DRAGON MASTER

OBSESSION WEARS MANY FACES...

 

I

 

The bronze mask wore a smile. The entire false face, in fact, had been shaped to be jovial, with small crinkle lines at the end of the open mouth and between the arched brows. Even the eye holes had been carved to indicate merriment.

Merriment...or mockery.

The hood of a vast, green cloak hung just over the top edge of the mask, obscuring the rest of the wearer’s head. That same cloak draped over wizard’s robes dark brown as the figure sat upon the cracked, crumbling stone throne.

Within the mask, eyes so gray as to be almost colorless watched intently. A true mouth with just a hint of white beard surrounding it set with teeth clenched. Hands scarred and gnarled gripped the ends of the ruined arm rests.

The decrepit throne sat upon a broken dais in a huge, devastated cavern. On each side, massive, winding columns carved from the stone dwarfed the figure. Towering statues lay shattered on the floor, their identities eradicated by some explosive force. Parts of the ceiling had clearly caved in, broken stalagmites and stalactites now intermingled together in toothy displays.

“Now,” he rasped.

A tremendous roar erupted from a high, dark passage far ahead.

Through the passage burst a huge dragon, his greenish, scaly skin tinted with what could only be described as a bronze accent. He reared up, his head nearly touching the ceiling, and roared again his displeasure at his recent captivity.

Narrow, reptilian orbs of crimson marked the puny figure on the throne.

“At lassst! Now isss my vengeance! I will burn your flesh from your bonessss!” the leviathan rumbled. He inhaled, preparing a monstrous blast of flame.

The masked wizard raised his left hand and whispered, “Genin. Hala.”

From two smaller passages below him emerged a young man and woman, both clad in hooded, light green robes. Their expressions were in general blank, but their eyes focused on the beast with hatred mirroring the one who had summoned them.

The dragon paused briefly when he noticed them, then clearly dismissed the pair from his thoughts. Only his captor was of importance. As one, Genin and Hala raised their left arms, pointing at the great beast.

Lightning without any source suddenly struck the dragon from every angle. He roared in agony and astonishment, so harsh, so deadly were the attacks. Scorch marks dotted his body, the scales burnt completely through.

“Houndsss! Jackalsss!” Twisting, the winged behemoth raked at the two, but came up short when an invisible barrier suddenly blocked his way.

From the young woman, Hala, came a momentary gasp. Then, her face resuming its almost inhuman calm, she fixed her gaze again on their adversary.

“Too slow...” muttered the seated figure. “You are all linked. Use that. Finish now.”

The young spellcasters nodded simultaneously.

The invisible force that had blocked the dragon’s claws now buffeted him back. At the same time, every sharp rock formation near the irontinted leviathan shook loose.

Now pinned against one wall, the dragon tried desperately to flame his keepers.

But before he could, scores of stalactites and stalagmites flew at him, pincushioning the bronze giant before he could exhale. He roared in agony. Great rivers of blood shot forth, splattering everything save the three tiny figures. The dragon’s roar transformed into a pathetic whimper.

The beast stilled.

Genin lowered his arm.

Hala lowered hers.

The gargantuan corpse tumbled to the cavern floor, its collapse creating a tremor that shook the entire chamber for several seconds. Genin and Hala turned their unblinking eyes to the one who commanded them.

“Better...” he remarked, nodding his head slightly. “Much better...”

“Thank you, Master Tragaro,” the pair piped in unison.

Without another word, they filed out the way they had come. Tragaro leaned back and stared avidly at the dragon, savoring the death.

“Soon...very soon...we shall rise again...”

 

II

From atop his horse, the wizard Cabe Bedlam eyed the hilly landscape ahead, noting the lights flickering in the distance.

“Gordag-Ai,” he whispered. “Perhaps the answer lies there. I suppose it’s worth checking out.”

His mount, a huge, shadowy black stallion, twisted his head around at an impossible angle to look at the gray-robed figure. Startling eyes of ice-blue—eyes with no pupils—narrowed in amusement.

“After a week of running around every hill and mountain, questioning every peasant and dwarf, we’re finally going to enter the city?” the steed asked. “Truly this is a glorious day!”

“Hush, Darkhorse! Even out in this wilderness someone might hear you!”

The black stallion snorted. “What would I fear from man or drake?”

“Too many things,” his human companion returned, taking a quick look around. “Your reputation precedes you by several centuries, you know. We don’t need that now.”

Cabe Bedlam wore plain, cloth robes, the type a pilgrim might don. The hood covered most of his dark hair and, more importantly, almost all of the wide, silver streak marking him as wielder of magic, a wizard or a warlock. His face bordered on the unprepossessing, which aided in his present masquerade. No one would ever take the slightly upturned nose, broad mouth, and farmer’s jaw for the features of one of the most powerful mages in all the Dragonrealm. In truth, Cabe came from a lineage that had produced many of the most famous and infamous spellcasters, including both his grandfather Nathan and his treacherous father, Azran.

Hidden from Azran, who had betrayed his fellow wizards, the Dragon Masters, in their war to rid the lands of the monstrous Dragon Kings, Cabe had been secreted magically for almost two centuries before his elven guardian had dared try to raise him among mortals. That mistake had started a chain of events that had seen the elf’s death, Azran’s destruction of the Red Dragon clan, and much, much more. From it, though, Cabe had emerged as a powerful force for humanity—and a leader despite his own protests.

And in the process, he had gained a wife—the fiery, magical Lady of the Amber—a family, an estate...and the true friendship of the legendary eternal, the enigmatic creature called Darkhorse.

Darkhorse himself came from an empty realm beyond reality, the endless Void. The shape he wore was one of his own fancy, taken when he had entered the land centuries before. If necessary, the eternal could manipulate his shape with the fluidity of water, becoming anything he desired. However, his fondness for his present form kept him from rarely doing so and the name he had gained because of his chosen appearance made his inclination to become something else even less.

He had befriended others of Cabe’s line, but Darkhorse seemed to have a special kinship with his current rider, willing to sacrifice himself if necessary to save the wizard or his family. When Cabe had informed the shadowy creature of his intended quest, Darkhorse had quickly volunteered.

In truth, the dark-haired spellcaster was grateful. When news had come to him of the disappearances, he had naturally been concerned; young men and women vanishing so near the enclaves of the Drake Confederation boded ill. However, when Cabe had heard that these were men and women who had shown some potential with magic—that had stirred worries much, much greater.

When one Dragon King—Brown—had died trying to slay Cabe himself, his human vassal, the lord of Zuu, had begun his own campaign for power. Lanith had gathered by guile and force a small but deadly group of half-trained mages, pawns not only of him, but his own true master, Darkhorse’s twin, Yureel. Before Lanith’s plan had been foiled and the Horse King and Yureel slain, many had died.

Even before then, Cabe and his wife had begun to gather young humans with the gift into schools where they could be cautiously trained. The Dragon Kings had, over the centuries, attempted to control or eradicate any such humans, but always a few had survived and flourished. Now, with no such threat, more and more were appearing.

And now some of them were disappearing.

Gordag-Ai had produced its share of mages, including the present queen of Talak, Erini. They had been free of the yoke of a Dragon King longer than most realms. Because of Erini, restrictions against magic had loosened and now that her nephew, Edrik, sat on the throne, he even employed a few for the good of the kingdom.

But Cabe had come to wonder whether Edrik might now be desiring to be the next Lanith...and that was why he had hesitated to enter the city.

Darkhorse turned his head forward again. “I shall endeavor to keep my identity secret, friend Cabe.”

Cabe patted him on the neck. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The ebony stallion snorted, but clearly appreciated his rider’s comment. The pair moved on, heading toward the great wooden gates leading into Gordag-Ai.

Guards with high, forked helms, bronze-colored breast plates, and wide-hipped military pants watched warily as he and others entered. The banners of the kingdom, a fierce red ram on a field of black and white stripes, fluttered overhead.

In contrast to the broad, almost cumbersome garments of the locals, the buildings were short, narrow, and packed together. Although not nearly so expansive as Talak or Penacles, Cabe still saw no reason for Gordag-Ai to be so cramped. However, as he studied the people, he noticed that they seemed more inclined than in most places to bump against one another, almost as if on purpose.

Something Queen Erini had once said of her homeland came to him. “We are a close-knit people, we of Gordag-Ai. Surrounded by drakes so long, we came to cherish the presence of one another...”

Whatever the truth behind her beliefs, certainly the Gordagians, as they were called, spent much time finding excuses to talk. Several tried to strike up a conversation with each newcomer who entered. A number of onlookers peeked from the open windows and for the first time the wizard realized that, despite their narrowness, Gordagian buildings had more openings than normal—and thus more places to lean out and see or speak with a passerby.

At a clean if old establishment called the Mountain Herder, Cabe dismounted. After going through the pretense of tying Darkhorse to a post, the supposed pilgrim stepped inside.

His smiling host, a young, fair-haired man, came up to him. “Welcome, traveler! I am Brode! Please! Have a seat! Some ale?”

Taken slightly aback by the robust manner of the innkeeper’s greeting, Cabe hesitated before agreeing. “An ale would do wonders for my parched throat, good man. Do I also smell stew?”

“Oh, aye! My wife, she’s finishing it up now! Just be a few minutes!”

With the utmost earnestness, Brode guided his newest customer to a seat. As the wizard sat, he glanced around at the others. Brode had five patrons, all but one clad in local clothes. The fifth wore plain trader’s garb with small badges sewn in at the shoulders that indicated he originated from Talak, far to the east. All seemed perfectly at ease with the innkeeper’s overenthusiastic nature.

After Brode had brought him his drink and meal, Cabe leaned back. Outwardly, it appeared he relaxed, his eyes half-shut while he occasionally took a sip or a bite, but in truth, the wizard now reached out with his senses, trying to detect any disturbance along the invisible, intangible lines of force that crisscrossed everything and everybody. Even the slightest hint of magic would register.

But after a good hour, he detected nothing. His food gone and his ale nearly down to nothing, Cabe focused his will in the direction of the king’s palace. He had seen it from afar as he had entered, a towering, slim structure that gave its monarch a view of everything for miles around. Cabe wondered about the safety of such a needle in the wind-thrashed regions of the northwest, but the tower seemed to take each blast in stride.

The one question remained was how often the king made his way up to the top, certainly a feat requiring exceptional health and patience.

From the palace, he at last noted a slight hint of magical action. The spell, however, was of such minute proportion as to be almost nonexistent. Cabe would have used more magic simply to douse the oil lamps that illuminated the room. Ignoring the faint signal, Cabe turned his focus elsewhere—

Without warning, a force of such magnitude that it made his head feel as if it had been kicked by Darkhorse’s hooves overwhelmed him.

Groaning, Cabe nearly fell forward onto the table. Everything swam. The other patrons glanced his way, although none rose to help.

Brode, just coming from the back, noticed the wizard’s agony. Cabe managed to pull together as the innkeeper approached.

“Are you not well?” the young man asked anxiously.

“Too long on the road, that’s all.” The wizard paid for the meal and drink. “I’m all right. I’ll be going.”

“We also have some fine rooms—”

“Perhaps later, I—” Cabe paused as he sensed the aura of magic approaching.

Through the doors entered three helmed men, soldiers of Gordag-Ai. On the breastplate of the leader, a stout but ready veteran with a thick beard, hung an amulet...the source of the aura.

The commander looked directly at the wizard, pointing.

Brode immediately backed away from his guest. The other patrons removed themselves from the premises.

The trio loomed over Cabe, who tried to analyze the spell work of the amulet. Protective, yes, but not dangerous. Certainly not the cause of his earlier distress.

“You are the mage,” rumbled the leader.

The fact that he stated Cabe’s calling as fact, not question, meant that no pretense would convince the soldiers otherwise. The wizard nodded.

“I am he. Is there a reason for disrupting my repass?”

“It is requested you come with us, mage. An invitation by his majesty, no less.”

Edrik? Cabe had not planned to speak with the young king, but the fact that Edrik knew of his arrival intrigued him. “And will I be wearing those upon my arrival in the royal court?” he asked, indicating the iron cuffs worn at the side of each guard. “As a safety measure?”

The bearded veteran kept his craggy face expressionless. “His majesty requests your willing presence.”

Which meant no cuffs. Did Edrik know exactly what mage he had invited?

Sensing the tension building within the soldiers despite their polite attitudes, Cabe nodded, then cautiously rose. Brode had vanished into the back room.

The officer led, with Cabe flanked by the two other guards. As they stepped outside, Cabe noticed that, for the first time, the area had emptied out. Word traveled fast.

Darkhorse gave an equine snort as they appeared. The wizard blinked, signaling his companion to maintain his pose as a simple animal.

A fourth guard sat mounted, the reins of his comrades’ steeds in his hand. The bearded soldier indicated that Cabe should retrieve his own horse.

Patting Darkhorse’s flank, the hooded mage mounted. Surrounded by what could pass for either an honor guard or determined captors, he rode off toward the towering palace.

 

III

“I’ve my suspicions, yes, I do, that you’re a very, very special wizard.”

The king of Gordag-Ai was young, barely eighteen, and the wide, jeweled throne of cherry wood made him look even younger. He wore the noble, crested crown of his line slightly askew over his thin, blond hair. Edrik had soft features—not fat, for he was as thin as a rail—and dark, blue eyes. His nose was arched and his mouth was full. Even without being monarch he would have attracted women, especially those with the innate desire to mother him.

Next to him stood the bearded officer and from Cabe’s study of the man here was a soldier who would give his life for the slight ruler.

“What say you, General Majjin?”

Majjin eyed their guest up-and-down impassively. “I’d place a wager you’re right, majesty.”

The imperial chamber of the Gordagian monarch was a simple affair compared to the plush courts of some kings. Good, sturdy oak walls trimmed in gold surrounded the occupants. Carvings of mountain animals decorated those walls. A gold chandelier with over fifty candles illuminated the room and a purple carpet crossed from the entrance to the dais on which the throne sat. Above the seated figure and his general hung the ram banner of Gordag-Ai.

Cabe decided to end the guessing. “You are correct, King Edrik. I am Cabe Bedlam, a friend of your aunt.”

The young monarch smashed his fist against the throne’s arm rest. His eyes widened and he grinned, making him look even younger. “I knew it! When they detected you, they said you were a powerful mage! Very powerful! I was certain it was you, especially after someone reported you riding on a huge black stallion!” Edrik suddenly looked around. “Majjin! Where’s the stallion?”

For once, the officer looked a bit disconcerted. “Majesty, I could hardly bring an animal into the royal court! It is in the stables where it belongs—”

“Majjin, you fool! Don’t you know what that ‘animal’ is?”

“I prefer to be considered a who, not a what,” boomed a voice from everywhere, “and I have graced the courts of a hundred and more regal kingdoms by invitation!”

The Gordagians whirled this way and that, searching for the source. Majjin had his sword out and stood protectively over the seated king. Edrik, on the other hand, had an expression even more awed than that which had greeted the announcement of Cabe’s identity.

Looking to the shadows in the corner to the left of the throne, the wizard spotted the two telltale blue orbs. Cabe smiled, which caused Darkhorse to chuckle.

Edrik and Majjin turned toward the shadows. Majjin extended his blade, as if a simple steel weapon could do anything against the eternal.

“Careful, general,” Cabe warned. “It doesn’t pay to antagonize him.”

There was truth to what he said. Darkhorse was a loyal comrade, an avenger of wrongs, and he understood humans enough to know simple concern and fright, but if Majjin persisted, the magical stallion might choose to see him as a danger...and absorb him.

Absorb was perhaps the wrong term, but Cabe had never come up with any better description. He had witnessed drake warriors and taloned beasts fall into Darkhorse, fall and keep falling as if into a bottomless abyss, finally vanishing. Only one being had ever emerged from that abyss and that had been the warlock Shade, a figure as potent in his own right as the eternal.

“It’s him!” shouted Edrik, now very much the youth. He would have risen and gone to the shadows if not for Majjin’s blocking arm.

The huge, ebony steed emerged from the black corner, forming out of the very darkness. He loomed over the two Gordagians.

“Your majesty!” roared Darkhorse, dipping his head. “I knew your great-grandfather, Edrianos V! A cheerful, cheerful man!”

Grinning from ear to ear, Edrik returned, “That wasn’t my greatgrandfather...that was my grandfather’s great-grandfather!”

“Was he? Aah, how time flies, as they say! My error!”

With a graceful, silent leap, the eternal flew up into the air, then landed with a twirl next to Cabe.

“You were supposed to remain inconspicuous,” the wizard remarked dryly.

“Have I not?” his companion asked in utter innocence.

The king squirmed free of Majjin. “But why come incognito, master wizard? Gordag-Ai’s no enemy of yours! You corresponded with my father and grandfather both!”

Cabe bowed his head. “And may once again I give my sincerest sympathies for your father.”

“My thanks, master wizard,” Edrik returned with equal solemnity. “The sickness took him swiftly.”

Edrik’s father, Ermanus X, had been king for only a few scant years when struck down, leaving the young prince, already without a mother since birth, to fend for himself. His aunt, the only sibling of Ermanus, had passed on what knowledge she could, but Erini lived far away in Talak. Edrik had been forced to grow up quickly.

“You have not answered the king’s question,” reminded General Majjin sternly.

“Majjin! Behave! He’s Cabe Bedlam, the master wizard! He doesn’t have to—”

“But I do,” interrupted the spellcaster. “The general is correct. I was remiss in not simply going to you, but—”

Now it was the bearded commander’s turn to interject. “But you were concerned about the wizards his majesty has been gathering...and whether my liege seeks to use them aggressively.”

Cabe’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. The general was a shrewd man.

“The lessons of the Horse King are not lost on Gordag-Ai, Master Bedlam. Nor is lost the fact that some of his wizards came from our realm. Be assured, though, that his majesty gathers his for the peace and security of the realm, not dreams of conquest.”

“The Drake Confederation is not stable,” Edrik added.

The dragon clans that had gathered in the northwest represented the survivors of more than half a dozen distinct lines, all with histories of turmoil and competition between them. That they had held together for more than a decade had more to do with their distrust of the rising human kingdoms than any true alliance. If Sssaleese, the unmarked drake who had gathered them, lost control, the repercussions would avalanche over Gordag-Ai.

“Be assured, King Edrik, that Gordag-Ai will not be alone if the Confederation collapses. In addition to myself, both the kingdoms of Talak and Penacles watch the situation.” Marriage, of course, bound Talak to Gordag-Ai. Penacles, on the other hand, was ruled by the half-human Gryphon, sworn foe of the Dragon Kings in general.

“I know that,” responded Edrik, returning to his throne. “And you should know that you’re our guest while you’re here, Master Bedlam.”

“I thank you, but my work is best done if I continue to move about.”

Majjin grunted. “You’re looking for these lost kids. The ones with magic.”

“I am.”

“You think the drakes took them?”

Cabe spread his hands. “It seems a distinct possibility...but I hope not.”

“‘Distinct possibility?’ Hell, man! What else could it be?”

“That remains to be seen. Your own wizards have detected nothing?”

Majjin gave him a sour look. Edrik frowned.

“Our wizards are hardly of your caliber,” the king returned. “Den’s the best. He’s the one who created the spell that let us know you were near.” The young ruler looked to a guard. “Summon him.”

A few minutes later, a young, slightly-bearded man not much older than the king appeared. Clad in a plain, white robe, Den was tall, thin, and very studious. He peered at Cabe through two thick lenses attached by a metal clip to his nose.

“You sent for me, your majesty?”

“Den, this is Cabe Bedlam, the master wizard.”

Den nearly lost his lenses. “M-Master Bedlam!” He went down on one knee. “An h-honor, sir!”

“And beside him is the legendary Darkhorse.”

The thin spellcaster gaped, having somehow not noticed the towering stallion before.

“I’ll take that as a greeting!” chuckled the eternal.

Cabe bid the young man to rise. Den had thinning brown hair, but the silver streak was still quite evident. “So you cast the spell that detected me? I’m impressed.”

“To be frank, it was to detect any magic. If I may say so, you and your—your companion—radiate power greater than anything I’ve ever experienced!”

But Darkhorse and I both shielded ourselves from the presence of other spellcasters, Cabe thought. This Den has much, much potential if his spell noted us despite that. Out loud, he replied, “But a fascinating feat, regardless.”

Den beamed.

“We summoned you for a question,” Edrik interrupted. “You know the rumors we’ve all heard. Have you detected any other magic or spells that you haven’t told me about? Even the slightest hint?”

“No, your majesty—but, in truth, I’ve been more focused on the west. You know why. Master Bedlam was just a fortunate mistake on my part!”

Cabe shook his head. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

Den adjusted his lenses. “Thank you, Master Bedlam, but I don’t.”

“This region is not the only one from which potential spellcasters have vanished,” Majjin pointed out.

“No, but it’s where the most have.” Cabe glanced at the general. “I take it you’ve been making your own inquiries for some time.”

“And will continue to do so. Gordagian citizens have been kidnapped. It is an affront to his majesty.”

This received a nod from the king. “Whatever help we may offer you, master wizard, it’s yours.”

“Actually, Den would be of use...if he doesn’t mind.”

The novice mage nearly lost his lenses again. “It would be an honor—but how may I serve you?”

Den’s awe reminded Cabe how he himself had felt the first time he had realized he wielded great power. “Your spell is better than you think. I’d like to see if we might be able to refine it.”

Before Majjin could protest, Edrik cut him off with a wave of his hand, replying, “Certainly, Master Bedlam! The skills of all my spellcasters are yours to command in this effort.”

“Thank you, but for now, I only need Den.”

Den looked embarrassed. “Actually, I did have some help in the matter. You’ll want her, too.”

“ ‘Her’?”

At that moment, another robed figure entered apprehensively. “My lord, forgive my impertinence for disturbing—”

“And here she is now,” burst Edrik, barely able to restrain himself from rising to greet the newcomer. Cabe noted a rueful smile momentarily grace Majjin’s bearded face. Both the general and the master wizard recognized the king’s infatuation with the newcomer.

She wore robes akin to Den’s but while slim filled them much more attractively than he did. Her hair was long, straight, and brown—quite unremarkable—but it framed an ivory face such as cameo makers adored. She had deep brown, steady eyes that looked older than her by far. Cabe guessed the woman to be only a year or two older than Edrik.

“We were just speaking of you,” the king went on, trying to recover his decorum. “Den rightly reminded us that you are just as responsible for the magic detection spell I wanted cast around the kingdom as he is. You came up with the variation that allowed us to extend it even further.”

The woman blushed hard at his praise, making Cabe think that she shared his infatuation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Majjin having to restrain his expression. The general did not like his lord to be entertaining any thoughts of romance with a spellcaster.

“You honor my efforts too much...”

“Hardly,” remarked Den. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Edrik clapped his hands together. “Then it’s settled. Master Bedlam, you have the full compliance of two of my best—”

She gasped, looking full at Cabe, then Darkhorse, finally registering why a traveler’s mount would be allowed before the king. “Bedlam! You’re Cabe Bedlam!”

“Now whose reputation precedes him?” jested the eternal.

“They are yours to use, Master Bedlam. Den, you already know, but allow me to introduce to you—”

The young woman stepped up to Cabe, staring deep into his eyes. Once again he had the sense of more years than her young form indicated. “Hala, Master Bedlam...you may call me Hala.”

 

IV

Bedlam...

How long since he had heard that name? Two centuries at least.

Tragaro clenched the armrests.

“Bedlam...” he whispered. “Nathan...”

Below him, where in the distance the huge corpse of the dragon slowly rotted, more than a dozen young figures in hooded robes stood positioned. The pattern they created multiplied their meager power, channeled it however Tragaro desired. When he had wanted the dragon dead, the others had channeled their magic through Genin and Hala, his prize pupils. Now, they did so for their master, enabling Tragaro to watch through the eyes of Hala, study both the one who bore Nathan’s name and the dark beast that ever followed a Bedlam.

Tragaro matched the bronze smile of his mask. The Twins would be coming into perfect alignment very soon. How appropriate that a Bedlam should make himself available.

“Yalak, Tyr, Basil...you and the rest shall be avenged. The blood of the drakes will be spilled! The Dragon Masters will be reborn!”

He reached out at the image in his mind, the Bedlam, and tried to wrap his gnarled fingers around the throat. Although Tragaro failed, of course, he still derived some pleasure from the thought.

Making Hala’s eyes shift, Tragaro peered at Darkhorse, ever a Bedlam’s hound. The black beast would have to be removed first. The masked wizard laughed. “Easily done...easily done...”

 

 

 

Cabe felt some guilt at not having mentioned one fact to the king—the fact that he had a particular reason for wanting to reshape Den’s spell. The memory of the terrible mental blow he had suffered in the inn remained with him. Someone had twisted the lines of force so essential to magic with such disregard that it had nearly killed Cabe simply by his noting it.

There were many advantages to being so sensitive to magic, but not if it meant suffering again such an attack. Cabe had no desire to repeat the incident. He hoped Den’s spell, properly altered, would make that possible.

It turned out that the tip of the towering palace belonged not to Edrik, as Cabe had always assumed, but to the Gordagian wizards. Being wizards, they had decided to make the trek much easier for themselves and had installed a permanent travel spell—called by some as a blink hole. One end of the hole remained fixed at the ground floor of the palace, the other opened into the mages’ wing high above. One merely walked in one end and appeared out the other.

It did not surprise Cabe that the Gordagians knew such advanced spell work. At the behest of Edrik’s father, some of the older ones had studied for a time at the school in Penacles that the Gryphon had set up. Both the lord of Penacles and the Bedlams had done what they could to see to it that a new generation of properly-trained spellcasters would become a reality.

After several introductions to awestruck young mages, Cabe left a cheerful Darkhorse with the rest while he joined Den and Hala in private in the tip of the high tower, where the spell they had created constantly scanned the kingdom.

Cabe studied the arrangement. In the center of the ten-by-ten room stood a pedestal on which four delicate crystals—red, blue, yellow, and white—had been set. Each represented a direction on the compass. Dangling over the center was a nut-sized lodestone. With his heightened senses, Cabe noted the intertwining and binding of the magical forces from one stone to the next, then how they were tied into the natural lines of power crisscrossing everything.

“This is indeed astounding. Excellent work.”

Den adjusted his lenses modestly while Hala simply blushed.

“Show me this here,” he went on, pointing to questionable details within the matrix the pair had created. Cabe already had a good notion as to how he could do what he planned, but he wanted to be certain.

The two explained their creation, verifying his beliefs. It would be a simple task to amplify and adjust their detection spell.

The task took less than an hour, thanks to his companions’ aid. Hala was especially helpful, seeming to read his mind much of the time.

Cabe pushed back the sleeves of his robe as he studied their work. Now the spell’s range extended far in every direction, even allowing for the detection of magic residue, the sorcerous imprint left by a spell already cast.

“Generally one of us is always here,” remarked Den. “But I was called down so quickly I forgot to ask someone to replace me.”

“So where do you usually sit? With your eyes on the lodestone?”

“Yes, Master Bedlam.”

They stepped back respectfully as he sat and stared. For a minute, Cabe merely eyed the lodestone...then his surroundings faded. Suddenly, the wizard could see in all directions, see all parts of the lands encompassing Gordag-Ai and beyond. He could see every line, from the strongest to the most minute.

Over and over Cabe scanned the realm and beyond, finding nothing of note. He sensed the other wizards in the tower, sensed the innate magic that was Darkhorse, even sensed his own inherent power—but no trace of that which had struck him down.

And then...

To the north—No!—the southwest—No!—the north again!

Two sources?

Frowning, Cabe concentrated. The north became the apparent direction, but then so did the southwest again. Try as he might, it proved impossible to pinpoint anything more about either location. They were incredibly well-shielded. Only his manipulation of the Gordagian spell had made any notice of them possible.

Two sources. Two points of investigation.

Two possible threats?

He pulled himself free. “I’ve located something. I don’t know what, but there are two places.” Cabe pinpointed the directions. “Each seems as likely as the other.”

“Which one do we investigate first?” asked Den.

“We investigate nothing. You’ve done your part. Darkhorse and I will take care of the rest.”

“But if you both go after one, the other might vanish,” Hala pointed out. “And if you separate, there will only be one of you near each.”

Cabe had considered that himself, but had come up with no good answer. He did not want to risk the young wizards nor any of Majjin’s soldiers. They would be more a danger to themselves than assistance to him. Yet, he did not like the idea of splitting away from Darkhorse.

“Master Bedlam,” she continued hesitantly. “I know that you want to do this as quietly as possible and that you don’t want to risk others...but perhaps there is a way to do this. It—it’s not exactly what you hoped for, but it might work.”

“Speak.”

She looked at him with those eyes. “I know you don’t want us going with you to either place, but—but what if we came along part of the way, guided you to a point, then waited for you. That way, if something seemed amiss, we could more quickly contact help. Den could go with Darkhorse and wait at Primar’s Point. I could travel with you as far as the Myridian Pass. We could stay linked better that way.

He frowned. Some part of him intended to reject the overly-simple plan, but another part grasped at it. At the very least, it would give him something to counter Edrik’s and Majjin’s objections when they found out he had gone ahead without their consultation.

“Very well. We’ll do it.”

Hala’s beaming smile made him smile back despite his misgivings.

 

 

 

Darkhorse, too, had not been overly impressed with the youthful human’s suggestion, but he bowed to Cabe’s wisdom. If his friend thought the notion satisfactory, than so be it. Still, leaving Cabe did not suit the eternal and he insisted that Hala alert the other wizards of Gordag-Ai at the slightest hint of trouble. They, in turn, would contact him.

Now he raced north, toward Primar’s Point. High hills dotted the landscape and huge rock formations loomed in the distance. The discerning eyes of the stallion noted ancient dwarven markings, signifying an old trade route now long grown over.

“We should be there soon, should we not?” he rumbled to Den.

The human clung tight to his mane, his faced planted in Darkhorse’s neck. The suggestion that he ride the eternal had at first excited the novice wizard, but the actual experience was proving too much as Darkhorse nearly soared over the earth.

“S-soon! Yes!” gasped Den, clutching his lenses so as not to lose them. “Not much farther!”

Despite the waning day, both Cabe and Darkhorse had agreed that urgency insisted they investigate the two locations immediately. Both man and eternal had the ability to traverse the great distance quickly when necessary. Cabe had created a Blink Hole with the assistance of Hala while the shadow steed had simply started running...the swiftest method of all.

A sharp-edged geological formation materialized far ahead. Primar’s Point. The knife-blade shape was unmistakable. Several red curving strata in the formation gave it a bloody look.

The woods thickened. Burdened with a rider, Darkhorse was forced to pick his way along. The descending sun left in its wake deep shadows everywhere.

“You know where best to await me?”

His voice muffled by the stallion’s mane, Den replied, “Around the eastern side of the Point! There’s a clear rise where—where I can sit and c-concentrate!”

“Excellent! We shall make for that and—”

He got no further, for suddenly the path turned...literally before his eyes.

“What’s this?”

Den dared look up. “W-what’s wrong?”

“I am not certain! Hold tight!”

Darkhorse attempted to pull away from the path, but an incredible force tugged him back along it. His body suddenly rippled and from the gasp that escaped the human, something of a similarly unsettling nature had happened to him.

“D-Darkhorse! I can’t—”

“You will hold tight!” To guarantee that, the eternal shifted his form, allowing Den’s legs to sink into the stallion’s sides. Black flaps then wrapped over the legs, effectively sealing Den to his mount.

“I am going to try to pull free again! Be ready!”

Without waiting for Den to reply, the shadow steed threw his power against that which held them—and this time he felt the spell give.

Stallion and rider turned off the path, heading up a gray hill.

“What happened back there? What was that spell?”

“I am not sure! I think—” but Darkhorse got no further, for suddenly he saw that he now ran downhill.

His attacker had planned for his escape.

Curiously, there was something remotely familiar about the spell work. Darkhorse had come across its like before, but not as the victim. Who had it been...?

He had no more time to think about it, for now he once again ran the path. If the insidious incantation acted as Darkhorse suspected, he would be running along the same short distance until the caster decided to halt the attack.

That, of course, assumed that it was supposed to end. The intention might be for Darkhorse to continue running forever and ever...

Atop him, Den suddenly realized in what they were trapped. “A time loop! I’ve read of them, but the knowledge and skill needed...”

He did not go on nor did Darkhorse need him to do so. Such a spell required much ability. Their adversary had to be as nearly skilled as Cabe, but very few mages still lived who could claim such a degree of talent.

Still lived?

Memories dredged up. Incomplete ones, but enough to remind Darkhorse that the last caster of such a spell was now long, long dead. He had been an ally, not a foe...

But who?

“D-Darkhorse? I think—I think I’ve got an idea!!”

At this point, the eternal was willing to listen to anything. “Tell me! Quickly!”

“It—it’s a time forward loop! A normal wizard couldn’t break it in either direction, but you might if you reverse, with every iota of your power pushing that way—”

“I will have no greater effect! The spell will just adjust with me!”

Den fiddled with his lenses. “But if I use my magic to stretch it forward at the same time, it might be too much strain!”

Darkhorse had already thought about the fact that few spellcasters could match Cabe’s abilities, much less his own. It was highly likely that whoever had set the trap would be near the limits of their power. This was a trap requiring constant reinforcing until the victim gave in, at which point it could be bound to the one trapped, sealing him from reality for as long as desired. The strain had to be incredible.

“Very well! We can but try!”

He sensed Den focusing. Despite the loop, there were still lines of force everywhere, one thing the unknown casters could not prevent. It was the key fault in the spell.

“Now!” the wizard shouted. “Now, Darkhorse!”

The eternal’s legs twisted, now facing backwards. Without a pause, Darkhorse raced that direction, sensing his route through magic.

He felt Den pushing with his own power toward the other end of the loop. As far as the spell was concerned, it was as if they tried to run in two directions at once.

Their surroundings rippled...then a brief sensation of dis-placement nearly caused Darkhorse to stumble. He compensated, tasting freedom—

Something plucked Den from his back despite the shadow steed’s precautions. The wizard screamed.

Darkhorse’s tail became his head as he reversed himself entirely. He quickly searched around for the human.

A tree shaped like a monstrous hand had the wizard in its grasp.

Snorting at the petty attempt, the ebony stallion charged toward his trapped companion.

But instead of being grateful, Den, his lenses gone, shook his head and shouted, “No, Darkhorse! No!”

Too late did the eternal see the slight rippling on the trail ahead.

He raced into the second time loop—

 

V

“I dislike leaving you here alone in the pass, Hala.”

“I grew up here, Master Bedlam,” she replied, turning her much older eyes to his. “I’ll be safe.”

That they discomforted him had nothing to do with attraction. Hala was pretty enough, but Cabe very much loved his wife, the sorceress Gwen. Rather, when he looked deep into them, he felt as if Hala had lived much harder than her few years warranted.

Although thanks to the slow aging of wizards he barely looked older than her, he pointed a fatherly finger and insisted, “What goes for me goes for you. At the slightest hint of trouble, give me warning. That goes for alerting your comrades in Gordag-Ai, too.”

“I’ll do what’s right,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

The blink hole had opened almost exactly on target, in great part due to Hala’s added concentration. Linked to both him and the spell, she had helped guide them here.

The Myridian Pass was a beautiful gap between two mountains where the colored strata of thousands of years of cutting by the nearby river stood revealed for the few admiring travelers to wander through. The rock alone made for a wonderful spectacle, but the onrushing water, with its swift rapids and lush green banks, added even more dimension. In addition to the plant life, great herons nested across from where the wizards stood, barking to one another or flying over the river in search of food. Their presence seemed to belie the notion that something sinister might be going on not that far away.

Gazing at the descending sun, Cabe estimated no more than half an hour before the high walls of the pass caused everything to be plunged into darkness. The Twins would then be ascendant, with Styx, the pale one, slightly more dominant. Tomorrow, the two moons would be in perfect alignment with one another, a time of high sorcery.

Cabe shuddered. It had been at such a time that as a youth he had nearly been sacrificed by the Dragon King Brown. Brown had hoped to rejuvenate his realm. Two hundred years before, during the Turning War, the Dragon Masters, with Nathan Bedlam at the lead, had literally twisted the landscape upon itself. They had crushed the power of Brown, nearly decimated his clans, and left in their wake the most desolate of places—the Barren Lands.

It had been Brown who had perished that night, inadvertently felled by Cabe’s burgeoning magic. Now, for the first time since then, the Twins were preparing to align...and Cabe could see no good coming from it.

But he had another, more immediate matter on his mind. A short teleportation spell would send him near to his destination. The sooner he investigated the site, the sooner he could be away from here.

Reaching out with his mind, he touched Hala’s ever so carefully. Do you sense me?

I do.

He did not probe her thoughts deeper, desiring only to maintain the link. Hala was a very capable young woman. She would be prepared to act should the need arise.

Materializing a moment later as close to the estimated location as he dared, the wizard gazed around. Little seemed different from where he had just left Hala. The river continued along its course and more herons nested in the distance. A few squawked at him as they soared overhead. The area looked beguilingly peaceful, if much more shadowed.

He sensed a faint magical signature from the nearest mountain and headed that direction. It was very likely he would find nothing. What would the missing youths be doing out here?

The pale moon appeared over the peak. Once more memories flashed, this time memories of a brave band of mages seeking to free their kind from drake rule.

Cabe stumbled to a halt. Faces he did not know—and yet did—passed before his eyes. Among them he saw one very much like his own, so much so that he knew it could only be his grandfather’s.

Then...Nathan Bedlam’s face turned about, became a mask that became Cabe’s visage....

And suddenly he stood with the others, a group of four, this time, four if one did not count the hissing bronze dragon upon which one of the wizards rode.

“I cannot foresee the best outcome of this,” Yalak commented, his tall, lanky body topped by an oversized head covered in gray and silver hair. He lowered what he called the Egg, a rounded, glass artifact he most favored when trying to view that which might be. “I have looked in every direction of the future, but nothing takes dominance. We win or we lose.”

“Well, that was pretty useless,” grumbled Basil. Clad in armor and cloak, he looked more like a warrior than a wizard and, in truth, his spells were all more akin to the ways of the former. He preferred direct battle, not subterfuge.

“We’ll have to go ahead, regardless of the outcome, then,” Cabe’s own mouth said. The voice was deeper than Cabe’s, however, deeper yet much more weary. One robed arm pointed up at the brown-robed figure atop the dragon. “What say you, Tragaro?”

“You know my opinion, Nathan,” Tragaro retorted. His trim, black beard and penetrating, pale eyes gave him an ominous appearance. He turned his gaze to the beast upon which he rode, patting its head as if the drake was preferable company. From his tone, clearly he and the others had been at odds for some time on the subject they discussed.

Nathan/Cabe sighed. “Each of us has an equal voice in all matters. That was agreed on long ago.”

“And yet it is ever the Bedlams who lead the way. First you, Nathan, and now you foist your sons upon us as our leaders! Dayn, perhaps, but Azran is unstable, as bad a seed as any Dragon King!”

Basil snorted. “Says the man who mesmerizes drakes to fight their own!”

The dragon appeared to take offense at this remark. The leviathan hissed sharply at Basil.

“Be still, Sssorak!”

The dragon lowered his head, chastened. “Yesss, Massster Tragaro.”

“My sons are my sons,” Nathan/Cabe responded, biting back anger. “And they are loyal to our cause...”

Loyal to our cause...

Loyal to our—

With a grunt of pain, Cabe nearly keeled over. He clutched the nearest formation, trying to steady himself. Even the surge of power that had struck him during his visit to the inn had not dealt so harsh a blow.

Yet, the pain passed very quickly. The pain, yes, but not the recollection of what he had experienced.

In his first years as a wizard, he had lived through similar episodes. Memories from his grandfather, inherited by Cabe when Nathan himself, seeking to save his dying grandson, imbued a part of his own spirit, his very soul, into the infant. For a time, that had meant that, in a sense, they had been two in one.

In the end, that which was Nathan had sacrificed itself in combat with the fatalistic Ice Dragon. Relived memories such as this had ended at that time.

So why, Cabe now asked himself, am I experiencing them again?

Head still clearing, he glanced up at the rocks.

A young man with flowing brown hair half-hidden under the hood of his light green robe stared down blankly at the wizard.

Cabe took a cautious step back—and noticed a dark-skinned woman little older than the man perched upon another rock. She wore robes identical to her companion.

Without turning, he sensed at least four more figures standing in various locations above and around him.

Cabe had found the missing youths...and they had found him.

Cautiously raising his hand, he called out, “Hello!”

They remained silent, their eyes never leaving him, never even blinking once.

Then, the first figure suddenly raised both arms toward the wizard, cupping the hands together as if catching something precious within.

The hair on the back of Cabe’s neck rose as he felt an incredible onrush of power.

The hands opened.

A fierce ball of glittering emerald energy burst toward the master wizard, growing rapidly as it approached. Cabe stood his ground, only raising one hand in defense.

Barely an inch from his open palm, the monstrous sphere exploded, dissipating rapidly in a blinding display of green sparks.

One did not survive long as a spellcaster in the Dragonrealm without keeping some defensive spells handy.

He did not bother to talk to them again. Their eyes, their mechanical movements said it all. They were under some sort of control, either a spell or mesmerism or—

Mesmerism. There had been something about mesmerism in the flashback Cabe had suffered....

He had no time to worry about that. Someone had control over several very capable novices and had melded them into one linked unit. They had underestimated Cabe’s abilities, however. He sensed he could defeat them yet, but he had to give warning to Hala so that she, in turn, could let Darkhorse know. With Darkhorse to aid him, rounding up these poor puppets would be child’s play.

The same young male began focusing power. Cabe realized that he intended an attack identical to the first. Apparently the puppets had limited skills.

As he prepared to deflect the second assault, Cabe opened his mind to the Gordagian. Hala! I’ve found—”

Searing pain erupted in his head and raced quickly through his entire system. Dropping to his knees, he screamed. Only barely did Cabe recognize that the horrendous assault on his mind and body came, not from those around him, but through the young woman to whom he had linked his thoughts.

But by then it was too late.

 

 

 

The stench of decay filled his nostrils, stirring Cabe from the comforting darkness. He tried to stretch aching muscles, but found neither his arms nor his legs would move. His limbs were pulled tight, so much so that he wondered whether they would soon tear free of his helpless torso.

“You are awake, Bedlam...do not play that you are not.”

With tremendous effort, Cabe forced open his eyes.

He floated, untethered, high above the ruined floor of an immense cavern. Nothing physical bound his arms and legs; he simply floated helpless and immobile.

Torchlight enabled him to barely make out at the edge of his vision the source of the stench. A huge dragon, several days dead, lay sprawled to one side. Its armored exterior had been pierce several times over by scores of sharp stalactites and stalagmites.

“They are most promising students, my children are.”

Without warning, Cabe plummeted earthward. Only at the last did he suddenly swerve upright, coming to float just a few feet directly before a figure seated on what the wizard recognized as the ruined throne of a Dragon King.

“Soon, with my expert guidance, they will become masters. Dragon Masters.”

The many implications of the audacious declaration sent chills through Cabe. His captor spoke as if he knew the Dragon Masters well, spoke, in fact, as if he had been one of them.

But of the Dragon Masters, only Cabe’s wife had survived, and she had only done so because of being trapped for two hundred years in a magical block of amber cast by Azran. The rest had all perished during or just after the Turning War.

The smiling mask of bronze did nothing to assuage Cabe. Nor did the grin behind the smile, for it held a cunning madness the likes of which he had not seen since confronting his father.

“Who are you?” he finally blurted.

His question caused a narrowing of the pale eyes within, eyes that should have been familiar. “Nathan was a much quicker sort, whatever his failings. The memory I supplied you should’ve been sufficient to introduce me, to remind you...”

Nathan...the Dragon Masters...the memory had been an implanted one, not part of his grandfather’s legacy.

The other Dragon Masters. There had been several, but Cabe had met two as undead—Basil and the scholarly Tyr—and knew of Yalak. Of the handful in the vision, only one matched at all what glimpses Cabe could get of the face behind the mocking mask.

“Tragaro?”

Now the eyes gleamed. They were demanding eyes, ever snaring Cabe’s view. He wanted to look around him, concentrate on escape...but Tragaro’s eyes would not let him.

“The grandson will redeem the sins of the father and grandfather. How appropriate. I thought to simply slay you first, to pay for their betrayals, but this is so much more justice! The Dragon Masters will achieve their goal at last! The drake menace will be cleansed from the land, only their stinking carcasses,” the other wizard gestured at the huge corpse. “left as monuments to their foul reign.”

“But the Dragon Masters are dead!” argued Cabe.

“No more...I have rebuilt them.” With a wave of his hand, he raised Cabe up so that the prisoner could see the gathering figures. In addition to the ones who had confronted Cabe, several others now stood awaiting Tragaro’s word. Cabe counted more than a dozen.

At their head stood Hala and the young man who had confronted him in the pass.

“I have trained them. They’ll be more unified than the first Dragon Masters were. They will obey my commands utterly! This time, there will be no treachery...”

Cabe was very certain that they would obey. Gazing at each face, even Hala’s, he saw the same blank expression. Puppets, indeed. Obedient to every whim of the figure on the throne.

Tragaro brought his captive back to him. Behind the mask, the eyes glared. “The betrayal of the Bedlams left me injured and my mind ruined. For generations, I did not even know myself! Then, gradually, it all came back. The ambitions, the hopes, the deceits, the failures. I finally knew what I needed to do, but it took time, planning...and now all comes together at last!”

“There’s no need for this! The power of the drakes is failing, Tragaro! At least half of the Dragon Kings are dead, some of the others in precarious positions. Most of the human lands are independent! It is only a matter of time before—”

The masked mage clutched tight the arms of the throne. He leaned forward and hissed, “Time isss up! The drakes will be crushed utterly and the land put to order! There will not be one stinking reptile left!” Tragaro relaxed, smiling. “And you will make the dream a reality quicker than I had even hoped.”

All the while they had spoken, Cabe had been carefully probing with his senses the spells holding him in place. He had a suspicion as to how to unbind himself, but he needed just a few moments more.

“You’ll receive no help from me and there are others who will keep you from this genocide. Drakes and humans are beginning to learn to live together! At the Manor alone—”

“I am aware of your disgusting experiment, the housing of drakes and people in one settlement, working together like brothers and sisters!” He slammed his fist on the stone. “Never!”

“Tragaro—”

“And as for other opposition, Bedlam...they will either see the light of day, as you will...or they will be obstacles quickly removed.” The hooded figure held out his hand. In the palm, a tiny red sphere materialized. “As the demon steed has been.”

Cabe glanced into the sphere—and saw Darkhorse racing along a stretch of trail. The scene went on for three, four seconds...then repeated itself. After the fourth viewing, he realized what the mad mage was trying to show him.

Darkhorse was imprisoned in a time loop.

Dismissing the sphere, Tragaro clapped his hands. “It is time for the newest to be added our ranks! Bring him forth!”

Two more robed figures stepped from a passage nearby, dragging between them someone familiar to Cabe.

“Den!”

The Gordagian glanced up, squinting. His lenses were nowhere to be seen. “Master Bedlam?”

“There is only one master here,” their captor interjected. “Come to me.”

Den was pulled bodily before Tragaro, then made to look into the Dragon Master’s eyes.

“You become a part of a legacy few are worthy of being,” Tragaro informed Den. “You will shape the future, recreate the world...”

His eyes never blinked. The two figures holding Den made certain that the latter could not turn away nor even shut his own eyes. He had to look into Tragaro’s.

“My mind is your mind, my thoughts your thoughts. As I command, so shall you act...”

Den briefly struggled, then suddenly relaxed. He stared at the Dragon Master, now also never blinking.

Tragaro leaned back again. “Join the others.”

No longer held, Den stiffly backed away alongside his former guards. In silence he moved next to Hala, then awaited Tragaro’s next command.

But the masked wizard looked instead to Cabe.

“Now...you shall join us, Bedlam.”

 

VI

Darkhorse ran. Darkhorse ran again. And again. And again.

And in contrast to most trapped in such a spell, a niggling little part of his mind remained aware of the infernal repetition. That part grew more and more adamant in its refusal to remain imprisoned so.

But while there had been Den to aid him in escaping the first trap, now the shadow steed had only himself. What the human had suggested had worked perfectly because there were two of them, one to focus all his energies one direction, the other to do so on the opposite. To escape this loop, the Darkhorse had to rely only on himself.

As he again raced along the short stretch, Darkhorse sought some weakness in the loop. He already knew what he would find, though. Each repetition—and there had been hundreds of them by this point—had revealed only that the spell had been sealed completely, clearly the work of a master mage.

Yet—to his astonishment, when Darkhorse dared check once more, it was to indeed sense a weakness. A minute one, yes, a weakness most victims would have been unable to take advantage of, but for the eternal it offered hope. The only hope he had.

As the loop repeated once more, he probed at the weakness, tried to further stress it. Each time the trap began its vicious cycle, Darkhorse pushed more, stretching the weak point to its utmost.

The path shimmered...then stabilized again.

Others might have been completely discouraged, but Darkhorse saw the brief shimmering as proof he was near to success. He focused his power upon the stress point again and again. The danger constantly existed that if he wore himself out too much, he might lose what hold he had and become completely immersed in the trap. If that happened, he would never escape...and would not even realized any more that he had wanted to do so.

Yet again he struck at the weakened area.

The path shimmered...then twisted in a madcap arc that defied the laws of nature. The sudden shift threw the eternal into a swirling, chaotic landscape in which earth became sky, then earth, then sky, and so on.

“I will not be imprisoned!” he roared.

Of all things Darkhorse feared, imprisonment was perhaps the most monstrous. There had been incidents during his long visit to the Dragonrealm when he had been captured and held by the whims of others, forced to exist in tiny, black spaces without any certainty of ever tasting freedom again. Born in the endless, open Void, such prisons were worse than death to him.

Urged on by such notions, Darkhorse pushed harder, striking at the weak point even as he vainly sought to reach a stable footing.

And suddenly...the entire world collapsed in on him.

The fear that he had made his situation more terrible faded almost immediately as the eternal’s surroundings normalized. In a most uncharacteristic fashion for him, the ebony stallion clumsily steered off the path and crashed into a copse of trees. Any other creature would have shattered their bones against the trunks, but instead Darkhorse merely melted through them.

He came to a rest several yards up an incline, thoughts still in a tangle. Shaking his head, Darkhorse cleared his mind. The first thing he noticed was that the sun was now early in the sky, meaning that at least one night had passed. Hoping that it had been no longer than that, the stallion immediately began searching the area, his fear for the humans, especially Cabe, mounting.

Of Den he noted no physical sign, but when Darkhorse searched with other senses, he noticed a faint magical signature which vaguely resembled the young Gordagian’s. Uncertain whether or not he merely headed toward another trap, the shadow steed raced after the dissipating trace.

Yet, he had barely covered more than a few miles when he came across a sight entirely unexpected.

A column of Gordagian troops on horseback, General Majjin at their head, moved methodically toward the north.

Racing ahead, Darkhorse came around toward the front of the column, nearly materializing before Majjin himself.

The general’s horse reared in surprise. Majjin cursed at both the animal and Darkhorse, the latter receiving some exceptionally virulent expletives.

“By Vramon! Do that again and—demon or no demon!—I’ll run you through!”

Ignoring the futile threat, Darkhorse demanded, “General! What are

these soldiers doing here?”

“Think I don’t keep track of the our wizards’ activities? I smelled something amiss and convinced the king to let me take a more tried-and-true method of hunting down these missing people! After questioning his pet wizards, I calculated that the north was the more likely target and it looks like I was correct! This is a Gordagian problem and it’ll be solved by Gordagians, demon, whether you and Master Bedlam like it or not!”

The eternal snorted. “This is high sorcery, general! I was myself attacked and your mage Den is missing! For that matter, I have not been able to contact either my friend or the young woman Hala!”

“Then it’s even better that we’ve come!”

“Better? Have you heard nothing I have said? Mortal, there is magic afoot here of the likes even I would not have expected! Your toy warriors will be nothing to it! You must turn around and—”

“Turn around?” The bearded officer looked aghast. “Gorda-gians do not turn and flee like rabbits!”

With that, he urged his reluctant mount forward, guiding his troops around the blue-robed figure.

Darkhorse snorted, but from much past experience knew when it was fruitless to talk to some humans. He himself had a legendary propensity for rushing headlong into danger, but even he recognized the risk inherent here. Someone who wielded magic with as much skill as their unknown adversaries did would hardly be daunted by the column. All Majjin would do was get himself and his men slain.

Turning about, the shadow steed raced past the soldiers, vanishing far ahead. Whatever the threat, he had to meet it first. Not just for the sake of the Gordagians, but for the missing wizards...especially Cabe.

He only hoped he was not already too late.

 

 

 

Cabe had never been so clear on the focus of his existence. He had never understood his duty so plainly.

The drakes, and those who would prevent their demise, were to be destroyed. That was it. At Master Tragaro’s command, he would summon the full might he possessed and squash any enemy.

Cabe stared at the empty air, knowing his cause was just. He had to make up for the treachery and mistakes of his family. He had to make amends for Nathan, who had led his compatriots into disaster, killing most in the process. Cabe also had to rectify the evil perpetrated by Azran, who had slain Yalak and others, then abandoned the rest at the most crucial of points during the war.

Because of the Bedlams, Tragaro’s fellow wizards had perished. Such crimes demanded justice, and by serving Tragaro utterly, Cabe would see that justice was done.

“M-Master Bedlam?”

The tentative voice registered as more of an annoying buzz at first. Cabe chose to ignore it, wanting his mind clear for Tragaro’s magical summons.

“Master Bedlam! Please! It’s me! Den!”

The ensorcelled wizard’s brow furrowed as he tried to push the voice away. However, something deep within him stirred, something that urged him to listen.

“You must hear me! Quick! I don’t know how long before he realizes that I’m not under his control!”

Cabe blinked, the first time he had done so since staring into the pale eyes.

“Master Bedlam! Speak to me! His mesmerism didn’t hold for me, I think, because of my poor eyes! I lost my lenses! I’m not powerful like you, just lucky! You have to have the strength! You must be able to break free of his enchantment!”

The urge to reply grew more powerful. Question arose, uncertainties as to why he so wished to follow blindly the dictates of Tragaro.

“Master—” Den suddenly cut off with a strangled cry.

“I sensed an emptiness where there should be obedience. I sensed a will where there should only be my desire.”

The gurgling grew more frantic.

Cabe felt a sudden urge to look, but his eyes would not obey. The Dragon Master had not given him a command, after all.

“Occasionally, there are those who lapse or cannot be trained,” the harsh voice went on. “They are a distraction to the rest. Therefore, they are removed.”

Den cried out. A strange, crackling sound hurt Cabe’s ears. His nostrils vaguely detected a burning odor.

After a short silence, Master Tragaro’s masked face filled his view. The eyes snared Cabe’s own.

“All is as it should be. Clear your mind of any other concerns. Your only need is to obey my commands...”

The questions all but ceased. Only a slight uncertainty refused to die, but it was so tiny that, at the moment, even Cabe did not notice it.

Tragaro suddenly pulled away, his gaze looking to the side. “What’s that?” he said to the emptiness. “Show me!”

After a long pause, he looked again at his latest addition to the ranks.

Cabe awaited his word.

The Dragon Master gave it. “The abysmal fools! They would save the lives of drakes by their actions! Therefore, they ally themselves with the reptiles! It is by their own choice they must suffer!” To Cabe, he added, “And it is time to begin paying for the sins of the Bedlams! The Twins are ascendant! Your power will be at its peak! Follow me!”

Without hesitation, Cabe obeyed.

 

VII

Unlike the Gordagians, Darkhorse chose to move with more stealth. He had learned his lesson and knew his foes to be crafty. If they had captured or slain Cabe, they were among the darkest and deadliest he had ever known.

A creature formed of a magic, he could meld into the land. More important, he now focused all his power on evading detection, creating a shield he hoped that would make him a blank to anyone watching.

That he also sensed nothing of Cabe disturbed Darkhorse. That a mage as capable as his friend could be so easily overwhelmed did not bode well. They had confronted a variety of evils in their time together and while both had nearly perished more than once, matters had always come to a good end.

Now, Darkhorse was not so certain.

Beyond the pass, the eternal slowed. He could sense traces of magic here and there, peculiar traces that were different from one another yet also the same. Curious, he probed them deeper, with the same results. They were and were not the same signature.

Then Darkhorse sensed a much more welcome trace, that of Cabe. It was faint, almost completely faded, but identifiable.

And it drifted amidst all the rest.

He was surrounded, Darkhorse decided. Still, from what he could judge of the other traces, they lacked the intensity he would have expected of powerful spellcasters. True, together they represented a respectable level of ability and strength, but certainly not sufficient against the Cabe Bedlam.

So what had happened?

Scarcely had he delved more, though, when he sensed the casting of a major spell. Not near him, but rather further south, likely within the pass—

The pass through which General Majjin and his troops now journeyed.

Darkhorse nearly teleported himself there immediately, so anxious was he to warn the humans. Then it occurred to him that to do so would be to announce himself to whoever had cast the spell. For the sake of everyone, the shadow steed had to keep his own escape as secret as he could.

He raced back, utilizing swiftness no ordinary equine could match. The trees were blurs, the land a vague flash of images. Darkhorse ran as he had never run before.

And as he ran, a feeling of dread spread over him...

 

 

Tragaro’s new Dragon Masters materialized throughout the two sides of the Myridian Pass, unblinking eyes fixed on the approaching column below. Although scattered for some distance, they might as well have been standing shoulder-to-shoulder, so well-linked were they to one another.

At the forefront, Tragaro had placed his most favored ‘pupils’—Hala, the young man Genin, and the one who would be the experienced hand who wielded their combined might...Cabe Bedlam.

As for their master, the elder wizard remained within the ruined chamber, eyes within the mask alight with anticipation. The dragon had been a tremendous test, yes, but this would be the first in the field. This would prove to him their readiness. The ease and swiftness with which they destroyed the column would tell Tragaro whether they were ready to strike at the crumbling confederation of drake clans to the west.

He had little doubt of the outcome. Without the Bedlam, it would have proven more troublesome, but with him there was no question.

 

 

 

The niggling sensation rose anew in Cabe’s head as the Gordagian column neared. Cabe was certain of his task, for it had been given to him by Master Tragaro, but a tiny part of him protested. That protest grew, especially when he felt the others begin to meld their minds together in preparation for giving their united power to him.

They interfere with the planned destruction of the drakes, came Tragaro’s thoughts. They must therefore share the drakes’ fate.

He understood that to be fact. It made perfect sense. The protesting dwindled again.

At the head of the column, Cabe made out a face vaguely familiar to him. A bearded officer. The man looked this way and that, clearly wary of his surroundings, but willing to push on despite that wariness.

It would be a fatal mistake.

Raising his arms, Cabe prepared his spell. At the same time, he felt the others begin to feed him their might.

Near his feet, loose pebbles began to quiver. The quivering spread, touching other loose rocks and stones farther and farther away—and in the direction of the encroaching soldiers.

Hala and Genin stepped beside him, linking to Cabe and further increasing the intensity of the spell he cast. Now the ground shook with more vigor, enough so that those below at last became aware of something amiss.

But as Hala’s mind touched Cabe’s, something else happened. An image briefly filled his thoughts, an image of a young, studious wizard—lenses perched on his nose—trying to awaken him from some nightmare.

“Den?” he murmured.

The vision faded, but in its wake it left more uncertainty. Cabe hesitated, the spell faltering.

Tragaro’s imposing presence touched him instantly.

Bedlam! They approach! Let the mountains fall upon them!

Cabe fell back into the rhythm of the spell. The ground shook with more vehemence. Loose boulders and rubble tumbled toward the Gordagians.

The bearded commander looked up, made out the several figures high above. He shouted something to his men and several tried to ride toward the towering ridges, but the tremors drove them back.

This is not right! This is murder! a voice in his head cried.

He belatedly realized it was his own.

And at last Cabe Bedlam truly stirred from Tragaro’s spell.

Swinging his hands palm back to each side, he struck both Hala and Genin in the chest with simple but effective bolts of raw force.

With cries of startlement, the two flew back several yards, landing hard. Hala lay prone, but Genin attempted to rise.

Cabe sent another bolt his direction.

They were not dead, not even badly injured. Tragaro had made puppets of them and Cabe had no desire to slay innocents if he could prevent it.

Of course, that did not mean that the innocents might not try to slay him.

Tragaro did not wait to respond to Cabe’s betrayal. Suddenly the rest of his ‘flock’ refocused their combined energies, turning them instead on the more dangerous enemy in their midst.

The ground beneath the wizard’s feet transformed, becoming a giant hand that sought to crush him in its grasp.

Before the fingers could close, though, a swift black form flew past, snagging Cabe and dragging him off.

With a toss of his head, Darkhorse set his human friend atop his back, then turned to avoid a horrendous shower of icicles that nearly perforated both of them.

“Darkhorse!” Cabe gasped as he clutched the shadow steed’s mane. “He said you were trapped!”

“There is not the trap that can hold me—not without a little help from friends, of course!” The stallion sobered. “Young Den somehow worked to reach out to me from afar, paving the way for my freedom!”

“Den...Darkhorse...Den is dead! He tried to free me, but Tragaro murdered him!”

Cabe had rarely known the eternal to miss a step, but Darkhorse did so now. “Tragaro? Impossible! Tragaro is dead!”

“He seemed very much alive, although with that mask I can’t say what condition his face was left in!”

“Mask?”

“A bronze one with an evil mirth to it. You can see his pale eyes and mouth through it.”

Darkhorse paused atop a ridge, gaze not on Cabe but the robed figures turning to face them again. “The eyes sound like Tragaro’s, but I am certain he perished! I am certain I saw his corpse!”

Their debate ended abruptly as the ridge upon which they were perched suddenly gave way, the hard rock turned to soft, useless sand. Darkhorse leapt away. Cabe noticed and appreciated that the ebony stallion consistently steered Tragaro’s novice Dragon Masters away from General Majjin’s troops.

“This must end!” Darkhorse roared. “Yet I don’t wish to harm these if I can! They are pawns of another!”

“I agree, but if we need to hurt them to keep this from going further, we’ll have to! We can’t risk more lives, not the Gordagians nor even the drakes!”

The ice-blue eyes of the stallion studied the robed youths. “Are they truly any danger to us when we are together, Cabe?”

“By themselves, no, but Tragaro is linked to them and he amplifies any threat a hundredfold!”

“I feared you would say that. We may have to slay some of them yet.”

Den’s screams flashed through the wizard’s head once more. Cabe could not allow any more to suffer or die. “No...not if I can help it. I think we need to split up again.”

“Not a wise move.”

“Listen to me! I need you to keep them at bay, prevent them from either leaving or casting any spells at Majjin and his men!”

The shadow steed’s head twisted around to stare into Cabe’s eyes. “And what is it you intend to do in the meantime?”

Cabe’s set his mouth tight. “I’m going to face our masked friend.”

“Folly! We should face him together!”

“He’ll either summon the others back or use the moment to destroy the Gordagians! Either way, innocents will perish!”

“And if you go alone, you might!”

But the wizard’s mind was made up. “Keep things going here and he’ll either be forced to split his efforts or concentrate solely on me. If he does the latter, then you’ll have a chance to rescue those he’s ensorcelled.”

“Cabe—”

“No more arguing.” Cabe focused on what he recalled of Tragaro’s domain. The clearer the image, the more certain he was of materializing in the right location. “I’ve got to go now!”

“Beware! Your grandfather Nathan considered Tragaro a most accomplished Dragon Master!”

As he vanished, Cabe managed to call back, “Then, I’ll just have to be better...”

 

VIII

Once again, a Bedlam had betrayed him. Once again, the cleansing of the land had been thwarted—at least for a time. The dream of a realm free of dragons was his only purpose, the only reason he had persevered so long.

Tragaro rose from the ruined throne, gnarled hands cupped together in anticipation. This Bedlam assumed himself as clever as Nathan or Azran.

He was about to discover that Tragaro was cleverer by far than all three.

 

 

 

Cabe choked back a gasp, but not because of the stench. He had been prepared for the odious smell of the decaying dragon, but what he had not been prepared for was the blackened, crisp skeleton almost at his feet.

The final, charred remains of Den.

Disgust and regret gave way to anger. Den had done nothing more than try to save Cabe and Darkhorse. Tragaro had burned him alive simply for that.

“Such emotion. Its like brought the Dragon Masters down and left the lands in the claws of the drakes for another two centuries.”

“I knew you were about,” Cabe said without turning. “I assumed you wanted to announce yourself dramatically. It seems your way.”

He sensed the spell as Tragaro cast it and quickly turned to counter. The shining silver shield came up just as the rocky projectiles struck. The stalactites and stalagmites shattered, showering both mages with rock.

Tragaro immediately gestured. The projectiles’ remnants reformed around Cabe in an attempt to entomb him.

Without even a movement, the younger wizard dispersed the fragments again.

“I also assumed you’d try something like that,” Cabe remarked, nodding his head toward the massive corpse. “since it worked so well before.”

“I merely test your skills, Bedlam. You answer some questions.” The smile within the smile stretched menacingly. “Now I begin in earnest.”

The stone floor beneath Cabe’s feet suddenly cracked open. A hot gust of wind rising up barely warned him in time of what was to follow.

As Cabe threw himself to the side, a burst of molten lava shot up, striking the high ceiling.

The surface on which Cabe had landed suddenly liquefied. His right foot sank in to the shin. He tried to push himself up, only to have his hand sink as well. When he tried to pull either free, it was to find both mired completely.

“I am a Dragon Master...” Tragaro quietly uttered as he approached the floundering form. “...and you...you are not even worthy of the name Bedlam.”

Cabe sank beneath the liquid stone.

“Not even worthy at—”

Tragaro raised his arm over his masked face as the black tar suddenly flew up and over him. The Dragon Master vanished under the torrent.

Face grim, Cabe rose from the hole created by his surprise assault and searched for his adversary. Yet, as the liquid stone splattered to the floor and resolidified, it left no trace whatsoever of the other spellcaster. As quick as Cabe had countered Tragaro’s vile work, so, too, had the dark wizard reacted in defending himself.

A bony, blackened hand clutched Cabe’s throat from behind. Twisting, he stared into the sightless sockets of Den’s skeletal visage.

The knowledge of just who he faced nearly did Cabe in...no doubt exactly as Tragaro intended. The regrets, the hindsight, they stifled Cabe’s reaction, made it hard for him to consider any escape.

His air cut off, his heart pounding madly, Cabe struck wildly at Den’s skeletal form. Yet, the ghoulish corpse did not explode as it should have. Instead, the force of Cabe’s spell scattered in every direction, even at its own caster.

That which had been the novice wizard pulled Cabe high, dangling the struggling mage like a trapped animal.

Cabe shut his eyes.

Den shuddered and released his victim as a lance that gleamed as bright as the sun pierced his burnt torso where the heart had once beat. The corpse staggered back.

Utilizing what magic he could, the wizard landed somewhat unsteadily on his feet. Rubbing his throat, he watched as the Sunlance suddenly flared. From his grandfather, Cabe had inherited the ability to call upon the Light Of Kylus—the last the elven name for the sun—and create a gleaming shaft that always struck its mark. The first time he had used the ability had been by pure accident, when the Dragon King Brown had attempted to kill him.

But where Brown had simply fallen dead, the animated corpse now glowed as brightly as the lance. The light grew brighter, blinding. Cabe could no longer even see the dead Gordagian’s form.

Then, with one last sudden flare, the Sunlance vanished again...and with it went the last traces of Den.

“A Sunlancer...” Tragaro’s voice declared...for once a hint of respect in it. “The Bedlam isss a Sunlancer.”

Still gasping for breath, Cabe turned to meet the Dragon Master. He took little pleasure in the fact that Tragaro also breathed heavily. At least the elder mage could stand without the fear of teetering. “A Sunlancer, yes. It’s a family tradition. One I’ll share with you firsthand unless you give in now.”

Tragaro laughed harshly. “You are in no condition to summon a second such marvel, Bedlam. Your last trick is played, whereas I have still one more at hand...”

His strength nearly depleted, Cabe nonetheless tried to ready himself. The longer he delayed, the more likely that Darkhorse would have the other situation resolved. Bereft of his mesmerized slaves, Tragaro would be a danger more possibly contained.

If Cabe survived, that is.

The masked figure simply stood there, both mouths grinning. Cabe tried his best to detect some twinge of spellcasting, some hint that his foe was preparing his next magical attack. Tragaro was too far away for any physical assault, even with a dagger, and against such mundane assaults, the younger mage kept himself well-protected, anyway.

Then, Tragaro opened his mouth.

Out came a thick stream of pure flame.

 

 

 

Darkhorse expected Tragaro’s ensorcelled pupils to continue their assault against him, but, to his dismay, they turned from the shadow steed and instead renewed their efforts against General Majjin.

Rather than have the good sense to retreat, the Gordagian commander ordered his men off their horses. The soldiers spread out through the pass, trying to get near the mages. Several had bows out, the intention obvious. Majjin planned to save the kidnapped spellcasters even if he had to kill them to do it.

Yet, it was Majjin’s men who suffered loss. The first archers to get close enough to have a chance suddenly found the earth opening under them. Two men screamed as they plummeted into the sudden chasm. Another scrambled to safety, only to have an unnatural wind thrust him back over the gap. He plunged, his cry cut off as the chasm shut tight again.

Majjin, however, was not one to be daunted even in the face of deadly odds. He continued to spread out his forces, perhaps trying to draw the mages into too many fronts and thereby splinter their efforts.

But the robed figures seemed not at all put off by the general’s tactics. The tremors increased and rock slides began everywhere. Herons cried out and abandoned their nests.

As if taking its cue from the birds, the river suddenly left its banks, rushing over several Gordagians who had headed toward it. Five vanished, while several more floundered about, their armor weighing them down dangerously.

Darkhorse trod across the raging water. With his mouth he snatched one struggling soldier, then formed appendages on each side to seize others. Seeing no more, he reluctantly departed the river with the four he had saved and brought his precious cargo to the frustrated commander.

“Are you daft, human? Your warriors die left and right and you simply send them in for more! Be gone from here! We will deal with this madness!”

But Majjin ignored him, instead continuing to shout orders. He still planned to get archers near enough to strike.

Darkhorse swore, something he had learned well from humans. So long as the Gordagians refused to retreat, he could not attend to the wizards properly without more lives lost.

The rock slides grew more tumultuous, forcing him once again to race hard if he hoped to save those caught beneath them.

It was all up to Cabe, then. Darkhorse could only hope that his friend could deal quickly with Tragaro...assuming that the latter had not already slain him.

 

 

The impossibility of what the Dragon Master had done nearly enabled his surprise to put a quick and fiery end to Cabe. There had been no casting of a spell, no use of a magical talisman.

Tragaro had simply opened his mouth and breathed fire.

All of this Cabe registered in less than a second. Experience, not skill, saved him now, for he had survived by expecting the unexpected time and time again. The flames caught his robes, even singed his right hand, but he rolled away, dousing the fire while at the same time moving out of the dark wizard’s view.

Another burst of flame shot out, scorching the ruined column Cabe planted himself behind. The other wizard flattened to the ground, barely avoiding annihilation. Given a few more moments, he hoped to have the strength to fight Tragaro...but it seemed doubtful that Tragaro would give him those few moments.

Nothing remained in Cabe that could, for now, counter the incredible flame the older spellcaster breathed. It was in itself magical, yet not created by magic. It burned hotter than any fire Cabe had created, possibly burned hotter than even a Sunlance.

Then, of all things, an old expression came to him, an expression more apt now than anytime in the mage’s life.

Fight fire with fire.

It was certainly worth a try...and would use up what reserves Cabe had managed to scrounge.

He would place himself squarely in Tragaro’s sight, certain and terrible death his fate if he failed. Aware, though, of what little other choice was left to him, Cabe leapt up and waited for the inevitable.

Tragaro breathed on him.

The spell Cabe cast was a simple one, so simple that he feared the Dragon Master would know it for what it was and react in time.

But Tragaro did not, so confident was he of victory. The flames came within a foot of Cabe. The younger wizard could feel the incredible heat. Sweat poured down over his face.

And, as he had hoped, his spell sent that same fearsome fire back into the bronze visage of Tragaro.

Perhaps Tragaro was resilient to the flames, but the metal certainly was not. The bronze glowed bright, burned hot—and Tragaro shrieked. He clutched at the mask—yet seemed incredibly resistant to removing it. Instead, he let the sizzling metal sear his flesh.

Humanity bested Cabe’s desire to stand back and avoid further threat. He leapt toward the still-shrieking figure, casting a quick spell that he hoped would keep his own fingers from burning to the bone.

Through the mask, Tragaro’s eyes blazed with pain, but when he saw Cabe trying to remove the cause of it, he stumbled back.

That the elder mage had the strength and endurance he had stunned Cabe. Anyone else would have been writhing on the ground, their flesh roasted.

Yet Tragaro still suffered terribly and despite his reluctance to part with the mask, Cabe refused to back down. He darted forward, snaring the bronze piece and using all his might to rip it away.

Along with it came the Dragon Master’s own face.

In horror, Cabe stared as Tragaro’s eyes and mouth stretched in a comically macabre fashion, as if his flesh had become tree sap. Tragaro howled even more and snatched desperately at the mask, but did so too late.

And with the false face finally gone, the other wizard’s countenance transformed.

All trace of beard, of any hair, vanished...and with them went Tragaro’s nose as well. Only a slit remained. The Dragon Master’s mouth became little more than a long slit, one that spread far wider than on any normal person. His skin darkened, transforming to the color of moss but touched by a hint of the same bronze cast of the mask.

Even Tragaro’s hands transformed, curling inward and growing longer, taloned. Scales developed that swiftly covered the skin.

The eyes remained pale, penetrating, but they had also changed, turning into slits more akin to a lizard or some other reptile.

Darkhorse had believed Tragaro dead with the rest of the original Dragon Masters and it appeared he had been correct. What stood before Cabe now certainly could not be the venerable wizard.

But it could be a drake.

A drake called...Sssorak?

“My masssk!” he hissed. Without the false face, every vestige of humanity was giving way quickly. “I will have my masssk!”

Despite the heat it retained, Cabe did not release his hold. The mask radiated magic of its own, one with a signature not unlike that he had sensed around the false Tragaro.

He had even trained a drake to fight its own...

“You don’t need this,” the wizard insisted, trying to put a peaceful end to the struggle. “You’re not Tragaro. You’re a drake. You’ve no reason to want to destroy your own kind.”

Sssorak hissed. He looked larger, more bestial, and the robes he had worn as Tragaro now fit very tight. “They mussst be dessstroyed! Their monssstrous reign must end!”

The drake looked ready to exhale again. Cabe had never come across a drake who could exhale flame or poison mist while in a humanoid form, but Tragaro’s beast did not even resemble a normal drake. He looked trapped between human and dragon. There were rare cases of magical crossbreeding, of beings whose lineage could be traced to both races, but such was not the circumstance with Sssorak. He was fully drake...but either he or Tragaro had created of him something else as well.

Before Sssorak could inhale again, Cabe held the already half-melted face up. The drake instantly clamped his mouth shut, but he continued to expand in size. From his back, lumps pushed through, lumps recognizable as vestigial wings. Behind Sssorak, a small, narrow tail slapped the stone.

Still holding the artifact, Cabe approached the panting beast. “You must listen to me...Sssorak. You’re not Tragaro. You’re as much a puppet of his legacy as your new Dragon Masters are of you. You’re a drake!” He studied the coloring closely. The bronze tint of Sssorak’s otherwise green scale was not some residue left by the melting mask. “And right now you work to help destroy what’s left of your own clan as well...”

The inhuman eyes stared uncomprehendingly. “Give me my masssk, Bedlam...”

With a roar, Sssorak, his body still transforming, leapt at the spellcaster.

 

iX

The change came suddenly, so suddenly that Darkhorse first suspected it a trap.

The tremors ceased without warning, quickly followed by the collapsing of one of the robed figures. The others held their ground, but they moved slowly, almost haphazardly. To the eternal, they looked like nothing less than marionettes whose strings had broken or become entangled.

Yet while Darkhorse took relief from this turn of events, General Majjin saw it only as an opening. He quickly ordered his archers forward again. One managed to get just within range before the shadow steed noticed him.

As the soldier took aim, Darkhorse cried, “No!”

But the archer got the shot off regardless of the warning. Darkhorse was too far away and any spell he contemplated took too long to cast.

The shaft hit its target in the chest. The target, a young, brown-haired woman with sleepy eyes, gasped and crumpled.

“No more!” roared the eternal, filling the view of the nearest archers. Confronted by the sight of a pitch-black stallion ten times the normal size, the hardened fighters broke.

Darkhorse charged toward the general, shrinking back to his preferred dimensions as he neared Majjin. Even then, he made for such an imposing sight that it was all the bearded officer could do to keep his war steed from bolting.

“General! You will cease! Can you not see that they are no longer a threat? Look at them! Now they are the helpless victims you sought to save! Do you still intended to slay them?”

“It could be a trick,” muttered Majjin. “They’re wizards! They can’t be trusted—”

“No? Not even as much as a soldier sent to rescue them who instead decides to execute them without first checking?”

Majjin’s countenance reddened from anger, but he finally nodded. Signaling to another officer, he commanded all archers to hold fire.

“Thank you, general.” Darkhorse eyed the man close. “Give me a moment and I will attest to their condition.”

Without waiting, he whirled about and, to the astonishment of the soldiers, raced up the steep mountainside, heading from one ridge to another.

As he suspected, the threat was most definitely at an end. Several of the young wizards, including the two Cabe had attacked, lay unconscious. The others sat or stood in a daze, most holding their heads or staring blankly.

Just as he had done with the soldiers in the river, Darkhorse seized several of the stunned novices and brought them back down to Majjin. Once those had been delivered, he raced back for more. The speed with which he moved left his charges breathless, but Darkhorse could not think of that. No matter how fast he raced, precious seconds continued to pass.

Precious seconds in which Cabe might still die.

 

 

 

Sssorak’s claws nearly rent Cabe. The wizard rolled back, the drake’s hot breath almost as deadly as the flames themselves. Sssorak now stood twice as tall as the human and his wings had grown some, but he still looked trapped between forms. He lacked the false armor appearance of a humanoid drake warrior, but the open visage was not that of a man, nor was the body that of a true dragon. It was as if Sssorak did not know what he should be now that he was bereft of Tragaro’s mask.

Although they fought, Cabe still pitied the drake. He well understood the enmity between humans and drakes, the results of centuries of domination by the latter, but Tragaro had done something unforgivable to Sssorak. He had twisted the mesmerized drake so much, Sssorak was willing to slaughter both races in pursuit of his dead master’s dream.

And it seemed nothing could convince the drake otherwise.

“This is not the face you should wear,” Cabe insisted. “You are a drake...a dragon, Sssorak! Tragaro’s usurped your identity! Everything you’ve done in his name goes against your very nature!”

“You will not ssspeak of the massster ssso!” Again, Sssorak sought to exhale flame, but again he feared to destroy what remained of the mask. “He taught me the truth, made certain I could carry on without him! The massster taught me everything I mussst do!”

That made Cabe’s decision for him. He had failed to reach the drake with talk. Perhaps Sssorak needed more.

“Tragaro is not your master...not any more.”

With that, the wizard set the mask aflame again.

The spell was a short but intense one, giving Sssorak no time to counter it. Already softened and distorted by the drake’s own fire, the false face had little resistance.

Cabe let the molten mass drop at his feet. “There is only you now, Sssorak. Only you.”

“Noooo!” The drake dropped to the ground, crawling over to and scratching at the melted remains. His breathing turned ragged as he sought vainly to save what little still resembled the original artifact. “Tragaro...Tragaro...”

Stepping back from the pitiful sight, Cabe contemplated his next move. The fight appeared to be out of Sssorak, but the question remained as to what to do with the drake. Return him to his own kind, whom Tragaro had trained him to despise? Bring him to the Manor, the Bedlams’ home, and try to fit him into the human/drake settlement within it?

As he pondered the possibilities, he sensed the arrival of another.

“Cabe! I came as soon as possible! Are you all right? Is the danger past?”

He smiled wearily at Darkhorse, grateful for the eternal’s presence. “I’m all right. It’s—”

“You murdered him!”

The startled wizard turned to find Sssorak standing over the puddle of bronze. Atop his not-quite-human, not-quite-draconic visage he had slapped the bent eye holes and partial mouth—all that remained of the mask. His flesh sizzled where the hot metal touched and a few streaks of burning bronze dripped down his face, but the wild-eyed drake did not seem to notice.

“You murdered the massster!”

Sssorak inhaled, his chest swelling grotesquely.

Both Cabe and Darkhorse reacted instinctively, striking—as they had done so often in the past—in tandem. A bolt of wicked blue lightning from the wizard struck Sssorak full in the mouth, shutting it in mid-exhalation. A tentacle from Darkhorse tightened around the chest.

Trapped, the flames reversed, seeking an outlet but finding none.

Sssorak swelled up like a water sack.

Darkhorse enveloped Cabe, creating for him a safe, secure cocoon.

The drake exploded.

Within the safety of the cocoon, Cabe grimaced, furious with his own weakness. He sensed every agony suffered by the shadowy stallion as the furious forces of the dying drake washed over the chamber.

Yet, as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Darkhorse peeled away slowly, reforming, rather unsteadily, his favored shape.

The torches had been destroyed, but bits of dragon flame illuminated the chamber, revealing the carnage. Of the ancient throne and the columns, only shattered bits remained. The rotting corpse of the other dragon had been nearly reduced to blackened bone. The stench of burnt and decaying flesh forced Cabe to cover his nose with a cloth.

Of Sssorak, there was no trace. Only a few fragments of bronze left any indication of his past presence and only one of those was still recognizable as part of the mask.

The twisted bit of smile gleamed dully in the light of the dying flames.

 

 

 

“And so it ends,” declared Darkhorse, snorting. “So much for new Dragon Masters! Imagine! A drake, of all things! He must have have been mad! I knew it was not Tragaro! I knew he was dead all along!”

“Yes, Darkhorse, you were right.”

They had returned to Gordag-Ai, returned to the court of King Edrik. The young monarch had taken the ensorcelled students into his house and promised that they would be cared for until they could be sent to their respective homelands. Any who wished to study with his own wizards could, of course, remain. The king was happy to provide them with whatever they needed.

Edrik was young, but not stupid.

However, one of Sssorak’s puppets had already chosen to leave. Hala had not even come back with the group, instead riding south, toward Zuu. She had other family there, she had said, who would welcome her.

Cabe had noted Majjin speaking with her earlier. Whether or not the general had actually encouraged her departure, he did not seem disappointed with the choice. It meant a likely end to the king’s infatuation with her and nothing would please Majjin more. The situation bothered Cabe and he made a note to check on Hala as soon as possible. She had been no more guilty than the rest and did not deserve such treatment, but as he could prove nothing, Cabe had to let it stand as it was for the time being.

He and Darkhorse now left laden with gifts from the king for the entire Bedlam clan. The eternal was in fine spirits; not a creature of material things, Edrik’s gratitude had been his present and Darkhorse savored it. More than anything, he enjoyed the friendship of others, possibly because there was no other being like him in all the land.

“At least this was a situation nipped well in the bud! Who knows what would have happened if he had been able to make true use of the Twin’s ascension! True, there were some deaths—and I mourn Den’s most of all—but if things had continued on, the entire western half of the continent might have been thrown into chaos and war within only a few days! We were fortunate!”

“Yes, fortunate.”

The shadow steed mistook his mood. “We could not save everyone, Cabe! Den, the soldiers, and those other young spellcasters who perished in the name of this false Tragaro have all been avenged, at least! All the wrongs have been righted!”

The wizard nodded and from there on pretended his mood was lighter, but for the rest of the journey, he thought of the one victim who could never be avenged.

Sssorak. The drake had lived for over two hundred years as the twisted, hate-blinded pawn of a man obsessed beyond reason—a dead man. Tragaro had nearly created a worse threat than the drakes he had so hated and in the process he had tortured his servant well beyond the point of madness, a crime Cabe could not forgive, whatever Sssorak’s race.

No, Sssorak could never be avenged...but perhaps now, so the wizard hoped, he could be at peace at last.