Part 40 (1/2)

Even that paled in comparison to the final new vision. It was the first of its kind that any of them had ever come across, and its existence shattered every theory that the master warlock or his wife had ever devised concerning the ghostly images.

Aurim had seen his father.

Cabe had joined the ghosts of the Manor.

The image was a very recent one. That, too, was unsettling. Aurim's description of the short scene had registered in the elder Bedlam's memory. It had taken place but a few days prior to their departure for Penacles. The occurrence had not been of any significant moment as far as he could see. It was merely Cabe using a knife to cut open a srevo, one of the lush fruits often found in the markets of Penacles and long a personal favorite of the sorcerer. Cabe was not one to use his power for something so simple as cutting up fruit. He considered such misuse both wasteful and criminal. That day, however, the black-haired mage wished that he had broken his cardinal rule.

Aurim's description of what had followed was exactly as Cabe recalled it, save that much of the surrounding scene was missing. The vision revealed Cabe holding the large, round fruit and making the first cut. Then, as he had readied one half for another attack with his knife, something had caught his attention, making him turn as he lowered the sharp blade. In real life, that something had been Benjin Traske, come to ask a question about the then forthcoming trip to Talak. The interruption itself had been minor, but the warlock, eyes turned away, had cut into his thumb.

He still remembered the pain. The wound had not been deep, but surprise had amplified his agony. Cabe had no qualms about using sorcery to repair even the most minor injuries, particularly those causing him torment, and had healed it almost immediately. By the evening of that same day, he had forgotten all about the incident.

For some reason, though, the Manor had not.

And why is that? he wondered. The spectral images had never made sense to him. Why would the ghost of such a trivial incident be created? What logic did the Manor follow? Is there any logic? I keep a.s.suming that there has to be, but who knows who built this place? They might've been mad, for all I know!

The situation was certainly insane enough. Cabe slumped back in his chair, willing to admit that after all these years he was no closer to understanding the magical citadel than he had been the first time he had entered it. It reminded him of the fact that the structure would probably still be standing long after he and his children had become nothing more than . . . memories?

A movement behind him quickly dispersed all thought of the Manor's eccentric ways. Cabe pushed his chair back and turned, expecting one of his villagers. His eyes bulged as what should have been an impossible sight stood before him.

It was a drake warrior. His eyes searched the room with avid interest. He wore a cloak, and the dragon's head crest on his helm was one of the most extravagant that Cabe could recall. The drake's red eyes seemed to burn. His coloring was dull green mixed with touches of gold.

It was a drake warrior, one known to Cabe Bedlam.

It was Duke Toma.

Although to the warlock it seemed as if his reflexes had slowed almost to nothing, still he succeeded in gathering his power and striking at the deadly drake before Toma even seemed to notice him. A whirlwind formed around the reptilian invader, a funnel of dizzying speed that affected nothing else in the room, for its object was Toma and Toma only. At Cabe's silent command, the tornado seized the sinister drake and threw him to the ceiling.

That is, it was supposed to throw him to the ceiling.

Toma stepped through as if not even noticing the whirlwind. His eyes still darted left and right, never seeming to focus on his foe. Cabe pointed a finger at the draconian figure's armored chest. Sleek, black tendrils formed around the deadly duke's upper torso, tendrils designed to pin the drake's arms to his sides.

The tendrils tightened . . . and continued to tighten through Toma's body.

”What-” Daunted but not defeated, Cabe began to rise from his chair. At the same time, Toma's piercing eyes turned his way . . . and continued past, at last focusing on the wary sorcerer's desk.

Only then did Cabe Bedlam realize that, if he stared hard, he could just barely make out the door through the chest of the drake.

An illusion? I'm fighting an illusion? He stumbled closer, still not positive that this was not a trick. Toma seemed to walk toward him, although after a moment Cabe decided the horrific duke was actually walking toward his desk. The warlock stepped to one side, studying the figure as it went past.

There was something familiar about the illusion. It was not a proper illusion, for if it had been, he would not have been able to see through it. Toma was a phantom, a ghost.

Ghost or not, the drake seemed very familiar with this chamber. He walked quickly to the shelves that held Cabe's personal library, works that the warlock himself had gathered over the years, as opposed to the ancient library elsewhere in the Manor. As the specter searched the shelves, Cabe struggled to understand the madness happening before him. This was either a very elaborate hoax, a trick played by Aurim, perhaps, or . . .

Toma began to fade away. There was no warning. His form simply began to grow murkier and murkier and his movements slowed until they came almost to a halt.

It was the final confirmation. Everything about the ghostly drake screamed only one possible answer.

The Duke Toma before him was nothing more than one of the Manor's phantom memories . . . and that could only mean that the deadly drake had paid a visit to the one place the warlock had believed was forever safe from him.

Toma in the Manor. It seemed impossible, but the proof was there. How, though? How could the draconian renegade have made his way past the defenses of the ancient structure?

There was also the question of when. Perhaps it was an old memory from the time when no one had actually lived in the Manor, a time when Gwendolyn had been a frozen prisoner in Azran's amber cage and a trio of sinister female drakes had usurped the fabled place. The original spells protecting it had begun to deteriorate. Darkhorse had been unable to enter, but Cabe had stepped through without even really knowing what had happened. Of course, at the time, he had been bedazzled by the temptresses' beauty, not realizing that he was to be their meal.

Could Toma have been here back then? It seemed a far more sensible conclusion, yet that reasoning held flaws, terrible flaws. The first and foremost of those was what the drake had been doing. Toma had walked to the desk, which was an addition of Cabe's. The chamber had originally been devoid of any trace of furniture or other contents. Also, the monstrous figure had been inspecting the shelves, his eyes lingering on particular tomes.

The shelves and their contents were also additions made by the warlock. Before that, the wall had been bare.

He could not deny it any longer. Duke Toma had been in the study chamber searching through the knowledge that his rival had gathered over the years. How long ago, though? It could still have been years-but if so, why had the drake never struck at them? If there was anyone Toma desired to see dead, it was Cabe and Gwen.

Gwen . . . Valea and Aurim . . . Suddenly the warlock grew fearful for his family.

He had to know.

”. . . as I've said before, Valea,” his wife was remarking as he appeared in their midst. The trio paused in their conversation, eyes widening at the unexpected visitation.

”You're all . . . right!” Cabe gasped, relief bubbling over. In truth, he had expected to find them prisoners of the drake . . . or even worse.

Gwendolyn was on her feet instantly. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. ”Cabe! What's wrong?”

Seeing them there, all concerned about his well-being, made his fears now seem laughable. Yet, Toma had invaded their sanctuary at some point in the past. That meant that there had been a threat to them . . . and, in fact, there might still be. The drake had never been one to pa.s.s up a golden opportunity.

He exhaled, forcing himself to relax. Only when he was certain of his control did the sorcerer permit himself to speak again. ”Toma. It was Toma.”

”Toma? Where?” The emerald-clad enchantress warily scanned the grounds around them. Valea and Aurim looked worried but not panicked. Like their mother, they prepared themselves for the worst.

”Not here. Not now, Gwen. I don't know when he appeared, but at some point in the past, Toma somehow invaded my study.”

”How do you know that?”

Cabe indicated Aurim. ”When I went to the study with the notes Aurim had given me, the ones about the hauntings . . .”

”Your pet project.”

He nodded. ”I was just considering the last one, the image of myself. I felt a p.r.i.c.kling . . . or something. All I know is that when I turned around, Toma was standing behind me, eyeing the room the way a dragon eyes fresh meat. After looking around, he stalked toward the desk and the shelves above it.”

”And then?” No one seemed to be breathing. Antic.i.p.ation had made slaves of his family.

”And then . . .” He shook his head. ”And then I realized that the Toma I saw was another of the Manor's living memories!”

”A very timely one, if it was. You are certain that it was not an illusion? Not some trick?” It was clear that Gwen wanted that to be the case.

”No illusion . . . or rather, yes, it was, but only if you count the Manor's ghosts as such. This was one of those! I know the difference between them! Toma has been here before, Gwen. Not only that, but he had time to search this place thoroughly, I think.”

The sorceress released him. Her hands, Cabe saw for the first time, were shaking. ”It has to be an illusion! How could he have succeeded in pa.s.sing the barriers? Only we can let anyone in or out!”

The warlock looked at his family. ”I don't know.”