Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

opening and carefully peered out. The warlock saw no sign of an intruder, but the hint of something lingered. Now, however, it felt a little farther away, almost as if it was coming from . . .

Below.

There was someone below him, someone on the path leading into the gardens. Although he could not see who that someone was, Aurim felt he should know the identity. He moved to the edge of the balcony and tried to probe with his power. Sorcery shielded the other, but Aurim did not give in. He knew that the potential lay within him to be more powerful and skilled than either of his parents, but this was the first time the young warlock had ever truly pushed that power to its limits. The Manor was his responsibility as much as it was the rest of his family’s.

Carefully, he sent out invisible tendrils toward the hidden figure. It might only be his sister, once more pining for the drake, but if it was not . . .

His mind touched that of the intruder.

Aurim gasped. There was a familiar mind there, but underneath it, like a second layer of skin, was another mind. An evil mind and one that he belatedly realized he knew from stories. Acting instinctively, the anxious mage tried to withdraw before he was noticed. He had to warn the others! All these years, a monster had been masquerading as one of their own. Tears ran down his face. How long? How long had the charade gone on?

It was then Aurim found that he could not break the link.

It isss not polite to intrude upon othersss, boy! came the vile voice in his head.

He could barely move. A pressure built up against his mind, a pressure that seemed to be trying to crush all thought. In desperation, the young warlock tried to call out, hoping that someone might at least hear the truth. The devil that his father had often told him about was here after all these years. Here, during this most crucial of times.

“Tom . . . Toma!” Aurim croaked.

It was not enough. His voice was barely a whisper.

Aurim was overwhelmed.

He stirred in his sleep. Blinking, Aurim raised a heavy head and looked around his bedchamber. For some reason, he found himself expecting to see a ghost. While that happened now and then, for the most part the memories of the Manor did not disturb him. They were interesting to experience, but unlike his father, the younger Bedlam had never made a hobby of them.

Turning over, the warlock tried to go back to sleep. Yet, for some reason he felt a little uneasy, almost as if something had or was about to happen. Aurim sent out a weak probe, found the nothing he expected, and gave up. Probably a nightmare brought on by his new responsibilities. He had not told anyone, not even his parents, just how nervous he was about overseeing the Manor, even if only for a few days. Many people, human and drake, would be looking to him for answers.

Sleep began to take hold of him. His troubles turned to mist. Even the reason he had woke seemed irrelevant. If there had been something involved other than a nightmare, he not only would have noticed it, he would have dealt with it. Inexperienced he might be, but he had the power.

Besides, Aurim thought as he drifted into slumber, what could possibly happen here?

VI

The greeting the caravan received at the gates of Talak could best be described as grandly cautious.

The gates opened while they were still some distance from them, which Cabe read as a subtle hint from Melicard that he did not fear his guests. Knowing the king as he did, the warlock was certain that was true.

Banners hung from everywhere and the sight gave pause to more than one drake in the caravan. The flag of Talak, as designed by Melicard himself, consisted of a long, sharp sword crossing the stylized head of a dragon. The crippled king had designed it during his first years of power, when he had begun his vendetta against the race that had plagued his house so long. The vendetta was at an end-so Talak’s monarch had promised-but the flag remained as a constant reminder of the king’s hatred.

“Talak hasss very high wallsss,” Kyl commented to no one in particular. In truth, there were few kingdoms with walls as impressive as those surrounding the mountain state. They would have been even more impressive if Cabe had not been aware that they had failed to stop the drake armies.

There were other defenses now, defenses that made up for the failure of the walls. Should there be a new conflict between the drakes and Talak, the dragon warriors would find the high walls the least of the city’s shields.

Trumpets began to blare. From seemingly nowhere, people from the outer villages materialized on the sides of the road leading into Talak. There was some cheering, but overall the mood remained one of caution. More than a few of the villagers eyed the members of the caravan with suspicion. Most knew little about the heir to the dragon throne, but more than a few readily identified the Dragon King who rode beside him. Responses were mixed, albeit never approaching the point of anger. That Green had generally been a friend to humanity did not matter so much as that he was recognizable as a Dragon King.

Cabe’s appearance also initiated some response, most of it simple puzzlement. His robes and the slash of silver in his hair marked him as a sorcerer of some distinction and any who followed the doings of the king and queen surely had had opportunity to learn his name. Cabe even heard “Bedlam” whispered by several people. They probably wonder why I ride with devils. . . .

Despite the size of the caravan, the presence of so many drakes, including a Dragon King and a future emperor, and the appearance of a master mage, it was Darkhorse who elicited the most response. Trotting alongside the caravan, yet far enough away so that no one might think he was some servant of the drakes, the massive, ebony stallion could not help but draw the attention of those who, for the most part, had considered him little more than legend. A few probably had seen him before, Cabe knew. The shadow steed had visited Queen Erini too many times not to have been sighted now and then. Still, it was one thing to catch a swift glimpse of the huge, equine form and another to watch Darkhorse trot casually toward the city gates with no one attempting to stop him. A wall of silence preceded the eternal with onlookers staring open-mouthed as he passed, then babbling to one another as Darkhorse moved on. Nothing, not even the future emperor of the drakes, could outshine the shadow steed.

Which was perhaps, the watchful sorcerer concluded, one of the other reasons that Kyl had wanted him along. With so many overawed by Darkhorse, the presence of the young heir would be slightly less fear-inspiring. They would remember Kyl, of course, but perhaps not in the same light as the elder folk would recall his unlamented father.

He succeeded in using Darkhorse after all! Cabe shook his head. He hoped the eternal would not realize that.

As the caravan neared the city walls, there erupted from the open gateway a troop of mounted soldiers. In rapid succession, they lined up on each side of the road, armor glinting, lances raised in ceremonial greeting. Melicard’s royal guard. There were at least fifty, by Cabe’s count, all veterans.

“An honor guard,” said the dragon heir. “How consssiderate of Melicard.”

Cabe listened for even the slightest hint of sarcasm in Kyl’s voice, but found none. The warlock’s gaze again rested on the soldiers from Talak. Despite the decorative, eggshell-shaped armor they wore, these men were warriors. Strong, tenacious warriors. Contrary to the ways of many other kingdoms, Melicard’s royal guard was not just for show. The guard was made up of his finest soldiers, all willing to give their lives for him.

The Green Dragon raised a mailed fist, the signal to slow but not halt the caravan. While this was being accomplished, two well-decorated commanders broke from the ranks and rode toward the royal party. They looked to be a few years older than their men but no less fit. One wore a short, black-and-gray beard that covered part of a round, wrinkled visage, while the second, clean-shaven, sported two ragged scars on the right side of his