was missing. The vision revealed Cabe holding the large, round fruit and making the first cut. Then, as he had readied one half for another attack with his knife, something had caught his attention, making him turn as he lowered the sharp blade. In real life, that something had been Benjin Traske, come to ask a question about the then forthcoming trip to Talak. The interruption itself had been minor, but the warlock, eyes turned away, had cut into his thumb.

He still remembered the pain. The wound had not been deep, but surprise had amplified his agony. Cabe had no qualms about using sorcery to repair even the most minor injuries, particularly those causing him torment, and had healed it almost immediately. By the evening of that same day, he had forgotten all about the