Part 31 (1/2)

”I am Lady Bedlam, scholar. You can trust me with whatever it is you wished to speak to my husband about.”

His expression became somewhat rueful. ”My apologies. I did not mean to infer such . . .”

”What is it you want, Scholar Traske?”

He took a deep breath. ”I realize that you have much on your mind and that I would only be further adding to your troubles, but I wish to speak to you about the excursion to Talak. . . .”

THIS IS GETTING to be a habit!

The wind howled around him. Everything was white, but it was the whiteness of death, the eternal winter. Snow and ice were everywhere. A few misshapen hills, possibly only large s...o...b..nks, dotted the otherwise flat landscape. In the distance, the warlock could see some taller mounds, but he knew it would be a waste of time to go and investigate them. If Darkhorse was not here at the very spot on which Cabe now stood, then he was not in any part of the Northern Wastes.

Snow fluttered around the silent spellcaster but did not alight on him. The same spell that s.h.i.+elded him from the cold also s.h.i.+elded him from the other gifts the inhospitable wasteland offered. Snow that sought perch on him simply faded away.

He had come here because this, of all the places that the eternal frequented, was the most likely spot that Darkhorse would have chosen to return to had his obsession taken root once again. Here, in the emptiness of the Wastes, Shade had perished . . . or so Queen Erini said. She had witnessed it all. Years later, during a quest much like the one he was on now, Cabe had been brought here by the novice sorceress, who had explained to him the relevance of this chilling place. Although he was never certain exactly why he had done so, Cabe Bedlam had imprinted the location on his mind. Perhaps at the time it had simply been because Shade had been a friend to him as well and all he had wanted to do was remember.

Now, however, it was time to move on. Darkhorse was obviously not here, and the magical signature his pa.s.sing always left behind was very old, perhaps more than a month. The ebony stallion had not been to the Wastes for some time.

Where next? There were any number of locations that Darkhorse, a wanderer, frequented to some extent, but only a few he returned to again and again. Talak was one of the latter, but Gwen had seen to that situation. The Northern Wastes had been . . . a waste. Cabe had no intention of searching too many locations. First of all, chasing after Darkhorse was like chasing after a phantasm. The eternal could be anywhere he chose to be at almost any time. Darkhorse also did not tire as rapidly as a human did. Trying to chase down Darkhorse was pure folly. It was also possible that Darkhorse might journey to the Manor even while Cabe searched the countryside for his old companion. That had happened to the warlock more than once during the first few years of their friends.h.i.+p. He had strived hard ever since the last time to make certain that it never happened again.

There were six locations he thought worthy of searching. After that, the warlock intended to return to his home. If Darkhorse had still not answered his summons by the next day, Cabe would try a few more. If even that search failed . . . he was not certain what he would do then. Cabe only knew that he never abandoned a friend.

With ease, the blue-robed sorcerer transported himself to the next destination on his mental list. His new location gave him a panoramic view of a bowl-shaped valley in the distance, for Cabe presently stood atop a tall jagged hill. Cabe knew the valley, having been to it with Darkhorse in the past. The city of Zuu, from where the hors.e.m.e.n ruled the land of the same name, lay near the center. In the daytime, the city was impossible to see, but night would reveal a sea of light, for Zuu never slept.

The shadow steed was not here, but the traces Cabe sensed were much more recent than those at the previous site. It had been only days since Darkhorse had pa.s.sed through here; that much Cabe could ascertain. He tried to trace the path the eternal had taken, but was able to determine only that it went east, which, from Zuu's southwesterly location, meant most of the Dragonrealm. Still, it was something to go on. Two of his remaining choices were directly east. He would try them first, then head north where two of the others were. After that . . .

Again, it took only the simplest of thoughts to send him to his next destination. There had been a time when Cabe would have laughed if someone had told him he would find sorcery so comfortable a piece of his life. The young boy who had worked serving food and drink at inns would have been horrified even to think of wielding such might.

He found himself in a wooded region in the southern stretches of the central Dagora Forest. In truth, he was not at all that far from the Manor; a two-day journey by horse would see him at the boundaries of his tiny domain. However, Darkhorse did not visit this site as often as he did the first two, hence Cabe's decision to leave this one until now.

Again there was no visible sign of the shadow steed, but it was clear to the warlock that his friend had been here not too long ago. Cabe judged it to be no more than four days since Darkhorse's departure. Once again, though, it was impossible to judge exactly where the eternal had journeyed next. Darkhorse traveled either by magic or by running, and either method allowed him to move across the Dragonrealm in little time. Teleporting, however, was much harder to trace. It was one skill where Cabe was and probably always would be deficient.

He was ready to depart for the next location on his list when a peculiar sensation touched the edge of his mind. There had been magic cast here, but of a haunting sort. It reminded him of something old, yet something he should have been familiar with. . . .

It was gone. So slight had it been that Cabe was almost willing to believe that he had imagined it. Darkhorse followed a different magic-and, in fact, was that magic-but this was not some random trace left by the eternal. Frowning, the master warlock sought it again, but whatever he had felt was no more. Realizing how futile it would be to hunt for something that might have been the product of his own imagination, Cabe returned to the business at hand. He was tempted to depart for the Manor, but decided that it would not take that long to inspect the remaining places. It was possible that he might even find the shadow steed. Each jump seemed to put him closer.

With that thought to encourage him, he leapt to the next site.

A chill ran through him as he appeared among gra.s.s-covered ruins. It had been years since Cabe had come to this place, and over those years he had thought he had recovered from the destruction. Now, though, the sight of the broken, weather-worn rubble brought it all cras.h.i.+ng back.

The ghosts of Mito Pica, the ghosts of his memory and conscience, danced around him.

He had been raised here. Under a spell cast by his grandfather, Cabe had remained a child for a century, maybe more. The warlock could not recall his early life, and so over the years he had come to wonder if Nathan had actually put him to sleep for most of that time. Still, whatever its elements, it had been a desperate spell, one that had been meant to save a dying baby. Its success had meant Nathan Bedlam's own death, for he had weakened himself enough so that when he challenged the Dragon King Purple, he had not had the strength to defeat the drake lord. In the end, both sorcerer and Dragon King had perished.

All thought of Darkhorse faded for a time as Cabe Bedlam drank in the macabre vision before him. Some parts of the wall that had surrounded Mito Pica still stood whole, as did several buildings. The city could have been rebuilt, but for some reason no one had suggested it. Yet, Cabe did not doubt for a moment that there were people living among the ruins. Scavengers for the most part, with some bandits thrown in for good measure. Possibly even a few half-mad survivors of the destruction itself. They would be old by now and probably very few in number.

After the Dragon Emperor's death, Melicard of Talak had sent his men to sweep through Mito Pica and bring any refugees they found back to the safety of his kingdom. There had actually been three or four such sweeps, so Cabe was fairly certain that all those who had desired aid had received it. Anyone living in the ghost kingdom now wanted to be there.

”Hadeen . . .” he whispered. Mito Pica had died because of him, and with it had perished the half-elf who had been his adoptive father. It was the other reason why Cabe had always found reasons to stay away from the ruined city. Hadeen had dedicated his life to caring for the grandson of Nathan Bedlam and his reward had been death at the claws of . . . of . . .

Toma . . .

He s.h.i.+vered. The voice had sounded almost like Hadeen's, yet it could not have been.

Toma . . . Cabe . . . Toma teaches . . .

Gasping, the wary spellcaster turned toward the wooded lands nearest to him. In that direction had been the home that Hadeen had built for the two of them. Almost it seemed . . . but that was impossible.

Toma . . . masks upon masks . . .

My son . . .

”Hadeen?” He could almost swear that the woods were talking to him.

Then the strong pull of another power snared his attention. The warlock cried out as he felt the force in the woods recede. He took a step toward the trees, but the second force, terribly familiar, beckoned to him, enticed him. Cabe stood transfixed, eyes darting from the trees to the darkness of Mito Pica, from where the new force seemed to radiate.

”Hadeen,” he whispered. A rare tear ran down his cheek. There was no reply, not even a gentle acknowledgment. Whatever had called to him from the woods had grown quiet again. It was said that when elves died, their spirits became one with their surroundings, especially trees. Did that also apply to half-elves?

The s.h.i.+vering warlock was not allowed time to pursue the matter, for once more he was pulled toward the ghost-ridden ruins of the city. With a start, Cabe recognized what now called to him. It was not only the same as the trace he had sensed at his last destination, but also identical to something far in his past. Only rarely had the sorcerer encountered such magic, for it was a thing not of this world, a thing that had briefly flourished long, long ago, when G.o.dlike mages had journeyed from their dying world to this one in an attempt to escape a doom they themselves had caused.

There was Vraad sorcery here, but Vraad sorcery with a peculiar taste to it. Cabe shook his head, unwilling to believe this. First Hadeen and now yet another terrible spirit from his past. He tried to reject the notion. The touch was unmistakable, however. Only one spellcaster had wielded such strange magic.

Shade.

Cabe followed the siren trail. He could do nothing else. It was almost a compulsion, but one that he knew was his own doing. He had to know. Hadeen, if it had been Hadeen, was lost to him again, but the trail he now followed was as strong as ever.

If it was the blur-faced warlock, somehow alive, would he be friend or foe? Did another sinister Madrac await Cabe, or would there instead be someone like the kindly but enigmatic Simon? Toward the end, the original personality of Shade had surfaced, or so Darkhorse had said. Would it be that one? What was that Shade like? He had been Vraad . . .

At the battered wall, Cabe paused. Part of him screamed that he should turn around, flee. Shade was more powerful than he. Yet, despite that plea, the warlock finally stepped through the broken wall. He had no choice. It would forever haunt him if he failed to discover the truth.

The first sight that met his eyes was disappointing. Weeds and more rubble. Dragon-torched skeletons of once tall buildings. Two decades of weather that had left some structures virtually unrecognizable. A skull, marking either the last resting place of one of the citizenry or a traveler who had made the mistake of thinking the ruins a safe place to rest.

There was no Shade.

The sensation had not faded. Cabe was close. He eyed the various ruined buildings, seeking the direction from which the Vraad sorcery emanated. His eyes alighted on what looked to have been an inn or tavern. He could not help smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. The first time Cabe had encountered the shadowy warlock had been where the young Bedlam had been serving ales. Shade had sat undetected at one of the far tables, watching the grandson of Nathan. He had spoken in a rather enigmatic fas.h.i.+on about Cabe's life, then had vanished before the serving boy could ask for clarification.

The path to the ruined tavern was filled with shattered stone and rotting wood, but Cabe chose to dare it rather than risk materializing inside. He kept his magical senses alert, but it was difficult to notice anything else in the presence of so strong a Vraadish force. The warlock could almost picture Shade sitting among the ghosts of Mito Pica, quietly sipping an ale he had summoned from the shadows.

He was nearly at the cracked and open doorway when the earth beneath his feet burst upward.

The speed with which the long black tentacles moved left him too stunned to act. They rose on all sides of him, never touching the spellcaster but instead coming together a foot or two above his head. As they touched, a green s.h.i.+mmer swept over the cage within which Cabe suddenly found himself trapped. The spell was one of the swiftest the baffled warlock had ever been unfortunate enough to experience. Freedom had become imprisonment in less time than it took to blink the proverbial eye.

Recovering, the warlock immediately probed his cell. What he discovered both unnerved and confused him. Other than capturing him, the magical prison meant Cabe no harm. It was simply designed to hold him where he was. He had expected some sort of death trap, but such was not the case.

As relieved as he was by the lack of any imminent threat, Cabe did not relax his efforts. Harmless the cage might be, but in the fulfilling of its basic function it excelled. Cabe searched every strand of the spell and could find no flaw. This was a cage designed to hold a spellcaster of astonis.h.i.+ng power. The one who had designed it had worked long and hard. As he studied it again, Cabe had the sinking feeling that escape would be anything but simple. In fact, he had some doubts as to whether he could escape at all.

The warlock had to try, of course. He had no intention of idly pa.s.sing the time while he waited the coming of the mage who had set the trap.

The trap's design still perplexed him. Why use traces of Vraadish magic as a lure? Few knew of the Vraad, much less their tainted power. For that matter, the trace had been a specific one, specifically that of Shade. Yet, Cabe doubted that Shade had had anything to do with this. The warlock was dead . . . as far as he knew. Somebody had simply decided to use the memory of him to bait the snare.

Which strongly hinted that the trap had been set for a particular being. . . .