Part 50 (1/2)

Behind the emperor-to-be, Grath allowed himself another smile.

XVI.

CABE FROWNED AS the night aged. The evidence he had hoped to find had failed to turn up, but still the warlock could not abandon his suspicions. He wanted to, very dearly in fact, but some part of him forced the mage to push on.

Twice already he had contacted his wife and the Gryphon. There had not been much to report from either side. Thanks to a private conversation between Benjin Traske and Kyl, the heir had at least calmed down. He remained secluded in his chambers, however. Gwendolyn reported some lingering signs of his earlier nervousness, but it appeared that Kyl had his fear under control. There was nothing else to report from the Manor. Aurim and Ssarekai were still afflicted by the mysterious spell Toma had cast upon them, but so far it had not affected anything but their memories concerning the renegade.

The news from Penacles was little better. Order had been restored and most in the kingdom seemed perfectly satisfied with the return of their former monarch, but the lionbird had been forced to admit that the spells of searching that he had cast upon the remnants of the two a.s.sa.s.sins had revealed nothing new. He had, however, promised the warlock that he would keep the garments under guard until Cabe or Gwen had the opportunity to study them thoroughly.

In a wooded area near the northern edge of the Dagora Forest, Cabe sat on a high rock contemplating the lack of success on everyone's part. Even he had not had anything to report. It had been his decision to continue the search through the entire night if necessary, for, in his mind, each second he delayed meant more danger to Darkhorse. Fortunately, he could revitalize himself for a time through the simple use of sorcery. Cabe did not like subst.i.tuting magical energy in the place of normal rest-it was a danger in the long run for many reasons-but he did it rarely enough that now would not cause him trouble. What did bother him was the possibility of finding his last clues as useless as the others. Then, the only choices left to him would be to confront the source of his suspicions, or forget the matter-and Darkhorse-forever.

He could never do the latter, but the former unnerved him almost as much.

Exhaling, the warlock floated off the rock and slowly descended to the ground, where he landed in a standing position. Cabe surveyed the area, seeing it well despite the darkness. For once, he had dared to adjust his eyes to better see at night. As much as Cabe disliked altering any portion of his form, especially something as sensitive as the eyes, the missing Darkhorse deserved at least that much effort. The warlock was willing to give his life, if that was what it took to save the ebony stallion.

I should've sensed something! What am I missing? What, indeed? Cabe had tried to follow Darkhorse's trace, but so far it had led him nowhere. It was as if his last few days had been erased from- Then it at last came to him. He cursed himself for a fool. I should've seen that before! And people think of me as a master sorcerer! I'm a novice, that's what I am! A wet-behind-the-ears, all-knowing, first-day novice!

The traps set for Darkhorse had been designed in a variety of manners, but one consistent trait had been the creator's use of one bit of sorcery masking another. What better way, then, to cover the trail of the shadow steed by use of the same, or rather, similar technique?

Tensing, the spellcaster reached out and looked at the world anew. There were different levels of vision, and while Cabe made use of both the mundane and magical, he did not usually utilize all of the latter. He could not remember a time when he had been forced to reach beyond the most common of the magical dimensions. Cabe had viewed the world from every level, but only for practice. He had never had to truly make use of them until now.

In the first s.h.i.+fting, the land around him became fluid, but everything still held its basic shape. Trees and rocks wiggled like overfilled water sacks, yet did not burst when he touched them. The night sky was blue. Lines of force, the same forces that Cabe's body drew upon when he utilized sorcery, crisscrossed everywhere. Colors were askew, with green things now red and brown things now yellow.

Unfortunately, for this realm, everything was as it was meant to be. There were no variations that would have signaled the necessary aberration that Cabe was hunting.

He tried the next level beyond. Now, the night was green and everything, including himself, was pierced by a thousand tiny blue lines. The fact that all else was normal by human standards did nothing to keep him from becoming disconcerted by the strands. He was almost grateful to see that there was no evidence of the masking sorcery on this level.

His third attempt gave the warlock the ability to see the world as a land of glittering spheres. Each time something moved, be it by its own choice or simply the touch of the wind, the tiny spheres went flying hither and yonder. The landscape also glittered, making it appear that the trees, rocks, and all the rest had been formed out of volcanic gla.s.s. It was one of the most exotic and most beautiful of the magical planes, and Cabe made a note to himself to view it again when things calmed down.

There among the beauty he finally found the black trail. To his eyes, it appeared as a jagged scattering of black gla.s.s. In some places there lay only a single piece, but still there was enough to follow. Cabe reached out with his power, which in this level was represented by a gleaming blue stream, and linked himself to the trail.

It was childishly easy to follow it through a series of hops. Each time he materialized, the warlock expected to find some difficulty, some barrier, but there was none. Cabe began to fear some trap, but if there was one, it was so subtle that it escaped his careful monitoring.

On the twelfth hop, he came across the hooded figures. The suddenly still warlock did not know exactly where he was, although the region reminded him of somewhere near the ruins of Mito Pica, but location hardly mattered now. What did matter was that he had no doubt whatsoever he had found the ones he sought.

As he saw the world, the dismounted riders were mounds of black steel among the gla.s.s trees. The images disconcerted him until he s.h.i.+fted his vision back to night sight. Even then, however, the silent figures were ominous shapes. They wore cloaks identical to those of the a.s.sa.s.sins, huge things that only now and then revealed the race to which their wearers belonged.

They were men and drakes. Three of the former and two of the latter, all seated around a fire that was little more than embers and so gave some heat but hardly any betraying illumination. It was a surprising but not unbelievable sight, and whether it confirmed his suspicions, Cabe could not say.

s.h.i.+elded by a pair of tall oaks, the silent mage surveyed the group. One of the humans seemed to be in charge. He muttered something to one of the drakes. In the drake's hands was a small box that, at first, the warlock's gaze pa.s.sed over. Only when he belatedly sensed the strangeness of it did he probe the object. To his surprise, it resisted his best attempts to unveil its contents, but what he learned about the container made him s.h.i.+ver.

It was Vraad . . . or at the very least, based on Vraadish sorcery. It was by far not the first artifact he had been confronted with over the years. In the short time that the alien magic had thrived in this world, millennia before, it had certainly left its mark, the warlock thought. A black mark, in his opinion.

Suddenly, he had a horrible feeling he knew what the box contained.

”We wait, then,” grunted the leader. ”I can have a little more patience.”

Wait? For who? For the a.s.sa.s.sins? That seemed peculiar, considering that the two had clearly been intended to die regardless of their success or failure. Was the leader then waiting for reinforcements, or was someone else planning to join them?

A quick but cautious search of the surrounding region revealed no other intruders. The warlock came to a decision; he would have to strike now lest he lose this one chance. Cabe had no doubt that he had found what he was searching for, and so in his eyes waiting only threatened to lessen his opportunity to take the foul container without a greater struggle.

He knew that there was magic about the riders, but could read nothing more. They might have enchanted daggers or be untrained but lethal mages. It might even be their cloaks alone, which he had already discerned had some spell interwoven in them.

Magic or not, it was time to act. Reaching out, the warlock sent tendrils of power toward each of the figures. With any luck, the battle would be over before any of the five noticed what was happening. A simple sleep spell, one that should be effective regardless of the sorcery he sensed. Surprise was ofttimes a more useful tool in magical combat than all the power of an archmage. Surprise mixed with caution, that is. There were many instantaneous spells that he could have unleashed, but Cabe wanted to take no chances. It was his way. If this failed, then he would be more direct, more instinctive in his attack.

He encountered no barriers, no protective spells. That made sense. Unless one was very skilled, protective spells tended to be noticeable. This was not a party that wished to be noticed, as the pitiful fire had already indicated.

Slowly, each tendril took its place. Cabe found himself sweating. He wanted to hurry the spell through, but was aware how such impatience had a tendency to backfire. There might still be some sorcerous s.h.i.+eld in place that he had not noticed.

Still the hooded figures seemed unaware of what he was doing. The ease with which his plan progressed worried Cabe. Despite his vast power, he always expected the worst to happen. If he was wrong this time, so much the better, but until then . . .

Before he realized it, his spell was finally ready. When he chose to, each tendril would strike the head of the figure before it, unleas.h.i.+ng the unstoppable command to sleep. He had drawn enough power into the making of the spell to down five times the number of riders before him. That, unless he had miscalculated horribly, would be sufficient to overcome each.

So why are you waiting? Having no good answer to the silent question, Cabe Bedlam unleashed his spell.

Two of the men and one of the drakes collapsed.

The human leader and the drake who held the box rose. Their hoods kept their faces all but obscured, but Cabe could read consternation in the dragon man's movements. The human, however, was furious.

An armored hand shot forward as the leader pointed directly at the warlock's hiding place. ”There! He's there!”

s.h.i.+fting his prize to one hand, the drake pointed a taloned finger.

One of the oaks burst, sending tiny spears of wood flying. The warlock folded himself into a ball as the deadly shower enveloped him, his robe making a seemingly insufficient s.h.i.+eld against the storm of tiny but lethal spears.

”Give me the box!” growled the leader as the fearsome rain poured down. He pulled out a short sword. ”Go and make certain that he's finished!”

The drake thrust the container into the human's hand and stalked toward the curled figure, his speed increasing the nearer he came. When he finally stood over Cabe, the drake raised one hand high in preparation of a new spell. The hand glowed with pent up power.

Cabe materialized behind the leader just as the huddled form exploded at the dragon man's touch.

The drake went flying backward, stunned. The warlock's simulacrum had not been created to kill; Cabe desired prisoners, not corpses.

He reached out for the leader even as the explosion rocked the immediate vicinity, yet somehow the hooded man sensed him coming. With astonis.h.i.+ng dexterity, the leader swung the blade behind him, almost severing the warlock's hand from his arm. Cabe barely pulled back in time, yet still he managed to release his spell.

The outline of the hooded figure flared white, but the man was otherwise unchanged.

”Yes . . . I am protected against your little tricks, magic man, but are you protected against mine?”

Still clutching the box in his other hand, the armored leader advanced on Cabe. This close, the warlock's enhanced vision allowed him a better view of the armor beneath the robe. It was dented and worn, but there was no mistaking the familiar ebony armor. His foe was, or rather had been, a wolf raider.

Their empire was all but a memory, but that did not mean that the Aramites, the wolf raiders, were also. They still held pockets of the neighboring continent and their s.h.i.+ps now prowled the seas as true pirates. Even in the Dragonrealm, half the world away, there were remnants. This one might even have been part of the large force that had attempted to build a new powerbase on this continent. Those wolf raiders had been defeated, but more than a few had no doubt escaped the cataclysm that had befallen the army in the southwesternmost region of the Dragonrealm. Reports of survivors being captured in various places all over the continent had been verified. It was, therefore, not so surprising after all to find one here. Somehow the Aramites seemed to have a hand in almost every plot that touched the lives of Cabe and those he cared for.

However this one had come to be here, Cabe knew that he could not let him escape. The warlock backed away as the raider advanced, but that was not something he could continue for very long. In fact, he did not have to. The surprise of discovering what his adversary was had finally faded and now Cabe was prepared to finish the task at hand. The Aramite could not be allowed to escape with the box.

”I've not worked for so long to have you destroy everything!” snarled the wolf raider. Suddenly his sword's reach was longer than it should have been. Although the blade missed the sorcerer by a good arm's length, still there was suddenly a slash in Cabe's robe. The raider's sword had some limited magical ability. What other tricks did the man have hidden beneath his robe?