Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol IV Part 31

"There issss no one but me!" Purple stepped back and glared at the shelves. "When I am free of thissss place, I will rebuild Penaclessss! I will take humanssss, who are inssssufferably adaptive, and educate them! The besssst will work to aid me in ssssolving these quandaries!"

"That seems a reasonable course."

"But I have to find the way out of here first!"

"It is in the book . . ." responded the gnome, bending over to retrieve the volume. "All you have to do is read it."

Hissing in frustration, the Dragon King fell to his knees. "Very well, then. Give it to me."

"This is a simple one, truly," the shadow that resembled Serkadion Manee commented. "At the most, it would take one as clever as you no more than forty, perhaps fifty years to solve it. Possibly as little as a year or two."

In sullen silence, the Purple Dragon took the proffered tome and began reading. His eyes narrowed and his breathing slowed. He knew he would need all his concentration to decipher the cursed poem/riddle. He also knew that he would have to struggle to retain whatever he read.

"The key . . ." the drake lord muttered. "It would have been sssso much ea.s.sssier with the key."

"Yes, my lord." There was still the tapestry, which the gnome recalled presently lay in an obscure part of one of the hallways, but it was not his place to offer such information. His purpose now consisted entirely of maintaining and protecting the libraries, as he himself had commanded before his demise. That was all he was to do and he would perform that task until the libraries themselves were no more, for he, unlike the minds trapped in the vials that had once monitored his creation, had tied his own immortality to this place.

As he watched the new master of the libraries at work, the gnome could not help but smile.

THE HORSE KING.

Chapter One.

He was sorry, but the king had to die.

Miklo Vinimus respected, if not liked, the king of Zuu, but for the sake of peace, Lanith had to die before his ambitions grew to fruition. It was not that the muscular, graying monarch was so terrible a ruler, but he had begun gathering forces that Miklo and a few others understood would eventually overwhelm Lanith himself, then spread unchecked over much of the Dragonrealm.

Back in the quarters of the Order, all the others save for Hysith would be sleeping now. Miklo did not fear that particular would-be mage. Hysith only had a shadow of Miklo's power, just enough to become a member of the king's Magical Order, and most of the time the aged figure could not even recall his own name. He had been drinking heavily tonight and Miklo had left him even stronger drink on his way out. Hysith would definitely be no danger. Lanith only kept him around because human sorcerers were still very scarce. Zuu could now claim a dozen, but most were little better than Hysith.

Miklo had only been a baby when the Dragon Emperor had perished, a death that had opened the way for a new generation of human mages like himself. The last generation had been hunted down by the draconian emperor and his servants after the drakes had nearly lost a war against the Dragon Masters. The human spellcasters forming that legendary group had been out to free their kind from the oppression of the drakes. They had nearly succeeded, failing more because of betrayal in their ranks than because of the Dragon Emperor.

A few spellcasters with resources or, more often, no discernible power had escaped the hunt. Meanwhile, more newcomers with potential appeared every year. However, Miklo would be old and wrinkled before mages became more than legend to most common folk. Only in Zuu and perhaps far-off Penacles did common folk see sorcery on a daily basis.

But not much longer, if I succeed. It'll all crumble without Lanith to urge it on. Clad in robes the color of the night that made his rather trollish features look even less human, the short, swarthy Miklo stalked quietly through the corridors of the palace. The Magical Order had its living quarters in a converted stable next to the palace . . . near enough if Lanith desired the presence of his mages but far away enough for when he did not. The place still smelled of the memory of sweaty mounts, but then, so did the rest of Zuu as far as he was concerned. The murals Miklo pa.s.sed were ill.u.s.trations of the natives' great pa.s.sion. Each one represented some scene of equine majesty, the animals gamboling, racing, or charging into battle. The kingdom was renowned for the horses it bred, horses purchased by eager folk from every corner of the continent. The horse folk earned a good living from raising and running the animals. It should have stayed that way, but Lanith was too ambitious a monarch. With most of the Dragon Kings dead or their power in disarray, he had decided that the time to expand his lands was near at hand and his grand Magical Order was to be one of the weapons he would use to achieve that desire. Even horses seemed now a secondary pa.s.sion to the king.

Torches lit the corridors through which the self-appointed a.s.sa.s.sin silently moved, but Miklo left no shadow as he pa.s.sed. The trick that she had taught him worked well, even better than either of them could have hoped. Although he had started learning to use his gifts just shortly before reaching adulthood, he had quickly proven himself a capable and fairly powerful sorcerer. Not at all as powerful, say, as the great Bedlams, but powerful enough. His abbreviated training had been enough to gain him entrance into Lanith's Magical Order and a position of some trust. He was one of the Order's more competent mages and, therefore, one of the more better treated.

Of course, without her quick training, he would never have made it to this point, the a.s.sa.s.sination of the king. She was the reason he had finally dared to take this great risk, even if she had not actually wanted him to make such an attempt. However, Miklo's home in the independent barony of Adderly lay just to the north of Zuu and was an attractive first target for the horse king's campaign. For that reason alone, Miklo had to stop Lanith.

Adderly consisted of rich farmlands barely defended by a few large towns and one castle, a land that had prospered since the death of the Dragon King who had lived there. Miklo 's parents, his sister and her family, and his younger brother all lived in the heart of the barony, near the castle itself. Although he had not seen them since leaving for Zuu a year before, their possible fates if Zuu went to war were always on his mind. Adderly could not hold out against the horse king. It would be trampled by his armies in one day, two at most.

There would be no aid. Gordag-Ai, the nearest other great kingdom, lay much farther north, too far away to be of a.s.sistance. Besides, Gordag-Ai had a marriage treaty with far-off Talak, and Talak a treaty with Zuu from over twenty years ago when both had fought for freedom against the drake lords. Neither of those kingdoms would likely risk their treaties simply for his home. They would probably be preparing their own defenses instead, waiting for the day when the horse king unveiled to all his mad crusade.

Miklo's own people could not believe that their neighbors to the south, neighbors with whom they had traded for generations, would suddenly turn to war. Frustrated at their lack of comprehension, he had finally come to Zuu on his own with only the intention of seeing if his notions were simply delusion. However, his chance meeting with her two days after his arrival had introduced him to revelations so great and terrible that had he not seen proof Miklo would have not believed them himself.

Lanith has opened the way to a future darker than the one the Dragon Kings once intended for our kind, she had informed him that first night. There's something already alive in the palace that should not be a part of our world. I can feel it.

He had not seen that thing, but he had seen evidence of its existence, evidence that frightened Miklo yet steeled his resolve to kill the horse king.

A guard stood before the doorway through which Miklo needed to pa.s.s, but the bronzed, braided figure neither heard nor saw the mage slowly walking toward him. Miklo allowed himself a brief, satisfied smile. His potential had both stunned and pleased his mistress. Miklo knew very well that his ability to perform sorcery had been the reason she had also chosen him as a lover; she herself was quite accomplished in sorcery, not to mention a few more fascinating fields, and more than once she had spoken of how the marriage of Cabe Bedlam to the legendary Lady of the Amber had produced offspring reputed to be even more powerful sorcerers than their parents. Knowing nothing about the Bedlams save from tales pa.s.sed on by visitors to his village, Miklo took her word on the abilities of the children, but he was also aware that each time she spoke of them, she did so with envy. She clearly desired a similar union and the results thereof and he was the prime candidate. Once this was over, there would be time . . .

When he was next to the guard, Miklo reached up to the man's chest and tapped it. The guard immediately went rigid. Impressed by his success so far, Miklo paused a moment to admire his work. True love had not been a part of the relations.h.i.+p between the northerner and his mistress, at least not where she had so far been concerned. Miklo was already hopelessly her slave and had been so from the moment he had first stared into that perfect face. Only on one other had he seen such beauty and that beauty belonged to one who would flay him alive if he was captured. Saress was very protective of her royal lover and her power of sorcery was as great as that of Miklo's mistress, possibly even greater.

They will both be in the bed, asleep by now. One simple target. She said that even Saress would have no defense against this attack How his mistress knew so much about the horse king's devil woman Miklo did not know, but everything had so far worked to perfection. The guards he had pa.s.sed were now ensorcelled, the Magical Order slumbered on without knowledge that their protective spells had been temporarily negated, and King Lanith and Saress had only a few steps left worth of life.

He tried the door, but found it locked. Reaching into his robe, Miklo removed a small vial from an inner pocket. For some reason, locks remained impervious to his skills no matter how much he practiced. Miklo would have stood a better chance of breaking the door down with his shoulder than of opening the door with sorcery.

Miklo poured some of the contents into the lock, then leaped back as the liquid immediately began eating into the metal. A low, sizzling sound accompanied the process, but other than the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin the only one within earshot was the frozen guard. Miklo Vinimus counted to twelve as he had been instructed, then pushed against the door. It resisted at first, but with a little more effort, he at last opened it. The slight groan of the joints was not enough to worry him. As soon as the door was open wide enough, he slipped through.

"Almost there . . ." he whispered. Miklo gazed around the chamber, somewhat disappointed at the dust-encrusted but otherwise bland decor of what had once been a royal bedroom. Dark shadows clung to the farthest corners of the room. The dust made his nose itch, but Miklo held back his sneeze as he stepped farther inside.

It had once been the chambers of Lanith's brother Prince Blane, but Blane had perished years ago in some old battle against the forces of the long-dead Dragon Emperor. The previous king had ordered the chamber sealed up and guarded after his son's death and Lanith had carried on his father's eccentric desire. Miklo felt a touch of guilt at the thought of utilizing the room of one dead son in order to eliminate another, but for the sake of his homeland and the lives of many, it was best that Lanith walk the Final Path.

With one last glance down the hall, Miklo closed the door. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The details of the decor did not interest him save that the center of the chamber had to be clear of any objects. He saw that this was so, something that pleased him immensely, and eased a sudden nervousness that had just a moment before spread over him. Miklo had been anxious from the start, but this near to his goal the ramifications of what he was about to attempt now became overwhelmingly clear. He was about to a.s.sa.s.sinate the monarch of one of the leading kingdoms of the Dragonrealm. He was about to change the course of the land, save the lives of countless innocents.

Almost Miklo Vinimus turned to flee, but her voice echoed in his head, almost as if she stood in the room with him. If you're going to do it, do it then, Miklo! There's no hope for any of us otherwise.

His brow furrowed as he briefly thought over the last, but the urge to complete his task again took precedence, pus.h.i.+ng away the fear and all else. The horse king had to die for the sake of the Dragonrealm.

Moving to the center, Miklo dropped to his knees. Lanith's personal chambers were directly overhead. Surely the fact that providence had supplied Miklo the perfect location from which to cast his spell of death meant that he was destined to succeed.

If all worked as planned, the spell would come up from below the horse king's bed and envelop its occupants before they had a chance to stir. Saress no doubt had set her own defenses, but Miklo's mistress had insisted that what they plotted would work, defenses or not. It was clear that she knew Saress reasonably well.

He coughed once because of the dust, then began to concentrate.

Like many sorcerers, he saw the power as lines of force crisscrossing everything. Even here, it cut across the darkened room, creating a strange glow visible only when he used magical sight. The sight was useful when one had to draw upon substantial levels of power, but otherwise interfered with normal vision. Miklo was still amazed that more competent spell- casters such as the Bedlams could s.h.i.+ft into and out of magical sight in the literal blink of an eye. It always took him a few moments to adjust, both when s.h.i.+fting into and out of the phase. Perhaps those like the Bedlams did things differently than he did. If he survived this, he would ask her.

Tendrils of power-thin, misty things that only he could see-floated with purpose toward the ceiling. They paused there, as yet unable to penetrate the man-made barrier, but Miklo was not perturbed. He still had to bind the power a bit more. Her instructions had been explicit. If he wanted to slip past Saress's defenses without disturbing anything- A sudden s.h.i.+fting of forces made him pause. An oddly foreign presence briefly touched his mind. It vanished before he had a chance to try to identify it, leaving him only with an unsettled feeling. Miklo waited, but when it did not return, he finally shrugged it off as nerves and decided to push on with his effort.

He raised one hand toward the ceiling.

A giggle escaped him-no, he realized, the giggle had come from somewhere in the chamber.

"You've been very amusing, very amusing indeed, little Miklo. I watched and waited with antic.i.p.ation as you wended your way despite all obstacles to your moment of destiny," piped a voice from the shadows surrounding him. "Very amusing it was, but now I can't let you go on. I've so many plans, so many things to do, and if I let you go through with this, it'll just take that much longer for me to achieve them!"

Gasping, Miklo rose from the floor. The forces he had been gathering he now turned toward the darkest shadows in the chamber, those being the only place he could imagine the source of the voice hiding. Green and red flashes of energy momentarily illuminated dead Prince Blane's room and stirred up so much dust that despite his predicament Miklo Vinimus had to pause to cough and sneeze.

A ma.s.sive hand seized him by the collar and raised him into the air.

"Don't fret, though, little Miklo. I shall find a place for your name in this great epic I'm creating. A small place, to be sure . . ."

The hand released the hapless, would-be a.s.sa.s.sin. Instead of the floor, a huge maw of darkness now opened beneath his feet. Miklo Vinimus found himself falling and falling and falling without end in sight.

His scream grew distant.

In the hills overlooking the city, the golden-haired enchantress stirred from her self-induced trance, sweat suddenly enveloping her. She blinked and looked around as if afraid that something terrible now stalked her. Then, her somewhat elfin features twisted into an expression of annoyance, frustration, and not a little guilt at having used a loyal if very naive man whose magical potential was now lost to her.

"d.a.m.n . . ." she muttered. If what she had sensed before breaking contact with Miklo was true, there was no hope left for the ugly little northerner. "d.a.m.n . . . d.a.m.n . . . not another one . . ."

Lanith stirred from his slumber, slightly disgruntled at having lost the thread of his dream. He had been breaking in a magnificent stallion, a creature more elemental than animal. He dreamed such dreams often, for in his mind there was only one mount worthy of him.

A giggle from nearby pushed away the last vestiges of the dream from the graying, bearded king's mind. Lanith blinked, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He saw that the giggle could not have come from Saress, for she still slept deeply. He admired her long, flowing mane and the curves of her body before sitting up and looking around for the true force.

"What is it?" he asked.

A part of the darkness blacker than the rest coalesced into a tiny figure much like a puppet without strings. It had no mouth or nose; in fact, the only discernible features were a pair of ice-blue, narrow eyes that lacked any sort of pupil. The presence of the macabre nighttime visitor did not disturb the horse king. Lanith was too familiar with the thing by now.

Despite the lack of a mouth, the figure had no trouble speaking. "Are you sleeping well, my great king?"

"I was until something woke me." Lanith's craggy features twisted into an expression of annoyance. He liked being woken by no one in the middle of the night.

The thing, now perched on the end of the bed, giggled. "I think that you will find one of your Magical Order missing, King Lanith."

"What's that?" The monarch stiffened, dark piercing eyes fixing on the inhuman orbs of his companion. "What have you done, imp?"

"He was about to send you to join your brother Blane. I thought you might not want to do that, but if I was wrong, then I do apologize."

"An a.s.sa.s.sin? Where are the guards? What about the defenses? They should have been sufficient-" Lanith started to rise, but the puppetlike figure shook its head. To his surprise, the king obediently sat back down. Beside him, Saress continued to sleep. She had not so much as s.h.i.+fted since the creature's arrival.

"He was naughty, so I've sent him away. You'll have to inform Ponteroy that the amusing little Miklo has decided to forgo the rewards of the Order."

"Miklo Vinimus?" Lanith had nurtured hopes for Vinimus. With a little training from Saress, Vinimus would have been able to replace Ponteroy, something of an egotistical popinjay, as second in the Order. Saress had been hesitant to teach the northerner, however, and now Lanith saw that her judgment had been sound. "You sent him away? Bring him back! There may have been others involved. He'll have to stand for questioning."

"Oh, dear . . ." Even devoid of features, the ebony puppet somehow physically displayed comic dismay. "I'm afraid that he won't be coming back from where I've sent him." The thing giggled. "They never do."

Lanith frowned. "Nevertheless, this does not end here. If a member of my Order attempted an a.s.sa.s.sination on my life, there will have to be some changes made. Fewer privileges. More proof of respect and loyalty to the one who feeds them and pays them good gold. I will have to draw a tighter rein on them."

"A tighter rein." Another giggle. "You're right, of course, and I shall help you achieve that, but not yet. Let them have their freedoms, their rewards. When their loyalty is demanded, good King Lanith, I'll make certain that they pay their due. Have I failed you thus far?"

"No . . ." Sleepiness once more touched the monarch of Zuu. Vague images of the magnificent black stallion again began to sprint through his thoughts. "No, you've not failed me, although I do not know why you-"

"Because I like you, good King Lanith! Because I want to do things for you! You've given a poor, lost soul a home and hearth! That's why soon you'll have the mount a conqueror and emperor deserves . . . because I want to do it for you."

The horse king leaned back, eyelids barely able to stay open. He did not question how swiftly sleep was overtaking him; he never did. A grin tried to spread across his face, but he was already too exhausted to complete it. "The shadow steed? You'll . . . help me . . . capture him?"

"Help you snare him, saddle him, and break him. Oh, especially break him . . ." The shadowy puppet rose from his perch and completed a comic bow of obeisance that King Lanith barely noted. "Rest easy now, my lord and master. When all things are in place, I will tell you what to do and you will do it, won't you?"

"Tell me . . . to do. . . do it. . . yes. . ." The warrior king drifted off to sleep.

"And no one but you and I will know that I'm helping you, will they?" As he spoke, the thing on the edge of the bed began to grow and as he grew he became more diffuse. Only the eyes remained strong.

"No . . . one . . ." spoke Lanith even though he was now deep into his slumber.

"You will be my puppet, great king. You'll serve me, bring me glorious battles and wonderful chaos for my epic, and in return I'll give you a most disobedient and ungrateful child, an offspring who has long been due a lesson."

"Shadow . . . steed . . ." mumbled the horse king. "Dark . . . horse."

"Yes. . . oh, yes, indeed. . . nothing will give me greater pleasure . . . well, one thing, but that can wait . . ."

King Lanith of Zuu did not respond this time, for no response was desired by his visitor.

Ice-blue eyes studied the horse king a moment longer, then the thing giggled once more and faded from the bedchamber.

Chapter Two.

Penacles. The City of Knowledge. A place of wonders. It was the location of the magical libraries, a fount of history and information older than the kingdom itself. It was the land ruled by the Gryphon, sorcerer, shapes.h.i.+fter, and warrior. Here the first victories against the centuries-long reign of the Dragon Kings had been won. Here humans had finally gained the chance to be truly free.

It was a kingdom that had witnessed many astonis.h.i.+ng events and played host to a variety of unusual guests throughout its long history, but for those gathered in the royal court, there was one guest who ever unnerved most of them simply with his presence.

His arrival tended to do even more.

A crackle of thunder. A burst of wind. A flash of light.

Someone screamed. Someone generally screamed, even though it was likely they had witnessed the same entrance a dozen times or more. The shadow steed did not try to hide his amus.e.m.e.nt as he trotted onto the marble floor. The brightly decorated chamber, newly renovated in the year since the Gryphon's return to the throne, contrasted greatly with his ebony color. The clatter of his hooves echoed throughout, the only sound now other than the gasping of one courtier or another as he pa.s.sed among them.

He resembled a huge black stallion, although everyone there knew he was much more. How much more, even his dearest companions did not understand. He would have been hard-pressed himself to explain all that he was and was not.

There was nothing else in the Dragonrealm that was at all akin to Darkhorse.

The last humans scurried out of the way. Darkhorse cared little about any of them. Only the three figures ahead were of great importance to the steed. The one seated on the throne, sharp beak clamped tight in an obvious attempt to hold back his laughter, was the Gryphon. He was a humanoid variation on the traditional winged creature, a being as unique and as fascinating in his own way as Darkhorse was. The face was that of a bird of prey, although the feathering at the back gave way to a mane of hair more akin to that of another predator, the lion. A loose robe of crimson and gold covered most of the Gryphon's form, but Darkhorse knew that although the monarch of Penacles seemed perfectly human in body, the knees bent backward and the feet were taloned. The Gryphon also had vestigial wings, although as with the legs and feet, he kept those differences well hidden.

Standing alongside the Gryphon and looking slightly uncomfortable was the sorcerer Cabe Bedlam, Darkhorse's truest friend. Cabe Bedlam was a plain man by the standards of humanity, save for the silver streak in his dark hair that marked him as a spellcaster. However, his plain demeanor hid a sense of fairness and honesty achieved by very few beings that the shadow steed had met over the centuries. It also hid power such as few had ever attained. Cabe Bedlam could have laid waste to much of the realm just as his father Azran had attempted once, but where the elder Bedlam had been a monster, the son was a protector. It was he more than any other force that had helped shape the peace effort between not only the kingdoms, but also the races.

But there is still much work ahead, Darkhorse thought. And some kingdoms will never accept a peace they have not achieved through war.

The other figure standing near the throne was the sorcerer's mate, the fiery-tressed Lady Gwendolyn. Like Cabe's, her hair possessed a streak of silver. Unlike her husband, she was by no means plain. Accenting her beauty most were her emerald eyes, eyes that perfectly matched the sleek gown she wore. Those very eyes now fixed on the newcomer, dampening some of Darkhorse's humor. Lady Bedlam somehow had the ability to make him feel embarra.s.sed, an emotion he otherwise rarely experienced.

Darkhorse had expected the two sorcerers to be here, having stopped briefly at their abode before journeying to Penacies. Their daughter, Valea, had informed him that her parents had transported themselves by sorcery to the Gryphon's palace only a few hours before. He was glad that they had done so; it would save him from having to repeat himself.

Just a few yards from the throne, the shadow steed dipped his head. It was as close as he ever came to bowing. "My greetings, Your Majesty! I apologize if my coming has greatly disturbed things!"