Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

“Have no fear now, Cabe!” Darkhorse roared. “With me at your side, it is our foes who must worry!”

The demon steed’s brash confidence, while not enough to change Cabe’s own dour opinion on the matter, still succeeded in bringing a smile to his face. It was hard not to be at least a bit more hopeful when he was with Darkhorse.

“Give Gwen my love,” Erini added from the bed.

“I will.” He looked at his unearthly companion. “Are you ready?”

“I was ready long ago, Cabe! I look forward to this adventure with great anticipation!”

The warlock concentrated. “I’m glad someone is.”

Darkhorse was still laughing when they vanished.

At the southeastern edge of the land of Irillian, a longboat from the lone black ship slowly made its way toward shore. The black ship had waited until just the right time to come close enough to deposit its cargo. There were those who would have gladly sunk the vessel without so much as a question or a warning. Its mere presence, even in the distance, would have sealed its fate no matter who had been aboard.

There were three aboard the longboat, all of whom wore heavy cloaks designed not only to protect them from the spray and rain, but also, if need be, to protect their identities. Only one rowed; the other two sat and watched, wary.

They did not beach the longboat. Instead, when they were near enough, the two passengers climbed out into waist-deep water and waded their way toward shore. The third figure slowly began to turn the boat around so that he could return to the other vessel.

Both passengers moved swiftly through the sea. Their reactions were those of folk who little loved the water and suffered it now only because it was necessary. When they were at last on the beach, the duo shook themselves off, the wild wind and their cloaks making them look like the specters of dead seamen rising from the depths. They then turned and briefly watched their companion row back to the dark hunter. Satisfied that the ship would depart undetected, the two quietly conferred and then started inland, the taller one leading the way.

The journey ahead would be long and tiring, but they were undeterred by that thought. All that concerned them was the reason that had brought them to this shore in the first place. They were hunters, both of them, and they had come to the Dragonrealm because that was where their prey was. Whether it took ten days or ten years, they would complete their quest, for with them it had also become an obsession. Either they succeeded or they died. Living with failure did not occur to them; it was not their way. Either their prey was vanquished or they were killed in the attempt. Those were the only choices.

At the top of a rise overlooking the cloud-enshrouded, rolling landscape of southern Irillian, the lead figure stopped. He motioned to the other, then pointed to the far southwest in a direction that would take them on a route north of the distant city of Penacles. His companion nodded, but said nothing. They had discussed the route in advance. They knew their destination and how long it would likely take to reach it. All that mattered now was getting there without being discovered, a difficult task, but not an impossible one for two with their skills.

Confident and determined, they began both the climb down the other side of the rise . . . and the final leg of their journey to the Dagora Forest.

VI

“I still do not see why we cannot just teleport to where you want to search in Legar and then leap back!” Darkhorse grumbled. In order to converse with Cabe, who rode on his back, he had twisted his head around in a manner that would have broken the neck of any true steed. Fortunately, it was dark now and they were some distance from the actual city, having materialized so far away for safety’s sake. Mages were still a rare and gossip-stirring sight. The warlock wanted no interference with his mission.

Cabe sighed and adjusted the hood of the traveler’s cloak he wore. The hood was the only way he could properly hide the great stretch of silver in his hair. Dyes merely washed away before they even had time to set. It was said that a god had created the mark as a symbol of his respect for the legendary Lord Drazeree, who had borne a similar streak, but if so, Cabe thought that the least the unthinking deity could have done was allow for times when a spellcaster had to hide his nature. Mages were always forced to resort to hats, cloaks, helms, and rather touchy illusion spells to obscure the silver. There were times when that made their lives tricky.

“You weren’t there when the Green Dragon was struck down, Darkhorse. I don’t want to go blindly into Legar. We need to move with stealth. I also want to see if I can find out any information beforehand. It’s possible that not all news has made it back to Talak yet.”

“You should have asked Melicard to give you the names of his spies! We could ask them and be done with it!”

“I’m sure that would’ve pleased the king. Now, for the last time, you’d better start behaving like a real horse. I’d like to avoid too much notice; it’s possible that the wolf raiders, if they are in Legar, might also have spies in Zuu.”

The shadow steed snorted and turned his head to a more savory position. Cabe relaxed a little. For a creature who had lived for thousands of years, the eternal could be very impatient at times. Tonight, he was even more restless than was normal. The warlock was certain that Darkhorse’s anxiety focused around Shade. Darkhorse had done little in the past few years besides search for traces of the ageless sorcerer.

They would have to talk about this some time in the future. Whether Shade was truly dead or not, Darkhorse could not spend eternity thinking about it. He had to be made to see that there were other matters-and friends-waiting for him.

“There is the city,” whispered Darkhorse. Unfortunately, his concept of whispering still resembled more of a shout.

“I see,” Cabe responded quickly. “We’ll have to be doubly careful. We may encounter other riders at any moment.”

His ploy worked. The demon steed nodded and resumed his role of faithful horse.

To the eyes of another traveler, one who carried a good torch, that is, the two would resemble a weary rider and his large ebony stallion. Darkhorse had shrunk down to a more tolerable size, although he was still large for most breeds. Cabe, meanwhile, was clad in a simple gray outfit consisting of pants, cloth shirt, knee-high leather boots, and the aforementioned riding cloak. While his outfit was a bit old-fashioned, it was not an uncommon sight. The style was a throwback to his life near the now ruined city-state of Mito Pica, which had been destroyed by the Dragon Emperor’s forces for having unknowingly secreted a young Cabe Bedlam. Many survivors had become wanderers since then, even almost two decades after the event. Hence, the warlock would look like one of the youngest ones finally grown up. Most people respected the privacy of such wanderers, especially the people of Zuu.

Cabe had never journeyed to the low, sprawling city of Zuu, possibly, he now admitted to himself, out of some small guilt. During the brief war that had been instigated by the Dragon Kings’ search for him, the rather independent-minded folk of Zuu had sent a contingent of their famous horse soldiers to the aid of Penacles. The young warlock vividly recalled the band of huge blond warriors clad in leather and how they had wanted to come to his aid when airdrakes had flown down and attacked Cabe and Gwen. He especially remembered their leader, a scarred man named Blane, the second or third son of the king at that time.

Blane had died defending Penacles, but not before he had killed Duke Kyrg, the drake commander and brother to Toma. It was no surprise that Talak and Zuu were on excellent political terms with each other, not that such prevented each from having their share of spies.

Blane’s brother, someone named Lanith XII, was now king, but Cabe had no intention of introducing himself to the man. If things went according to plan, he wanted to be out of the city before morning. That meant little or no sleep, but to a spellcaster of his ability, one night missed meant nothing. For the past several years, he had enjoyed a full night’s slumber all but a handful of days. In truth, Cabe did not miss the sleep so much as the peace and quiet.

He gently prodded Darkhorse’s sides, the signal for speed. There would be no peace and quiet tonight nor