Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

but that was the way of the game. The soldiers who took part did not play the same way twice. One time, they might seem unstoppable; other days, they might fall after only a few blows. It was part of what made his variation on the game of chess a much more interesting one in his opinion.

The sense of danger again pervaded his being. Yet, surveying the scene, Toos could find nothing amiss. Servants had not yet reached the Dragon King, who, surrounded by his own soldiers, was virtually invisible. Grath and the scholar were wending their way toward the lord of Dagora, but they appeared to be safe. What could-

As it had happened so many times in the past, he saw what was to be. No one, not even the Gryphon, truly understood the workings of the former mercenary’s limited yet potent magic. Toos himself did not, for he had never met another in whom the power had so focused itself in one direction. Had he been asked to transport himself from one end of the arena to another, the regent would have been unable to comply. Had he been asked to levitate a sword, even that would have been beyond him. Yet, despite this seeming lack of skill, he had one of the most unusual gifts of sorcery, one that had saved his life time and time again.

He had heard of only one mage skilled in prophecy: Yalak of the Dragon Masters, who had once created a crystal egg that could show images of possible future events. Knowing prophecy had not prevented Yalak from being murdered by Azran Bedlam, however, which was why Toos had always been careful to cultivate his ability and had shared its full secrets with no one, not even the Gryphon. He had always felt guilty about that, but what was done was done.

The image came at its own chosen time, just like all the others. He had only time to gasp at its implications and marvel at the audacity of the one behind it before he became aware that the true event was just taking place.

It began with the striking of the two champions’ weapons against one another. The mace of Kyl’s king was knocked from the warrior’s hand and, before the startled eyes of the many, flew almost unerringly toward the astounded heir. As it neared, however, it was clear to most that it would fall short. Kyl took a step back, but did not otherwise protect himself from the misshaped projectile.

Only Toos knew that the true threat was only now coming into play. Leaping toward the drake, he cried, “Get down!”

The former mercenary reached Kyl just as the draconian guards stirred to life. Perhaps they had not heard his cry, or perhaps they felt that it was their duty to protect their master, not his. Toos only knew that he had barely thrust the dragon heir to the floor when a massive, armored figure shoved him aside, causing the general to spin in a half circle.

Something hard and swift thudded against his back.

He thought at first that the mace had somehow managed to fly over the arena wall, but then a fierce pain wracked the general’s chest and it was all he could do to keep from collapsing there and then. Grimacing, the regent forced open his eyes, which he could not recall closing, and peered down. To his surprise, Toos saw no sign of the wound that should have been there. Then, as his legs began to buckle, it occurred to him that the entry point had to have been from the back. The bolt, or whatever the assassin had used, had not quite pierced him all the way through.

The world spun around. Toos fell to his knees, which did nothing to alleviate the agony. Around him he knew that there was panic. Someone called out to him, but it was as if they were receding even as they spoke.

He knew he was dying. For once, his magic-wrought ability to outmaneuver his foes had worked against him. He had beaten the assassin, for Kyl must certainly still live, but it had not been the general’s intention to make himself the new target.

Sloppy, Toos thought. Been away from the field too long. Shouldn’t have listened to those jackanapes! Next maneuver, I go out with the men . . . get myself back in shape. . . .

Things grew hazy. Someone was in front of him. Toos tried to focus. The figure coalesced into that of the Gryphon, but that was nonsense, the regent knew. The Gryphon was with the Bedlams.

He chuckled, which caused him to shake as renewed pain coursed through him. Toos tried to speak to the imaginary Gryphon, but all that escaped his lips was blood. Putting one last great effort into his attempt at speech, he told the apparition, “It’s . . . yours again . . .”

Toos closed his eyes, knowing that the meaning of his words would be clear. After so many years of trying, he had finally found a way to force his old commander to reassume the throne. It was the Gryphon who had made Penacles what it was. Toos had simply been its caretaker while the lionbird recovered from his great labors. Now, however, the regent’s work was done. It was time to move on.

A sound caught his attention. Horns. He had little trouble recognizing the notes; it was the call to arms of his old company, the one in which he had first followed his commander.

Rising, Toos the Fox unsheathed his sword and went to join his old comrades in one last, glorious battle.

XV

“They’ve killed him, Cabe. . . .” The Gryphon snarled, his claws unsheathing and sheathing. His entire body quivered with unreleased fury. His mane bristled as the lionbird struggled to maintain his control. “They killed Toos!”

Cabe Bedlam stared in horror at the grisly tableau before him. The regent of Penacles lay face forward in the Gryphon’s arms, a scarlet blossom of blood across his back. The bolt had penetrated so deeply that it had nearly burst through the rib cage, if the warlock was any judge. It was a wonder that the old mercenary had lived even the few moments he had. That he had done so had made the situation that much more tragic, for Toos had lived just long enough for the Gryphon to return, then had died almost in his former commander’s arms.

When the Gryphon had looked up from his so-far futile attempts to free the minds of Aurim and Ssarekai and warned about danger in Penacles, his companions had been stunned. Cabe knew that his old friend kept some sort of link with both his mate and his former officer, but not even the warlock had known how strong or immediate those links were.

The lionbird had not even paused to explain. He had asked permission to leave, received it, and had vanished, leaving the Bedlams to recover their wits on their own. Naturally, Cabe and his wife had followed as quickly as they could, but even then it had been too late.

The arena was in chaos. Guests ran about in full panic and there were shouts of “Assassin!” from all corners. Toos was sprawled on the floor of one of the boxes used by the chess players. Kyl was gone, evidently spirited away by his two bodyguards. Around the fallen regent and his former commander stood a wary and fearful group of human soldiers.

Cabe had never seen the Gryphon this distraught. It was clear to the warlock that he would have to handle matters for the moment. “Which way did the bolt come from?”

One of the guards pointed upward and to his right. He added, “Our men already give chase, Master Warlock! We shall have them before the hour is ended!”

The mage was not so certain. “Have you discovered how they got so close?”

The sentries looked frustrated. The spokesman slowly replied, “No, Master Warlock. . . .”

“This . . . smells of . . . of magic,” Gwen commented. Cabe glanced at her. There were tears streaming from her eyes, but there was also a hardening in her face. He knew that his own visage now held a similar cast.

He made a decision. Too much time had already passed. “You stay here with the Gryphon, I’ll-”

Cabe was interrupted by a group of pale guardsmen. Two of them carried bundles. An officer, a captain by rank, gave the Gryphon a half-hearted salute, which the lionbird did not even notice. Cabe signaled the officer his way.

“You know who I am?”

“Yes, Master Bedlam!”