Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

other ideas, but I was hoping that I’d find him with or near you.”

Erini was downcast, but then her face brightened. “I can help you search for him! The teleportation spell is my best. I should have thought of that before. It will cut your searching by nearly half!”

“No.”

“No?” Her tone became frost. “Do you think to command me, Cabe?”

“In this instance, yes, Your Majesty. You are too important to Melicard, Talak, and, because of both, the rest of the Dragonrealm. If anything happened to you, what would the king do? Think on that before you answer me.”

She did. He watched as her face fell. Both of them were too familiar with Melicard’s moods. It was Erini who had changed him for the better, but those changes might slip away if she was injured or even . . .

Her eyes suddenly widened. “There’s . . . I think there might be one more place to search, Cabe. It’s a thin possibility, but it just might be . . .”

“Where?”

“I’ll have to take you there; it’s . . . it’s the only way to make certain we arrive at the proper location.”

The warlock caught the hesitation in her voice. “Where is it, Erini?”

“In the Northern Wastes.”

“I forbid you from coming! Tell me approximately where and I’ll go there my-”

Erini stalked up to Cabe and gave him her most royal glare. He hesitated just long enough for her to interject, “You can forbid me nothing this time, Cabe Bedlam! As frustrating as it is to me personally, I concede to you that it would be better for us if I did not risk myself! I love Melicard, but I agree that if I were injured or even came close to harm he might, in his unreasoning anger, do something that we would all regret! I have a very good reason, however, for needing to lead you to this one last location. The Northern Wastes are nearly half the size of the rest of the continent and far more troublesome to search. You could pass within yards of the area and not see Darkhorse standing before you. I can lead you to the exact spot; like him, I will never forget it.”

Her skin was pale and her body trembled. Queen Erini stared at Cabe in such a manner that he knew she would have actually preferred not to make this final trek. Only the importance of his mission compelled her to do so.

“What is this place, Erini?” he asked quietly. “And why would it have such a hold on both you and Darkhorse?”

“Because it is where the warlock Shade died.”

He had never been able to convince himself that the blur-faced warlock was dead. At the same time, he had never been able to convince himself that Shade was still alive.

So Darkhorse had searched the world and beyond for nearly a decade, always wondering if the human who had been both his friend and enemy was merely one step ahead of him, watching and waiting for the proper time to emerge. One part of the shadow steed hoped and prayed that the weary sorcerer was at last at peace. The other missed the good incarnations of the man, for only Shade had ever come close to understanding Darkhorse’s own emptiness.

Which was why, Erini told Cabe before they departed for the Wastes, he often stood for days at the site where the warlock had simply faded away after expending all his might in a last effort to make up for what he had become.

When they materialized in the midst of the freezing, windwracked tundra of the Northern Wastes, it was almost as if he had been waiting for them. The queen brought them to a point barely ten feet from where the huge ebony stallion was situated.

Darkhorse slowly turned his massive head toward them. His ice-blue eyes seemed to burn into the warlock’s very soul. The eternal’s voice was a thunderous rumble even despite the rather subdued tone. “Erini. Cabe. It’s good to see both of you. This is not a place for your kind, however.”

“We . . . we came in . . . in search of you, Darkhorse,” the queen managed.

Studying her, Cabe Bedlam grew worried. Erini was a competent sorceress, but it was possible that she had overextended herself. He had provided himself with a heavy cloak to offset the cold, but she had not done the same even though the need should have been obvious. The warlock quickly remedied the situation.

Erini gave him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Darkhorse’s hooves kicked away snow and ice as he moved closer. At his present height, he was half again the size of a normal steed. Size, however, was irrelevant to a creature who could manipulate his form in ways no other shapeshifter could. Had he chosen, the ebony eternal could have become as small as a rabbit, even smaller. He need not have resembled a horse, either. Somewhere in the far, forgotten past, Darkhorse had hit upon the form and found it to his liking. The black stallion rarely shifted anymore, although occasionally his body would resemble more the shadow of a horse than the real animal. Cabe had decided that this last was an almost unconscious action. There were things that were normal for a human to do; the same likely could be said even for as unique an entity as the black leviathan before them.

“You should not be out here in the cold, Queen Erini!” roared Darkhorse. It was almost necessary to roar; the wind had picked up. A storm was building. It was hard for the warlock to believe that anything could live in the Northern Wastes, but many creatures did. “We should return to Talak! It will be much more cozy there . . . at least for you two!” The demonic steed chuckled.

“I-” was as far as Erini got. Suddenly she was falling toward Cabe. He caught her at the last moment and stumbled back under her sudden weight. Darkhorse’s eyes glittered. He trotted a few more steps toward them.

“What ails her?”

Cabe adjusted his grip. “She pushed herself too far! She insisted that she be the one to bring us here and like a fool I agreed!”

Darkhorse snorted. “I doubt you had much choice with her! Best take her back to her chambers quick!”

“The private ones where you two sometimes meet?”

“You know them? Good! Take her there! I shall follow! Perhaps, if we are fortunate, good Melicard will be out running down drakes or some such foolishness! Hurry now!”

Tightening his hold, the warlock teleported-

– and found himself face-to-face with King Melicard, who stood within the suite, one hand on the door handle. Another moment and it was likely they would have missed one another, for he was turned as if just planning to depart.

There were still those to whom the lord of Talak was an effrontery or even a thing of horror. Melicard no longer cared what those people thought. Erini and Princess Lynnette were the only two whose opinions mattered to him and they, of course, loved him dearly.

Despite the yoke of leadership he had worn for almost two decades, Melicard at first glance still looked very much like the handsome young prince that Cabe, with his own rather ordinary features, had always secretly envied. Tall and athletic with brownish hair just now turning a bit to gray, he had once been the desire of many a woman, both royal and common. If Erini was the storybook princess, then Melicard, with his strong, angular features and commanding presence, was the hero of the tale.

He was still handsome . . . but now more than half of his face was a magical reconstruction. The left side from above the eye down to the lower jaw was completely silver in color, for that was the natural shade of elfwood. Much of the nose was the same and there were even streaks of silver stretching across to the right side, almost like a pattern of roots seizing hold of what little good flesh remained of the king’s visage.

Magic had stolen most of his face and because of that, the damage had proved impossible to repair. Only elfwood, carved into a reproduction of his very features, could give King Melicard the illusion of normalcy. The wondrous wood, blessed, so legend said, by the spirit of a dying forest elf, was capable of mimicking the movements of true flesh. The more the wearer believed in it, the better it pretended. It could never replace what had been lost, but for Melicard the choice had been the mask or the monster beneath. For the sake of his own sanity and the princess he was to marry, Melicard had chosen the former.

He was clad in a black riding outfit that covered him from neck to foot, including his hands. Melicard