A GAME OF GHOSTS

THE PAST WILL ALWAYS CATCH UP...

 

I

 

She watched the three drake warriors rummage through the remains of what had been some twenty-plus years ago a merchant’s grand home. The ruined estate—now enveloped by forest—lay on the outskirts of an even more vast ruin, that of the kingdom of Mito Pica. Outwardly, There was not much left of the once-stately house, mostly a scorched foundation and a crumbling, crushed roof. The rooms, the riches, the inhabitants, they were buried deep under that refuse, untouched even after so long.

There were few foolish enough to intrude into this accursed land and drakes were not among those Marilee Cord would have expected. Even more curious, they did not even seem all that interested in the burnt, overgrown rubble. It was as if they were just biding their time.

Marilee started to retreat to the others, only to hesitate when one of the drakes’ savage mounts let out a low hiss. The reptilian beasts peered behind them as the three armored figures held their long, sharp swords ready.

But the interruption proved to only be the arrival of a fourth warrior. While the helms of the first three drakes were dramatic enough with their savage, dragon head crests—crests that were, in fact, representative of their true natures—that of the fourth was startling in its intricacy. The blood of a Dragon King flowed through this one, even if by being here the egg from which he had hatched had clearly not borne the royal markings needed to become an heir.

A humorless smile played across her pale face. The hint of blue gray in their mail armor identified them for Marilee. She had something in common with this foursome, at least in respect to their all being refugees of a sort. What survivors of long-ravaged Clan Iron were doing so far west from either their former domain or the drake confederacy of which they were supposed to be part was a question that intrigued her, but not enough to risk herself.

As the last hint of sunlight faded, Marilee, her dagger ever held ready, backed away. She and the others would decide what to do about these intruders. True, their color might not be gold, as the slaughterers’ of Mito Pica’s innocents had been, but they were drakes. If there were only four, then the vote would very likely be for blood, no matter what the cost. It had been a long time since the band had shed drake blood.

It was far overdue.

A sharp crack to her right made her freeze. The branch she had been pushing aside broke off, creating more racket.

Hisses arose from the drakes. Marilee remained still, hoping that they would lose interest.

Instead, she heard the slight rustle of movement toward her location. Another brief hiss warned her that at least one of the warriors was already too near.

Marilee broke into a run.

Sharp hisses rose. The foliage behind her shook violently. Marilee wanted to stand her ground, but she could not face four drakes by herself.

Something huge crashed through the forest to her left. The panting hiss of a riding drake warned her that one of her pursuers—likely the leader—was mounted. The monstrous beast tore apart the young, bent trees between the reptilian warrior and his prey.

The others were on the far side of the ruined city and thus no help to her. Marilee believed that she could outrun the drakes on foot, but not the mounted one. The forest was not thick enough to slow his beast appreciably.

Marilee stumbled over an upturned root. She fell against the thick tree trunk and though the moment cost her only a second or two, it was long enough to enable her foremost foe to reach her.

The riding drake snapped at her, but missed. Its rider hissed and slashed at Marilee with a blade longer than her arm. The deadly edge scraped along the trunk where but the moment before the brown-haired woman had stood. Bits of bark flew at the diving Marilee.

“Human ssscum!” the rider rasped. “You’ll not be warning him!”

She paid his words no mind, more interested in survival. Her dagger was woefully inadequate against either his sword or his mount.

He swung again, but a thick branch Marilee could not recall seeing blocked his attack. The blade sank deep, but not deep enough to cut through the wood.

The drake’s mount lunged toward her, only to snag one forepaw on another upturned tree root. Marilee thanked her good luck, but doubted it would last unless she ran as hard as she could.

To her relief, the path ahead opened up just enough for her to push on. Behind her, Marilee heard the drake hiss in frustration as he chopped at the branch. His monstrous mount let out a roar that echoed his master’s fury.

Then, the rider let out an odd gasp that caused Marilee to dare look back. Her eyes widened to saucers as she witnessed the armored figure hefted up like a tiny infant by a branch curled around his throat. The snarling drake struggled as he rose out of sight.

Bereft of its master’s control, the hulking mount snapped futilely at more and more roots and branches that gathered around it. Already, two legs were entangled.

And somewhere farther back, one of the other drake warriors suddenly shrieked.

Shaking, Marilee spun away from the riding drake and resumed running. The path ahead continued to offer her just enough of a gap to allow Marilee to keep her pace up. Behind her, shouts arose among the drakes and one of the mounts hissed sharply. Fortunately for Marilee, the sounds grew fainter, as if the gap between her and her foes was growing. Yet, still she ran.

Only when the lithe woman finally ran out of breath, only when her heart threatened to explode, did she finally come to a halt. By this time, it was very dark. Marilee planted herself against a tree trunk and while she fought for air, she listened for pursuit.

All was silence. Stepping out, Marilee squinted, but saw nothing but black forest.

Common sense said to keep fleeing, but instead Marilee—as she too often had in her life—found herself choosing to dive back into potential danger. She headed to where the drakes had last been. The more the chilling silence dominated the region before her, the quicker her pace became. She had to see what had happened—

And then, just as abruptly, Marilee came to a horrified halt.

The tableau before her so shook the woman to her soul that she dropped her dagger without noticing. She stared at the grotesquely twisted corpse and how it remained posed as it did.

Marilee’s mouth gaped, but no cry escaped.

She whirled around and ran even as she had not when pursued by the drakes. Marilee ran and when she could run no more, she stumbled on a step at a time. Behind her, there was only silence...but that was enough in itself to keep her going.

 

II

A chill ran through the wizard Cabe Bedlam as he materialized. It was not that the wind was particularly cold or strong, but rather the spellcaster’s instinctive reaction to these surroundings. Even though he had been raised here, Mito Pica held nothing but guilt for him. After all, the city had been razed, many of its people slain, all because of him.

If not for his blue wizard’s robes and the great, tell-tale streak of silver in his otherwise black hair, most who had met him would not have immediately taken the youthful figure for arguably the most powerful mage in all the land. With his strong jaw and crooked nose, he looked more like a farmer, something which had caused more than one rival to underestimate him. Cabe could have altered his features, but was quite satisfied with them. They reminded him of who he truly was, not who almost everyone believed him.

Cabe fought back a sneeze. Even after more than two decades, he could still smell scorched land, the burning bodies. Each and every one of those who had perished remained a black spot on his soul, for the servants of the Dragon Emperor had been seeking him when they had torn asunder the city that had unknowingly given the grandson of the legendary Nathan Bedlam succor. Nathan Bedlam had led the Dragon Masters—a group of mages dedicated to freeing humanity from the harsh rule of the drakes—into what had come to be known as the Turning War. The mages had lost as much from treachery in their own ranks as they had the power of the Dragon Kings, but at least they had dealt the drakes a terrible blow.

Nathan himself had perished in part due to seeking to save his dying grandchild, then only an infant. He had also put Cabe in the hands of his most trusted friend, the half-elf Hadeen. Hadeen had been the only parent Cabe had ever known, a good thing since the wizard’s father had been the mad sorcerer, Azran.

Hadeen...the tall, slim half-elf had looked no older than Cabe did now, but had actually been more than two hundred years old. Indeed, Cabe’s own youth had lasted almost as long, Hadeen keeping him magically hidden for two centuries in the ill-fated belief that doing so would gradually make the Dragon Kings forget that a grandson might exist.

Cabe peered at the forest, noting the new growth and that which had survived the razing. So much life in a place of so much death. A shame the main city itself is still a blackened skeleton..

It was still two hours before sunset, more than enough time for what he planned here. Cabe had no desire to remain in Mito Pica come the night. Even more than most, the spellcaster saw Mito Pica as place of tortured spirits, ghosts. Ghosts that condemned him each and every moment of his life.

Cabe slowly strode through the woods toward his intended destination. Even Gwen, his wife and a powerful enchantress, did not suspect the depths of his guilt. Cabe Bedlam heard the cries of the dead day and night...and that was what had brought him back here this day, the very anniversary of Mito Pica’s destruction.

He peered up at some of the taller trees, recognizing a few giants. Cabe never liked to materialize at his final location; it was as much out of respect as it was guilt.

The forest remained quiet save for the occasional call of a crow. There always seemed to be crows here, Cabe noted dourly, as if they were hoping for some great bounty such as upon which their ancestors had feasted. The wizard was tempted to cast some sudden noise in order to scare them away, but held back out of respect for the long-dead.

He passed a few bits of rubble—the foundation of some farmer’s home—and paused for a moment to see if he could recall who had lived there. That Cabe could not remember either a name or even a face troubled him. Time was gradually blurring his memory and of all those who had survived—not a great number and mostly children—it was he who should have done his utmost to remember all he could.

Please forgive me, he asked the fading memories. I’ve tried to make amends...

A young woman giggled.

Cabe spun. He saw no one, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had not imagined the sound. Wary, the spellcaster stepped forward—and then stumbled to a halt as a glowing figure suddenly formed among the trees ahead.

A woman with long, flowing black hair leaned down as if seeking to pick up something. The hair obscured her face. She moved with gentleness, as if the burden she sought was precious. Her gown was elegant, but of a style he could not place.

The wizard started toward her, only to be distracted by the clatter of metal against metal coming from his right. Cabe had been involved in too many wars over the years to not recognize the distinctive shifting of armor.

To the naked eye, the wizard acted instantly. To Cabe’s eye, he reached out to the crisscrossing lines of energy invisibly covering the world and used some of that energy to cast his spell. The area he pointed at exploded in light, not only giving Cabe a view of whatever threat might be there, but also hopefully stunning that threat.

But what the wizard saw instead staggered him for its horror.

Arms outstretched, the drake warrior first appeared to float above him. That illusion quickly gave way to another, that the drake had been bound to the branches of the nearest tree.

But what the gaping mouth, the ghastly rips in the limbs and torso, the drying blood and the milky, staring eyes actually revealed was that the branches of the tree coursed through the drake’s body. Two branches thrust out from the mouth, others from the wrists and ankles. A huge limb impaled the warrior through the chest, but Cabe doubted that it had been what killed the drake. Indeed, from the contorted expression, the victim had suffered horribly before finally being granted death.

Leaving some illumination, the wizard approached. As stunning as the sight was, Cabe remained attentive enough to note the drake’s coloring. He had not seen a warrior of Clan Iron for decades, though he knew that that the survivors were part of a confederacy in the northwest. This drake had no business being here.

Yet what other force had also not only thought as Cabe, but acted on that belief?

Even so close, Cabe could not sense the spellwork used to slay the intruder. Not for a moment did the wizard assume that this force would be benevolent toward him; experience had taught him just the opposite.

The drake had been dead at least a day. Blackbirds had already picked at the corpse, though they appeared to find the scaled form not much to their liking. Cabe studied the drake for a moment more, then finally decided to move on. Curious as he was about the warrior’s demise, it behooved the wizard to stay as far away as possible from the situation.

But barely had Cabe taken more than a dozen steps when he came upon the next and much larger victim. The riding drake’s macabre pose made that of its presumed master seem gentle by comparison. The savage mount had obviously struggled longer and more desperately than the warrior, but the results had been the same. A large branch thrust out of its huge maw and another through its barrel chest. Each of its limbs were stretched wide, smaller but no less sturdy branches sprouting near the paws. Despite its immense girth, the riding drake hovered several feet off the ground. Dried blood stained the earth beneath.

Cabe swore. As he maneuvered the light for a better view, he was rewarded with another dark form hanging from a tree farther on.

The second rider had suffered no less than the first and not far from him hung his own mount. Cabe shuddered. He did not know if there were more victims, but what he had seen thus far was enough to warn him that he had better move on by more efficient methods.

With little effort, the wizard vanished from the grotesque displays, appearing a breath later at a more familiar, if also personally saddening, tableau. Barely visible within a great sprouting of vegetation was what had been a small, unremarkable cabin. While it seemed no different than a number of other tiny ruins surrounding the devastated city, this one in particular touched Cabe.

After all, it had been the only home had had known for far longer than he had even realized.

Cabe turned his attention to a towering tree only a few short yards from the cabin. Stepping closer, he bent down on one knee, then shut his eyes in contemplation—

Something very hard struck him on the back of the head. As Cabe toppled forward, his last fading thought did not concern the failure of the protective spell he generally kept around him, but rather that perhaps Mito Pica had finally chosen to claim the one responsible for its destruction.

 

 

Marilee and the four other ragged figures eyed the unconscious spellcaster with some surprise. She looked at the short, onyx staff she had used to hit the wizard and finally grinned. “It worked!”

The nearest trees suddenly shivered, as if some strong wind blew through them. That there was not the hint of a breeze was not lost on the five.

“Bertran! Silas! Grab the wizard! Quickly!” As an afterthought, she handed the staff to Silas. “Take this and use it as I did if he stirs at all! Now hurry!”

The two larger men did not need further encouragement. They dragged the limp form between them as Marilee and the other pair guarded the rear. What exactly they guarded against, they could not say for certain.

When Bertran, Silas, and their burden were far enough away, Marilee jerked her head back. Obeying her signal, her remaining companions gratefully raced after the others.

Marilee waited a breath more, then turned to follow.

A woman’s shriek filled her ears. It was followed by sobbing.

Reacting instinctively, Marilee looked back.

A dark-haired woman in an elegant and archaic gown the color of honey lay sobbing. Even though Marilee knew that there should be no such person in the forest, no such living person, she could not help hesitating.

The gowned figure looked up. Despite the gloom, she was perfectly visible to Marilee and so it was that Cabe’s captor could see every detail of the other woman’s face.

Marilee gasped. Shocked at the sight, she stumbled back...and collided with something hard and metallic. Realizing what it was, Marilee turned to defend herself.

The mailed fist struck her hard in the jaw, knocking her as senseless as Cabe Bedlam.

 

III

Every nerve in the wizard’s body burned. The desire to return to the numbness of unconsciousness proved great, but Cabe’s instinct for survival insisted he accept the pain and try to awaken.

He heard murmuring, but it seemed some distance from him. Steeling himself to the continued agony, Cabe managed to open his eyes just enough to see something of his surroundings.

In the faint illumination of a day the wizard at first mistakenly took for dusk but realized was much earlier, a drake warrior grinned evilly at him.

It took a moment for the mage to realize that things were not as they first appeared. The drake was not grinning at him; rather, the half-seen face was twisted into an expression of agony well-matched to his own.

Other details became more apparent, such as the fact that both Cabe and the drake lay on their sides facing one another. Both were bound tight by rope, surely a jest if someone expected such simple material to hold either prisoner for long. However, the drake continued to lay still and when Cabe sought to magically shake shed his own bonds, the agony coursing through his body trebled.

A low, ragged hiss that Cabe recognized through the haze of pain as the drake’s laugh revealed that the wizard’s fellow prisoner was not unconscious after all. Gritting his teeth, Cabe met the drake’s fiery gaze.

“The great—the great wizard Bedlam ssstill dies even dessspite our failure...”

“It’s a little too soon to assume my death,” Cabe murmured back. “Others have learned that to their dismay.”

The drake was undaunted. His faltering breath was not due to the ropes but rather his injuries, the extent of which were more severe than Cabe earlier estimated. The other prisoner was dying.

“The foolsss do not underssstand the—the weapon. Unless—unlessss they do asss the Aramite showed usss—you will sssuffer constantly until the pain finally ssslays you...”

Aramite. Wolf raiders. Cabe knew the ebony-armored humans well, the fragmented factions of a once-mighty empire that had spanned an entire continent. Now, they controlled only small portions of that land and had turned to piracy to support what remained of their power. The wolf raiders had their own unique style of sorcery that now centered around blood, but Cabe suspected that the weapon that had been used on him was older, dating back to when the Aramites had been ruled by a creature they believed was a god.

Who the Aramite was who had delivered to the drakes this weapon was a moot point; the wizard, his family, and especially the king of Penacles—the literally-titled being called the Gryphon—would no doubt be on the wolf raiders’ assassination list. It was the Gryphon who was in great part responsible for the fall of the Aramite empire.

But what these survivors of Clan Iron desired with Cabe’s death was a question with many possible answers, none of the good for the Dragonrealm as a whole. The drake confederacy had a treaty of noninterference with most of the human realms. Their nominal leader, Sssaleese, was a drake who constantly had to look over his shoulder at rivals who considered their higher-caste births as reasons they should rule. The last Cabe had heard, Sssaleese still held sway, but perhaps this party of killers represented a new force rising in the confederacy.

The mage noted that when he thought of these subjects, his mind was not impaired. The weapon’s spellwork evidently responded to his magical abilities, perhaps feeding on them and turning them back on Cabe. That might explain the powerful force he had felt before blacking out.

The pain continued unabated throughout his conclusions and though over the years Cabe had become skilled at dividing his thoughts from any physical distress, he finally had to give in to that pain. Exhaling sharply, he shut his eyes and fought to keep from blacking out. Tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks. In the background, he heard the drake’s hacking laugh.

Another voice suddenly intruded, a harsh male—and human—voice. There was a growl and then a heavy thump. The drake’s laugh twisted into a grunt as full of pain as that Cabe felt.

Someone grabbed the wizard by the shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position. The action allowed the wizard to focus on something other than his distressed state.

But when he opened his eyes again, it was to stare into a pair of crystalline ones. Cabe exhaled in dismay—and the eyes vanished, replaced by the gruff countenance of a bearded man.

“What’d you do with her, mage?” the figure demanded. He set a well-worn knife at Cabe’s throat. “What demon’s trick’ve you used on Marilee?”

“Easy, Bertran!” called another from somewhere behind the towering man. “We don’t want him dead, not if he can still return her to us!”

This in no way assuaged Bertran. “He’ll give her back to us if he wants his death to be quicker and cleaner than what he left our people to!”

“I’ve done nothing—” A hard slap from the back of the hand wielding the knife cut Cabe off.

The drake dared laugh again, this time not just at the wizard, but their captors. Bertran whirled on the injured warrior. “You’re only alive for one reason, so remember that!”

“Then—then you are in trouble—for I—I will not be your guessst much longer...” And as the drake declared that, blood accenting his words dribbled from his lipless mouth. He no longer laughed, but merely coughed harder and harder in search of air.

“Stop that, you damned lizard! Stop it or I’ll—”

But the drake let out one last great hiss—that again ended in a hacking cough—and slumped. The narrow eyes lost their fire, the grew milky.

Bertran spat at the corpse. “Marilee never should’ve bothered to have us save him! See what’s all happened now?”

Saved him? Focusing his thoughts, Cabe asked, “What did you save him from?”

The big man sneered. “You came from the direction he did. You saw what happened to his comrades and their beasts, didn’t you?” When Cabe had nodded, Bertran pointed at the drake. “The other pair, they were skewered nicely. This one had managed to steer clear for awhile, but the forest finally got him! The branches were crushing his bones...”

“Was a noisy sight, wasn’t it, Bertran?” someone jested.

“Aye...Marilee, being Marilee, she had some pity and thought maybe we could also learn something about why they were here. We were about to cut him free, but the branches just let him go for us.”

Cabe straightened. “The branches—the branches let him go?”

“Guess the ghosts favored us that moment, we being their kin.” Bertran sheathed the knife, then reached for something strapped to his back. “Gave us the drake and he gave us enough to know how to use this on you.”

The Aramite device was a short, ebony staff topped by a fist-sized crystal in whose center shifted what to the wizard thought looked suspiciously like fresh blood. Cabe could not see any method by which to control the staff’s power, but assumed it had to be simple if someone unversed in magic could manipulate the weapon even to some degree.

“Now, I’ve answered your questions, mage, so we’re going to get back to what’s important...” Bertran’s scowl grew. “Marilee. Don’t think because I talked calmer I’m any less ready to gut you! You’ve got one chance and that’s to give her back to us and now!”

“I didn’t—do anything—but I can help if you release me—”

Bertran raised the staff to strike Cabe, but two of his companions seized him before he could.

“Leave ‘im be, Bertran!” begged one.

“He’s the only one who can bring her back!” added the second.

Cabe had had enough. He had seen what some force in the forest had done to the drakes. A human woman was not likely to last much longer against it. “Would you just—just tell me what happened after I was knocked senseless...”

His emphasis on the last word did not go unnoticed. The second man whispered something in Bertran’s ear.

“She sent us ahead...” Bertran finally told the wizard. He went on, giving what sparse details existed. Cabe continued to fight his pain, forcing it into one part of his mind as he surveyed his captors better. A very ragtag bunch, most of them young, but a few older than Cabe visibly appeared. The older ones wore clothes that still marked them as once of Mito Pica. The garments themselves were not that worn, but it looked as if their wearers had gone to the trouble of retaining the padded shoulders, arched collars, and other aspects of style popular at the time of the city’s demise.

How many loved ones did they lose? How many? The mage tried not to think about those deaths, more deaths that he blamed on himself. With that guilt came a new rush of agony. Cab groaned and bent forward. The voices faded away. He knew only the pain...

Do you play chess? asked a voice that suddenly came not from without but within. It jerked Cabe back to his surroundings. He knew and despised that voice.

It was Azran’s.

Where did you find this set? asked another speaker whose identity equally shocked Cabe. He could never forget the voice of the man who had been his real father.

“Hadeen?” the mage murmured.

Silence reigned around him. Blinking his gaze clear, Cabe saw why. Everyone, even Bertran, was staring to the wizard’s left.

There, two vaguely-seen figures—their translucent forms glowing—sat in the middle of darkened forest leaning over a chessboard not only of unusual size and make, but with pieces that, in contrast to the murky players, even from a distance gave indication to tremendous craftsmanship. Indeed, the fine details of the pieces seemed to magnify before the mage’s eyes and, in doing so, revealed to him that he had seen this set before.

He looked in shock from the set to the pair. For a moment, the player on the left defined enough to reveal a handsome, youthful man with features just sharp enough to hint that he was not entirely human. Clad in forest green and earth brown jerkin, shirt, and pants, the leather-booted figure looked more like a hunter than one who had been very much in touch with the spiritual aspects of elven life. Hadeen had made many sacrifices to raise the grandson of his best friend.

Then, a harsh, clinking sound drew Cabe’s attention back to the board. A single piece lay tipped over, Azran Bedlam’s undefined hand next to it. Cabe could not help but look at where his birth father’s face should be and even though it bore less detail than the ever-blurred visage of the accursed sorcerer Shade, the wizard could not help feel as if Azran stared at him. Shivering, his pain momentarily forgotten, Cabe chose to eye the board rather than Azran.

Only then did he notice that there was something else wrong with the fallen piece. It had been shaped to resemble a huge wolf in mid-leap, but now the wolf’s head was nothing but a piece of shredded metal, revealing a hollow interior.

The players and the game vanished without warning. Several of Cabe’s captors turned to one another in consternation.

“We should leave this place, Bertran!” someone insisted. “They’re growing stronger!”

“They won’t harm us! We’re blood!”

“How do you know? Maybe the wizard didn’t have nothin’ to do with Marilee! He was knocked out!”

Cabe forced aside both their troubled mutterings and the resurgence of his own pain as he finally recalled just why this particular board seemed so familiar. It was now the property of the master of Penacles, the City of Knowledge...and to Cabe’s memory, the set was whole, its individual pieces unmarred. Yet, according to these phantasms one had been ruined, as if some force within had exploded free.

And although his current plight should have demanded his complete attention, Cabe Bedlam had the distinct feeling that understanding just what the shattered piece represented might mean more to his survival than anything else.

 

IV

The throbbing pain overwhelming the right side of her face finally stirred Marilee to consciousness. She groaned, which in turn caused a hissing intake of breath from somewhere to her left.

The hulking form of a drake warrior filled her horrified view. Marilee tried to move, only then noticing that her arms and legs were bound. She recognized her pursuer, although he was in a much more ragged state than previous. His armored body was covered in scars, revealing that the scales were indeed part of his flesh, not metal as they appeared. One particularly nasty scar ran across the drake’s throat.

“You humansss...ssso weak! I thought I’d ssslain you with that light ssslap!”

“Why didn’t you?” she couldn’t help ask despite the obvious risk in doing so.

“Becaussse—” The drake pulled himself together and spoke with more precision. “Because you will bring me two things. The staff...and the wizard. That should not be such a terrible thing; your hatred for the wizard is almost as great as mine.”

She managed a sneer. “I despise drakes even more than him! He might’ve been the reason my family and others perished, but your kind wielded the blades!”

“Those were warriors of Clan Gold, against which our lord revolted unsuccessfully.” He waved off any further explanation. “Your cooperation isss not necessary, only that I have you. Your friendsss, they will come for you and they will bring Cabe Bedlam to me!”

As the drake made this last declaration, a sinister creaking sound arose from every direction. Marilee anxiously looked around, but saw nothing at first.

Then, she realized that the trees surrounding them leaned much closer than before. The long, twisting branches looked especially eager to reach the drake, but something held them back.

Her captor laughed. He opened his left hand to reveal a small cube that faintly radiated a dark green light. “Another toy from the wolvesss,” the drake explained unhelpfully. “Meant to be usssed in conjunction with the staff you found on Sssorus. It protects againssst magic and the sssupernatural...quite effectively, too, ssso I discovered.”

As he said the last, the drake indicated his throat. Marilee pretended to care, her mind racing on how to save herself from this danger. Bertran would no doubt be planning something, but he also had the wizard with which to contend. They only knew the basics of the device they had found on the injured drake and it was possible that even now Cabe Bedlam might no longer be a prisoner.

That possibility actually heartened her briefly, something Marilee immediately experienced mixed feeling over. She and her band had heard of rumors of the wizard’s yearly pilgrimage to the ruined city, a time when the ghostly memories of Mito Pica seemed to stir to greater life than ever. There had been arguments as to his reasons for returning annually, but most believed he felt guilt over his part in the bloody event. That Cabe Bedlam might suffer anguish had not in the least redeemed him in the eyes of those who had lost family and lives, but now Marilee desperately wished that the mage would appear and take on both the drake and the sinister force surrounding the pair.

“I sssaw you take Sssorus, but...wasss detained,” her captor went on, leaning closer as he talked. His breath—a carnivore’s sickly-sweet breath—assailed her. “He wasss badly injured, yesss?”

“Probably dead by now,” Marilee dared admit, waiting for the drake to strike her for saying so.

He merely shrugged. “A warrior fallen. All that mattersss in the end isss the wizard’s death. You should want that, too.”

She saw a chance. “I’ll be glad to help—”

The drake chuckled. It was not a pretty sound. “Oh, you will, human. Now that you are conscious, you will...”

He reached for Marilee.

 

 

 

The latest wave of agony subsided enough to enable Cabe to focus on what his captors were doing. He estimated that he had been overwhelmed by the staff’s foul power for at least a quarter hour. It had struck him only moments after the apparitions had vanished. The mage cursed the Aramite device not only for the pain it inflicted, but more so now because it had prevented him from trying to decipher what he had witnessed.

There were ghosts in the Dragonrealm. Some were actual spirits, some were memories burnt into reality itself. Cabe was very familiar with both, but especially the latter, for he and his family inhabited an ancient sanctum—part tree, part stone—simply known through the ages as the Manor. It had housed many inhabitants over the countless centuries, most of their lives a mystery even to the wizard. The apparitions that Cabe had seen now looked akin to the Manor’s memories, but the fact that they had focused on an element of his past was disquieting.

Bertran interrupted his struggling thoughts. “You look pretty sane again.”

Cabe ignored the inaccuracy of the man’s statement. Bertran needed him to help with the missing Marilee and that meant hope of ending this waves of pain.

When the mage said nothing, Bertran held up the Aramite device. “Maybe you understand this enough. Tell me how to make its power weaker and I’ll use it to help you.”

There was a very good chance that Cabe’s captor wanted just the opposite information. Knowing how to lessen the agony also likely meant understanding how to make it worse. Still, Cabe decided that he had to take the chance. Through the Gryphon, the wizard had learned much about both the older magic wielded by the Aramite sorcerers called keepers and the newer, possibly more vile arts they utilized now.

“Hold it—hold it close.” When after a brief uncertainty Bertran obeyed, Cabe studied the head and handle of the staff, deciphering the Wolf Raider script and runes.

“Well?”

“Grip the very bottom of the base. It should—” Another wave of agony threatened the mage. “It should turn halfway to the left!”

Bertran did as bade. “It did. Now what?”

“Runes—runes on one side. Five in a row.” Cabe gasped. “Are there?”

“Five. I see ‘em.”

The wizard inhaled. “First and fifth. Touch them together. That should do it. Tap my head...lightly.”

The strain grew overwhelming. Cabe’s head spun.

Without warning, his agony diminished. It did not fade completely, but became far more tolerable.

“Did that do it?” growled Marilee’s man. “Say something, spellcaster.”

“Maybe you should hit him again,” someone suggested.

“No!” The wizard drew back as best he could just in case his warning had come too late. He was not certain that another touch might not reverse matters again. Cabe could not say why its foul handiwork had not entirely ceased, but at least it appeared to be at a manageable level. “No...the staff’s magic has lessened. Eventually, it should fade away...I hope.”

To not only prove his first point but discourage any thought that they might keep him under their control, he made his bonds turn to dust. One of the other men immediately threw a knife at Cabe, but he had been expecting just such a reaction. The blade froze in the air a few inches from his throat, then changed into a dozen blue and green glowing moths that scattered into the dark sky.

“I trust that’ll be a sufficient display to deter any other notions of attacking me,” the wizard quietly remarked.

Most of the others nodded quickly, but Bertran looked furious. He swung the staff at Cabe, at the same time snarling.

Cabe softened the ground enough to make the large man’s boots sink up to the ankles, then solidified it. Bertran struggled in vain to reach him. In growing desperation, Bertran finally threw the Aramite device at his adversary. Fortunately, used so, the insidious creation was no danger. Cabe took pleasure in forcing the staff to turn head down and bury itself deep in the soil at his feet.

He did not destroy it, aware that it might be needed in some manner. Cabe had no idea what had happened to Marilee and was not positive that she was even alive, but if she was, he might need the Aramite creation to rescue her.

Bertran continued to rail at Cabe, but the rest were clearly subdued. The wizard stepped within the imprisoned man’s reach. Bertran swung at Cabe, only to have his fist stop in mid-air. Cabe sighed, admiring the other’s determination, but wishing that he would learn quicker.

“I will still help you find her,” he told Bertran. “And the sooner you calm down, the sooner we can begin.”

Reason finally returned to the man’s gaze, but he could still not simply accept the reversal of their positions. “All right. Just don’t try anything...”

“I won’t,” Cabe responded, holding back a brief moment of amusement. Then, the seriousness of the situation returned to his attention. “I need you to lead me back to where you took me. That’s all. When we’re close, you can return to the rest here.”

Bertran shook his head violently. The tawny-haired man gritted his teeth. “I’m going with. We find her together.”

There remained just enough of the staff’s influence to still give the wizard a headache even more aggravating than Bertran was proving to be. Bertran would be little more than a hindrance and possibly great trouble for Cabe if some force attacked the man during their quest, but the mage finally nodded. It was more and more clear that Bertran was deeply in love with Marilee and would sacrifice himself for her safety if necessary. That redeeming trait alone was enough for Cabe to take the risk.

He would not leave the man unarmed, though. With a gesture, Cabe sent the staff flying back to Bertran’s grasp. As the latter stared in confusion at this offering of trust, Cabe turned in what he assumed was the general direction they had to head.

A moment later, Bertran trotted a step ahead of him. With an anxious glance at the wizard, he murmured, “We turn right at that crooked tree...”

Cabe nodded, his mind already on beyond the crooked tree to where others trees, far more murderous ones, might already have Marilee.

 

V

There were voices around them, the voices of the long dead. While they frightened Marilee, she was still more familiar with them than her captor. The drake—the mighty warrior—was growing more agitated as the muttering increased.

“What are they babbling about?” he demanded not for the first time.

Her mouth bound, Marilee could hardly answer him. It gave her a slight bit of satisfaction to know that the drake was so disturbed, but it would hardly save her.

She hung from one of the nearby trees, her legs tied together and her arms wrapped as much as possible behind her and around the trunk. In tying her up, the drake had nearly ripped her arms off. The strain was still making her tear up.

When he had first begun his work, Marilee had hoped that the neighboring trees would somehow use the opportunity to seize the drake, but now that he appeared to know how better to wield the other artifact, the trees appeared unable to even reach within several yards of him. In fact, any tree as close as a dozen yards simply grew limp.

What exactly the drake had in mind, Marilee did not know. She only hoped that Bertran had enough sense to turn to the wizard for help. They could always deal with Cabe Bedlam afterward.

Marilee felt conflicted by her sudden hopes that the wizard would come to her aid. In some ways, she resented the mage for that even though he had done nothing. Marilee had grown up hearing the stories of the older survivors and learned to hate the wizard based on those stories. She did not like anything that contradicted that to which she was accustomed to believe was true.

But if Cabe Bedlam did come rushing to her rescue, she would be very, very grateful.

A savage crackling drowned out all other noise. Marilee recognized the sound of a terrible fire...but there was no sign, not even a hint of smoke.

The drake whirled around, clearly seeking the source. He swore when it became apparent to him that this was merely another ghostly memory of the city’s fall.

“Thisss isss a place of madnesss I will be happy to be rid of.” He kept the device gripped tight. Even with little more than one hand, the imposing warrior had been able to easily handle Marilee by first tying her securely while she lay pinned face down by his knee, then tossing the rope he had evidently salvaged from his dead mount over the branches and hoisting her up. There had been two incidents when his hold on the device had been precarious, but to Marilee’s disappointment, the drake had managed retain his grip.

Beyond the range of the protective effects, the trees stretched as best they could toward the intruders. Marilee did not trust that those branches would leave her be, which left her praying that the drake would not station himself too far from her.

Her captor intended a straightforward trap for the wizard, its effectiveness in its simplicity. She was the bait. Even more than Marilee, the drake hoped—nay, was certain—that Cabe Bedlam would come. Then, that same device that kept the ghostly forces at bay would supposedly do the same against the legendary mage’s power.

And then the drake would use the very long, very sharp sword he kept at his side.

The whispers grew in intensity again. Marilee thought she made out a few random words, but before she could make sense of them, the area grew bright with flame.

The drake cursed and instinctively drew his weapon. Only as that happened did both he and Marilee see that although the fire burned strong, the trees remained untouched.

The city is reliving its final throes, she realized, feeling Mito Pica’s suffering. Marilee had witnessed several supernatural visions during her pilgrimages to her former home, but there was something different happening. It was as if Mito Pica’s dead were stirring as they never had before.

With another frustrated hiss, the drake sheathed his sword. “Thisss city should ssstay dead inssstead of crying ssso much.”

Marilee felt her blood boil at the callous remark. Her parents, her brother and sister, and so many others had been slaughtered out of hand. She fought against her bonds in a futile attempt to reach the warrior.

Her attempts only earned his mockery. “Ssstruggle hard! Let the wizard sssee and hear that you live...that he can ssstill sssave you!”

Marilee’s gag cut off her epithet.

The eerie fire ceased as abruptly as it began. The trees to the south ceased thrashing.

Another low chuckle echoed in her ears. “And even your pathetic ghostsss play to my advantage! They announce hisss arrival asss good asss a loud war horn!”

He slipped between the trees, vanishing from her sight. Marilee twisted as best she could in order to see the wizard’s arrival. She had to give warning.

The other trees stilled. A silence more unnerving than the all the visions Marilee had thus far experienced tonight covered the area.

And then, ever so slowly, a dark-haired human figure approached from the darkness. Marilee made out enough of the face to recognize Cabe Bedlam. The wizard was not as tall as she recalled and he moved with a hint of hesitation. Even the great mage seemed small compared to the cursed souls haunting the forest.

Marilee shook her head, but he did not notice the warning. Her muffled cry also failed to gain any reaction.

Cabe Bedlam remained a half-shadowed figure as he neared, but Marilee could still not believe how youthful the man looked. She had only glanced at the mage previously before her own capture. This latest irony did not escape her; Cabe Bedlam not only lived while hundreds of others had perished, but he also had the benefit of enjoying the bloom of life longer than most humans.

Her bitterness quickly faded as the wizard drew closer yet. He looked around as if searching for something even though Marilee was quite visible. The man was walking into an obvious trap. She wondered if he was that confident in his power and, if so, would that prove to be a fatal mistake?

Painfully aware of the range of the drake’s possession, Marilee noted when Cabe Bedlam paused just a few yards beyond. She tried to give some sort of warning not to advance, but he continued to utterly ignore her. Marilee tipped her head in the direction that her captor had hidden, only to have the wizard turn away from her to look at something else.

The drake attacked...leaping out from a location behind Cabe Bedlam. He easily wielded the sharp blade with one hand while keeping the other a tight fist.

With one mighty stroke, the drake cut a deadly arc across Cabe Bedlam’s throat.

The sword slashed through without pause. Marilee tried to scream.

Cabe Bedlam dissipated.

“What by the Dragon of the Depthsss?” rasped the drake as he recovered his balance.

A sound like a crack of thunder made both look in the direction from which the apparition had come. In the gloom, they saw a huge tree with long, draping branches toppling toward them.

Marilee struggled to escape, but the drake simply stood his ground. He stared at the oncoming tree with clear disdain.

She realized that he thought it another apparition, like the flames.

But as the falling tree neared, the drake obviously realized his error. He tried to fling himself away, but did not succeed. As the tree crashed, the massive crown engulfed Marilee’s captor.

At the same time, the limbs of the tree where she was bound twitched despite there being no wind. Marilee stilled, hoping that she was not about to join the drake’s fate.

The limbs paused. When after several seconds they did not move, Marilee dared take a breath and try to make sense of the situation. Despite previous evidence and the drake’s assurances, the ghostly presence in the forest had finally managed to overcome the device. True, the tree had fallen from beyond the thing’s protective range, circumventing its power, but the illusion of Cabe Bedlam could have had only one source.

Yet, the illusion confused her in another manner. She had never heard tales of the ghosts doing such things. This bespoke of a conscious, active mind. Marilee considered the fact that it might actually have been the wizard’s work after all, but when first one minute, then another, and then another passed without Cabe Bedlam’s grand entrance, she dismissed that notion.

There was no movement from the crown. Marilee hoped that the drake was dead, but knew how hardy the race was. She struggled against her bonds again and finally felt some slight loosening.

A woman screamed.

Marilee jerked her head toward the sound. Once more she beheld the woman in the gown. The other female knelt as if trying to pick up a small bundle.

There was no other sound, but suddenly the gowned woman whirled as if discovered. She put her hands up in protest and in doing so revealed her face to Marilee again.

As before her eyes glittered as if crystal.

There was a shout from the south. Marilee recognized Bertran’s voice and forgot all about drakes and apparitions.

But her pleasure at his arrival dampened when she saw who was with him. Marilee’s earlier hope that the wizard would come to her rescue faded, replaced by the hatred built up over the years.

Bertran rushed up to her, the big man dropping what she recognize as the staff used to subdue Cabe Bedlam and trying with his bare hands to tear her free.

“Step away from her,” the wizard ordered.

Bertran obeyed. Cabe Bedlam stepped near Marilee.

The slight rustling of leaves made Marilee look beyond both men to sudden movement at the crown. She tried to give a warning, but the gag prevented her from making more than a moan.

“Something’s dampening my power,” the mage informed Bertran. “I think I can free her, but it’ll take me a moment more.”

The rustling increased, but neither of her would-be rescuers noticed. Cabe Bedlam shut his eyes in concentration.

Summoning all her strength, Marilee screamed as best as the gag allowed her.

But her cry was drowned out by the clash of arms and the cries of several beasts. Bertran and the wizard joined her in peering to the east...where suddenly a horde of earth-brown drakes as aglow as the gowned maiden rushed forward seeking battle.

 

VI

The scene upon which Cabe had arrived had proven to be a curious one. He and Bertran had heard the crashing tree and feared the worst for Marilee, only to find her bound but whole.

No ghost had seized the young woman, that was obvious. As to who her captor had been, Marilee would be able to answer that. Of course, seeing where the tree lay, Cabe had suspected the point was moot.

It should have been simple for him to release the woman, but Cabe’s first spell faded even before it could come to fruition. He knew it was not the work of the staff and wondered if the supernatural presence in the forest had something to do with it.

Focusing his concentration, the wizard had attempted another spell on the captive...and that was when the drakes had come charging through the trees.

It took Cabe only a moment to realize that these were not living, breathing warriors, but apparitions. They glowed of their own accord and some literally charged through those trees. Yet, what more struck him was the coloring of these drakes. They were of an earthy shade, marking of them of a clan not only far flung from this land, but one that had already been decimated two hundred years earlier during the ill-fated Turning War.

And certainly not a clan that had had anything to do with with razing of Mito Pica.

The ethereal warriors vanished. Cabe hesitated for a second, then returned his attention to Marilee. This time, the ropes fell away. Bertran caught the woman, then helped her get her footing. The big man was slow to release his hold and Marilee did not rush him.

Then, her eyes widened. Pushing past Bertran, she pointed at the fallen tree’s massive crown. “He’s still alive! He’s still alive!”

Cabe glared at the crown. Nothing dampened his spell this time. The leaves burst from the branches and the branches twisted away, revealing what lay beneath.

Nothing.

Marilee looked around. “He’s got to be near—”

The wizard cursed himself for underestimating their mysterious adversary. “He’s not human, is he?”

“No! It was a drake—”

“The color of iron, I assume.” After she nodded, Cabe shut his eyes and concentrated. He could not sense the drake’s nearby presence, but suspected he knew the reason. “Did he carry some artifact, some talisman?”

Marilee nodded. Cabe did not bother to ask what it looked like. That it was of wolf raider make like the staff would make sense. The Aramite sorcerers needed gold to finance their efforts and more than a few of their macabre creations had made their way to the Dragonrealm.

He noticed that both of his companions were eyeing him with increasing suspicion. Cabe sighed, understanding that their long-bred hatred of him was on the rise again now that they were under the mistaken belief that the drake had fled. Retreat he had, but the warrior was still near. If the drake managed to survive the forest, he would seek once more to fulfill his mission...which Cabe knew was his death.

The forest...to the wizard, of more importance than either the would-be assassin or the vengeful survivors of Mito Pica was what was happening to the forest itself. Why are there apparitions that have no relation to the city’s destruction?

Given the moment to think without incessant pain coursing through him or the need to rush to rescue someone, Cabe knew the answer. It was one that both made perfect sense and yet startled him as few things could.

He started in the direction from which the drake horde had charged, only to have the Aramite staff suddenly thrust before his face.

“Stop right there,” Marilee growled, the weapon now in her possession. Behind her, Bertran looked torn. Cabe had saved the woman Bertran loved, but her bitterness toward the mage was evidently stronger than her gratitude.

“That’s ill-advised,” Cabe muttered.

“You saved my life, but that doesn’t make up for the hundreds of others lost here, including my parents—”

Bertran put a hand on her shoulder. “Marilee. I’ve been thinking. I don’t think we—”

She shrugged off the hand. A sheepish Bertran looked at Cabe.

The wizard frowned. Marilee let out a yelp and dropped the staff, which in her mind had grown as hot as a red poker. Cabe had actually not burned her, but simply let her feel the illusion of intense heat.

He gestured and the staff came to his hand. The woman gritted her teeth and grabbed for an empty area by her waist where presumably she usually kept a knife. Then, her expression turned to one of intense exhaustion.

“I’ve imagined...I’ve thought of taking you down most of my life,” she murmured.

“Not that it’ll matter to you, but every night I relive the destruction of Mito Pica. I lost someone very close to me here.” As Cabe said this, he felt some more guilt. The statement was and was not true, if what he imagined was in part the reason for this evening’s events.

Marilee eyed him. “Didn’t know that.”

Before the conversation could continue on into an area uncomfortable for Cabe, a woman’s sobbing echoed through the forest. The wizard noticed that it startled Bertran and him more than it did Marilee. “You’ve heard that before?”

“I’ve seen her, too—there!” She pointed past his left shoulder.

Quickly looking, Cabe swore. The glowing, vaguely-defined shape of the gowned woman he had also seen earlier drifted among the trees. While the rich, black hair still obscured her features, her stance indicated some dire need.

But something else confused him. If what he believed was true, then he would have expected her to be heading the same direction that he had intended. Instead, she was moving toward the actual ruins of the city.

Despite that contradiction, Cabe chose to pursue the apparition. The vision headed toward what was left of the city wall. Beyond the wall, the silhouettes of several jagged shells that had once been towering buildings seemed to hungrily await Cabe’s long-overdue return. Marilee’s overriding hatred for him despite the rescue had stirred up his own guilt more than ever. Every fragment of Mito Pica still standing looked to him like the outline of a tombstone.

He expected her to walk through the wall, but instead she turned and began to hurry along its length. The mage picked up his own pace. His curiosity was only matched by his frustration. Despite his best efforts, he could never make out her face. Her hair continued to drape over whatever features should have been visible, as if the long tresses had a life and purpose of their own.

At what had once been one of the great gates but was now a mangle of rusted, scorched metal and shattered stone, the apparition entered Mito Pica. As Cabe attempted to follow, the branches of the few remaining trees ahead shifted in an attempt to block his path.

Behind him, Marilee swore. Cabe knew that she and Bertran had followed him, but since they no longer represented a threat to his safety, he had deemed that they were better off near him.

“We’re safe for the moment,” he whispered. “Stay close to me and nothing will happen.”

“But you saw what the trees did to the drakes!” she whispered back.

“That’s because they were drakes.” Cabe frowned. He wanted to go after the spirit, but also wondered why the force he suspected behind all this would stop him. Was not the apparition part of his message, a message possibly for Cabe himself?

A woman’s scream echoed from the ruins ahead.

Despite aware that the trees probably sought to keep him back for good reason, Cabe gestured. A wind thrust the branches aside, allowing the trio to continue through into the city.

There was no hint of animal life in the darkened ruins, not even the small vermin one would have expected. The areas above were devoid of birds, the ground of any small, scurrying forms. There should have been some inhabitants, but the wizard even noted an absence of insect sounds.

“We shouldn’t be in this place,” Bertran rasped. “We shouldn’t disturb the dead...”

They appear very disturbed already, Cabe thought sourly. Or at least one in particular, if I’m correct.

Cabe was fairly certain as to the identity of the force ultimately responsible here and knew that he should have gone directly to the other’s last resting place, but the female vision continued to demand the mage’s attention. There had to be a particular reason for her materializing again and again.

There came renewed sobbing. Cabe pushed his way through two centuries of vegetation-overgrown rubble, moving deeper into the city. More than once, the mage thought that he would finally catch up, but the gowned woman always remained just far enough ahead.

And still he could not see her face.

Bertran swore as he stumbled over an unstable piece of stonework. Cabe looked back at the pair. “I shouldn’t have let you follow me. I never thought to journey this far into the city. If you retrace our steps, you should be all right.”

Marilee shook her head. “I need to find out about her, too. I saw her. I want to know who she was, why she’s in more torment than the others. What is she and why we can see her...”

Now the wizard understood why she followed so docilely. Hinted at was that the woman was actually hoping to find other spirits that might be active. Cabe had suspected the reason, but now had his verification. “You want to find your parents.”

For a brief moment, Marilee looked much younger, much less assured. Cabe saw the child left alone after the city’s tragic fall.

“I know that sounds mad,” she finally answered. “But I thought with everything so alive this time, maybe there was something going on. Maybe this ghost knew about others...” Her expression revealed how foolish that notion now seemed even to her.

“I’m sorry—” the wizard began.

Bertran interjected himself between them. “There she is! By the fallen inn!”

Even as they looked, the apparition moved on again. She continued to seem to have a reason in her journey. She headed toward the tilted remains of a roofless house, then suddenly veered toward the right down a narrow stone avenue.

Cabe’s gaze narrowed. In the dim light of the moon, he could see the once fine iron fence, parts of which still stood tall. Beyond that fence, some distance away, a turreted estate house—one turret collapsed in—beckoned.

The wizard searched his memory for who this might belong to, but failed to find an answer. He watched as the ghost flitted through the wreckage and headed toward the crumbling edifice.

But as Cabe once more followed, Bertran growled under his breath. The mage turned to see the big man staring wide-eyed at their destination.

Bertran took hold of Marilee’s arm. This time, he would not let her pull away. “Marilee. You ain’t going in there...”

She was as confused as Cabe. “Why, Bertran?”

“That there’s Vale.”

 

VII

The name meant nothing to the wizard, but Marilee swallowed hard. “I never saw it. Only heard it. That’s his place?”

“Aye, and if there’s ghosts that mean us ill, the outcast will be one!”

“Who is the ‘outcast’?” Cabe asked, simultaneously probing the estate grounds.

Bertran nervously shrugged. “My pa, he only just warned me never to go too near Vale. He said the outcast might steal me away!”

Marilee visibly shivered. Cabe, who thus far sensed nothing, wondered what connection this had to the phantasm. He also cursed himself for allowing this pair to follow him rather than do as he should have and first seen them safely to their companions.

Shrieks assailed them again. The ruins around the trio burst into flame...or rather, once more, the memory of flame. Shadows flitted here and there that the wizard decided represented the fleeing populace. His guilt mixed with his growing curiosity. Why were the dead of Mito Pica so violently awake? They had never been like this in previous visits.

“There’s light in there!”

Following Marilee’s astounded gaze, Cabe saw that illumination did indeed fill the Vale house. He wondered at that name, nothing about the estate showing much that would match the descriptive title. While clearly there had once been many trees, that was as close to a vale as an estate within Mito Pica could manage. The landscape otherwise had no similarity, the only other features a set of crumbling statues the outlines of which made Cabe believe they had once represented various forest creatures.

Without warning, Marilee plunged ahead. Bertran grabbed at her, but too late. Cabe decided that a spell might not be the best thing for everyone in such a place—not unless absolutely necessary—and hurried after.

He managed to seize her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I heard her! She called to me!” The woman looked past him to the house. “Momma!”

Cabe saw that he had let things go too far. “Bertran! Take her with you! I’ll provide—”

But as he spoke, Bertran ran past him. “Pa!”

Marilee slipped free. Now entirely heedless of their own prior concerns, she and her companion hurried on toward the house.

Cabe started a spell intended to send the two far away, but hesitated. Instead, he grimly pursued them. Somehow, the mage was certain that this revolved around him. One way or another, this force wanted Cabe to come to it.

Alive or dead, I’ll make you regret that if any harm comes to those two, he warned the mysterious power.

Make way for the Lady Asrilla! a ghostly voice abruptly cried in his head.

Simultaneously, an ethereal carriage drawn by six white and clearly transparent horses rushed along the crumbled street. The speeding wheels paid no mind to the stone and other rubble filling the street. The rounded carriage raced passed a gaping Cabe, who caught a glimpse of a crest the center of which was a wyvern wielding a lance. The crest meant nothing to the wizard, but the name, although one he had not heard in almost two decades, struck him to the core.

Lady Asrilla. Of Mito Pica.

His grandmother.

Cabe had never known her, for she had died giving birth to her second son, his father. With Mito Pica destroyed, he had never bothered to seek that part of his family. He had assumed that they had perished with the rest.

But whether they had or not, Cabe knew that his grandmother had died long before, which made this phantom coach a very, very strange specter.

He wanted desperately to follow this new trail, but Marilee and Bertran were almost at the house already and Cabe believed that if he let them go alone they were at far more risk. If he had to trade his life for theirs, then so be it.

But he would do so fighting all the way.

No longer willing to hold back, Cabe transported himself to the front entrance just before the pair reached it. Marilee and Bertran paused.

“Your loved ones are not within,” he bluntly told them. “You are bespelled.”

From Marilee, he saw some understanding. Bertran, however, started forward again.

She blocked his way. “Bertran!”

He gave her a befuddled look. “Pa?”

“Stay here,” Cabe ordered. He drew an arc. A transparent golden shell formed around them.

That done, the wizard created another glowing sphere, then stepped through into what had once been a wide front hall. Cabe peered left and right, but only saw more evidence of the great house’s collapse. He moved deeper into the structure, finally entering areas where there still remained something of a ceiling.

A tattered tapestry fluttered on a far wall. Cabe would not have even noticed it save that in the light of the sphere he saw that just enough of the image remained to reveal a landscape.

A vale.

He made his way to the tapestry. For some reason, the landscape looked familiar even though the wizard was certain that he had never been to such a place.

The sobbing began anew.

Cabe wended his way out of the room, then hurried after the sound. At the far end of the hall, near where a huge double staircase had collapsed in on itself, the female figure slowly climbed into the air.

The wizard took another step...and the floor gave way.

It happened so quickly that he barely had time to shield his landing much less even stop his fall. Cabe hit hard, but not enough to do more than briefly knock the breath out of him. Even then, he was ready for the expected attack.

But nothing happened. Cabe summoned the sphere to him, possibly casting the first light on this chamber in decades.

The wall bore the sign of the vale, the image carved by some very skilled artisan. It stretched across the stone wall, but where it once would have been the focal point of the chamber, now what had burst through the wall itself more than stole that role away.

The roots were immense...and black even in the sphere’s glow. Cabe could have sworn that they briefly shifted when first the illumination fell upon them. He waited, but when they did not move again, he turned to study the rest of his surroundings.

The dark-haired woman stood watching him.

He gasped, but not merely because she was there. As surprising as the roots had been, they were less shocking to him than the fact that the woman’s feature were now visible to him. More to the point, that her eyes were visible to him.

Crystalline eyes that glittered even in the least light.

Cabe had seen eyes like those before. They were the eyes of a Vraad, the ancient race of sorcerers from whom all humans were descended. Very few knew of them or that the only known survivor—if he could be called such—was the cursed warlock called Shade.

But father, she began, talking to the air. he still thinks me only his servant...a servant fond of him, but nothing more. I can prove his duplicity to Uncle and then he can convince the Dragon Hunter! Nathan will listen to Uncle!

The wizard stood at a loss. First, here was a phantom bearing the mark of the Vraad, but speaking of another time...a time when Cabe’s grandfather Nathan had lived.

Still speaking to some silent, unseen memory, she vehemently shook her head and added, No! Whatever I felt for him doesn’t matter! He’ll bring everything down on us! The Kings already suspect you might not be as loyal as you seem. If they knew that you and Uncle did still speak—

There came a shifting behind Cabe. He whirled—

This time, there was no question about the roots moving.

The sobbing renewed. Feeling as if he were in the middle of a tug of war, Cabe looked back at the spirit.

Now, she was swollen with child.

If it was possible, the dark-haired woman was even more pale than before. She lay on some cot or low bed that the mage could not see, one arm reaching out and the other holding her belly. In place of the golden dress, the ghost now wore a simple ivory birthing gown, the color of which only served to make her look even closer to death’s door.

Please...please keep him alive! I...I beg you...you have the power...the power, Nathan! Forget me...forget his father...forget that thing I still fight in my head...save my...save my son...

Cabe Bedlam forgot about ghosts, forgot about huge roots, forgot about all else. He knew exactly what was playing out here. This was a significant birth, one at the end of the ill-fated Turning War. In its way, it would decide the outcome for two more centuries of Dragon King rule...stunted rule, but still rule.

As with Mito Pica, the blame fell upon him. The impending birth hinted at before him was the wizard’s own.

And this woman...this Vraad...was evidently his mother.

It was at that moment that he was struck hard from behind. As Cabe fell to the floor, he heard the unmistakable hiss of a drake.

Barely conscious, Cabe tried to push himself up...and as he did, he looked directly into the face of his mother.

The ghost smiled with sinister satisfaction, a smile most definitely aimed at Cabe.

I’ve waited so long...she murmured in his head. And now I have you...my darling son...

 

VIII

Bertran pounded against the shell. “It won’t break! I can’t break it! Blasted wizards!”

He received only silence from behind him. While he considered himself a fairly adaptable man, Bertran was always glad to have Marilee’s quick wits at his side. She usually had a plan or could come up with one on the spot.

“What do you think we should do?” he finally asked. Forgotten was the enchantment that had made him think his long dead father had called to him. Once more, he only saw how manipulating a wizard could be.

Hearing nothing from her, he turned. “Marilee, are you—”

Bertran found himself alone.

 

 

 

Cabe never completely blacked out, but neither did he remain conscious enough for several precious seconds to know what was happening. All he could think was that the ghost of his mother was trying to kill him...or worse. Yet, he could not fathom why.

There also remained a niggling doubt. He missed some vital clue, some truth. There had to be more than what appeared on the surface. He had lived too long to not have learned to never take anything at face value, not even ghosts.

Slowly, he regained his senses...and only then discovered that he was bound tightly by the huge roots. Cabe immediately concentrated—

The roots tightened, cutting off his air and threatening to break his bones.

The moment he ceased his efforts, the roots loosened just enough to let him breathe. Cabe found no relief in the fact that he had not been slain outright; that meant that his captor had other intentions for him.

A low hiss from his far right suddenly warned him that he was not alone. The sphere he had cast remained floating a few feet above the center of the chamber, giving the wizard sufficient light. The vines granted him the luxury of shifting his head just enough to see the iron drake standing in the shadowed corner. The drake stood utterly still and if not for his low, steady breathing, might have seemed dead.

If not dead, he was certainly under control of the same force keeping Cabe a prisoner. The drake provided it with some actual hands. That he had gotten near enough to the spellcaster to hit him had to be due to the obviously weakening but still somewhat potent power of the Aramite device.

A clinking sound echoed through the chamber. A tiny object rolled into view below the sphere.

It was the shattered chess piece from the vision involving Azran and Hadeen.

So cold, so alone for so long...then given freedom only to feed some contemptible wizard’s little plot! He thought he controlled me, but I was stronger...

The vision of Cabe’s mother formed again. The crystalline eyes stared hungrily at the captive mage.

This isn’t my mother, Cabe realized. It wore her form, but the eyes were not hers. They represented something else inhabiting her.

So clever, the little half-blood, the phantasm said without moving its lips. She drifted toward him. Played right into his hands and his hands played into mine! He wanted all that power in a malleable vessel, one from which he would eventually draw everything to him...but I was stronger...

She gestured and the chess piece rolled closer to Cabe. He could better see the top, where it was clear something within had escaped. What had Azran unleashed and why? Cabe still did not understand, save that it was Vraad in origin.

He remembered something his captor had said. His mother was a half-blood?

Hadeen! the wizard thought, imagining the half-elf who had raised him. Did you know?

The drake suddenly lurched forward. However, he did not walk toward either Cabe or the apparition, but rather the crest to mage’s left. As the scaled warrior stepped up to the wall, the roots there pulled away. Cabe could not make out the exact details, but saw now that there was a face carved below the crest.

This was a crypt.

The drake pulled back a fist, then struck the wall. The crash of his fist against the stone resounded through the chamber. Cracks already created by the roots spread farther.

Without hesitation, the drake struck again. This time, not only did the stone crack, but so did some of the bones in the drake’s hand.

Despite what should have been a horrific injury, the scaled warrior continued to pound at the wall. Cabe felt actual pity for the drake, who was killing himself for the apparition’s desires.

The roots stretched out, carrying Cabe forward, then turning him toward the task at hand.

No sooner had that been done, then some of the stone fell in, revealing a darkened area behind the wall. The drake now tore at the hole, making it bigger. His breath grew ragged and blood dripped from his hands, but he had no choice but to continue.

And at last, what lay within was revealed.

The tomb was a simple one, with the house crest evident over the silver and stone casket, which itself stood upon a waist-high marble platform. Someone had placed a vase of white roses by one end of the coffin, which Cabe assumed was where the head was.

But the simple elegance of the tomb was ruined by the insidious roots, which sprouted from the casket itself. Cabe frowned, wondering about the contents.

The ghostly female joined the drake as he entered the tomb. She turned to smile at Cabe, who was revolted by the fact that it wore his long-lost mother’s form. They thought they sealed me in, she mocked. but I would not be sealed in again! I fought. I raged...and was rewarded when all fell around me...

At some unspoken command, the drake worked as best he could with his ruined hands to open the coffin. With a long moan, the top slid back.

Cabe was not certain what he had expected. The true body of his mother, he supposed, either intact or decayed. Instead, a familiar golden substance covered the entire interior and whatever remains might have been placed first place.

Amber. The same substance in which Azran had sealed Lady Gwen for two centuries until Cabe had released her. Its preservative qualities, especially enhanced by magic, were renowned.

Azran had used it as a punishment, but aware of what held him prisoner, Cabe was certain that whoever had cast this had done so to contain something that needed to be contained.

My will was stronger than hers, stronger than his, stronger than all of theirs...she began anew. Though he tore my essence free the moment he pulled me from Dru Zeree’s foul prison, he failed to subdue my will! It grew within her, changed her...

The drake warrior slammed his fist against the amber. There was more cracking of bone, but nothing more. The roots shoved Cabe closer to the tomb. Although she was in sight now, the ghost continued to speak in his mind.

But then the infant grew strong enough to pull me two ways, weaken me. She prevailed...for a time. The infant was born...tearing me apart!

Suddenly, she was in front of Cabe, the hungry crystalline eyes burning into his soul in search of something. The wizard shut his eyes, only to have some force open them wide.

Child of mine you are as much as hers...more! Dear, sweet Dru would not let me have his darling daughter, but I shall cherish you...for the few moments I need to take back what’s mine!

As she spoke, another image briefly overlapped her. Cabe saw a strikingly beautiful yet ominous woman with short scarlet and ebony hair and tear-shaped eyes. He did not need to see that the eyes were crystalline to know that this was the ghost’s true image.

No sooner had it materialized then the other image faded. The twisted vision of his mother—whose name he still did not know—smiled. Cabe shivered.

Now...be a good son and open the way...

The roots shoved him all the way to the casket. As he closed, the amber took on a slight illumination of its own.

And briefly, ever so briefly, Cabe saw the woman within.

It was the same woman whose form the dark spirit currently wore, but with a softness that the ghost did not have. Her eyes were closed and so Cabe could not see if they had turned crystalline, but one thing that did catch his attention in that moment was her expression. There was a sadness that touched him.

Her hair was also swept back from ears, revealing something else that he only noted after the image had faded back into the thick amber. She had slightly pointed ears. His mother did indeed have elven blood in her.

The roots tightened. The wizard gasped for breath.

Open the way, my darling...

It occurred to him that with all her power, the apparition seemed entirely helpless where the amber was concerned. Cabe eyed the the casket, seeking now the spell matrixes.

At first, he thought somehow that he had cast it himself. It was his signature...but with a subtle difference.

Grandfather’s, the mage finally understood. Nathan cast this.

Now he understood why she needed him. The complexity was one that rivaled even a Vraad’s. There were elements to it that only Nathan could touch...or someone who was also Nathan.

The tragic path to Cabe Bedlam’s birth was also one at least as complex as the spell he now inspected. He knew from Gwen that Nathan had sacrificed a part of himself to save his grandchild, who came to the world already dying. That part of Cabe’s grandfather had only fully melded into him after the younger Bedlam had fought against the Ice Dragon. The wizard also knew that all humans had Vraad blood flowing through them, but had thought it diluted by the thousands of years since that race’s fading.

But now Cabe understood that his father had attempted something even more vile than he could have imagined. In his lust for absolute power, Azran had taken this captive Vraad female’s essence and instilled it in Cabe’s pregnant mother. The mage already knew that his father had intended to sacrifice him and draw his already potent life force into his own body, but by adding including the Vraad into the development of the baby, Azran had created the potential for an even more powerful prize.

The roots began to tighten again. Cabe immediately worked on the spell, but part of his mind still dealt with the truth in the hopes that it might lead him to some escape. He carried within him strong Vraad essence, the powerful life force of the Bedlam line, and the fairly immediate presence of elven essence as well.

Cabe Bedlam had always wondered why he had grown so powerful even being the grandson of Nathan and the son of Azran. There had been more to it. Much, much more. I am the amalgamation of several potent aspects of magic...a thing that could never happen by nature alone. I should not exist.

But that was a moot point. Not only did he exist, but he had loved ones and people to protect. Aware that the Vraad spirit grew impatient, Cabe continued to play at obeying. He needed to buy time until he could find escape.

As he probed deeper into the spell, he once more caught a glimpse of his mother. She was dead, Cabe knew that, dead sacrificing herself for him. Only now did he also see the black flower resting over her stomach. It looked as if it had been plucked full from the ground, for the roots trailed off her body toward the back and vanished below her. Although he could not see where they went, the spellcaster knew too well. While she might not have been able to shatter the amber, the Vraad had managed to penetrate it to a degree so that she could seek some outside power to fully free her.

But evidently, the only power that could was the same power—so to speak—that had imprisoned her in the first place.

Once again, the roots threatened to crush him.

Come, my darling...mother would leave this place...

That she was mad, the wizard was certain. That she was a danger to the Dragonrealm, Cabe knew as absolute fact, especially if she not only took back what had been stolen from her, but also all else that was him. She would be one of the most powerful spellcasters to ever walk the world.

I should never have followed so gullibly! I should have listened to him, not chased phantoms! As he berated himself, Cabe finally discovered the key to dissolving the spellwork. He kept his thoughts as well-shielded as possible. The Vraad might be strong, but she could not read all his thoughts.

Again, the mage received a tantalizing glance of his mother. He wondered why that kept happening. The Vraad already wore her form; she did not need to tease him so.

Then, Cabe thought about the fact that his mother was a half-elf. He knew what often happened to elves when they died. He had seen it happen to his adopted father.

The wizard placed his hand on the amber casing, hoping that he was not about to set the vengeful spectre free.

Another hand—a feminine one—touched the casing from the opposing side.

Without raising his own hand, Cabe looked in surprise at Marilee...or rather, something that wore Marilee’s form.

 

IX

The eyes met his.

The dark roots suddenly released the wizard. They lunged for the Vraad, who stood stunned at this turn. Despite the fact that she was an apparition, the first root to reach her actually managed to wrap itself around her ankle.

A savage hiss echoed throughout the chamber as the drake grabbed his sword with his ruined hands and severed the end of the lunging root. The Vraad dissipated, leaving Cabe and Marilee with the ensorcelled drake.

The roots now darted for the scaled warrior, but even injured as he was, the drake wielded the blade expertly. Pieces of root lay scattered everywhere.

Cabe almost pulled his hand free, but then Marilee’s hand slid over and pressed down on his. The wizard chose not to struggle, letting whatever used the woman to continue.

The roots began to curl into themselves. As Cabe watched, they quickly withered. At the same time, they also withdrew toward the coffin and the amber.

As if drunk, the drake now stumbled toward the mage and his companion. There was no doubt from the way he gripped the sword that he was after the pair. The Vraad still controlled him, even if that control had grown shakier. Well aware of the might of even a wounded drake, Cabe tried to cast a spell while still maintaining his link with the amber.

But again, ‘Marilee’ interfered. She squeezed the mage’s hand, making him look back at her. The woman said nothing, but there was a look in her eyes that made Cabe halt his casting.

The roots receded faster and faster, finally vanishing into the casket.

The drake dropped to his knees, then collapsed in a heap.

At the same time, Marilee also slumped forward. Cabe caught her before her head would have hit the amber. He pulled her around the casket, then set her against the nearest wall. Satisfied as to her health, the wizard checked on the drake. While still badly injured, the would-be assassin breathed regularly.

Searching the drake, Cabe found the Aramite creation. There was little power left in it, but that did not matter to the mage. With much satisfaction, he crushed it.

Despite the apparent victory, Cabe sensed that the Vraad had not been entirely contained. There was something he felt that he had not done and that he should have done, but all that mattered at the moment was to get Marilee—and the now helpless drake, he supposed—to safety.

No longer caring about spells attracting ghosts, Cabe did not take long in sending both unconscious figures to the floor above. When that was done, he paused to gaze at the ruined tomb of his mother, whose name he still did not know.

But there was someone who could tell him. The same someone he should have listened to earlier. The spectral carriage had been the most blatant summons yet.

“Farewell,” Cabe whispered to the amber. “I’m sorry.”

He vanished from the chamber, materializing a breath later in the room above. With another brief thought, Cabe summoned a new sphere.

Unfortunately, in its illumination he now saw that there was no sign of either Marilee or the drake.

Concentrating, Cabe probed for either one. There was no sign of them, but he did detect Bertran’s presence where he had left the big man. Sending the sphere a few yards in advance of him, the wizard headed to the entrance, hoping that Bertran could shed some light on the situation.

He spotted Marilee’s companion as he neared the arched entryway. Bertran continued to pound his fists against the barrier, only halting when he, in turn, noted Cabe’s return.

The wizard expected anger, but instead Bertran looked horrified. The man shouted something, yet no sound escaped him. That had not been part of Cabe’s spell.

The stone entrance collapsed on the mage.

It was fortunate for Cabe that with the destruction of the device his defensive spells had been fully restored, but even still he risked being crushed to death. Warned by Bertran’s expression, he managed to draw a shield above him just as the first heavy stones dropped. Even then, the force of the collapse pushed the wizard to his knees.

As Cabe struggled to free himself, a figure towered over him. He looked up into the savage, half-visible countenance of the helmed drake.

A drake with crystalline eyes.

“Were you thinking of leaving?” the Vraad asked through her puppet, the drake’s croaking voice mixing with a sly, feminine one. “But you wouldn’t let anything come to harm these poor innocents, would you?”

The Vraad-possessed drake gestured past Bertran to what had been a decorative statue that vaguely resembled a wolf. Although the head still remained, most of the features save one eye had been worn away by time.

But that was not so important as the fact that the statue peered with malevolent intention at Marilee, who was pinned beneath one half-shattered paw.

“I had a very nice pet similar to this one once,” the spirit merrily continued. “Or rather, a series of them! Every Cabal was always so loyal, so obedient! They would snap off someone’s head at my merest whim, just to please me...”

The statue’s carved mouth ripped open, revealing sharp stone teeth. In a grating voice, it asked, “Feast, mistress?”

“Not yet, my dear...” The drake grinned at Cabe. “Not if my sweet son does as his mother asks!”

“You—are not—my mother.”

The possessed warrior raised one hand. The stone wolf opened its jaws and set them around Marilee’s throat. Cabe noticed that Marilee was not conscious. The spirit that had inhabited her for a time—his true mother, he still believed—had gone back to her rest once the amber had been resealed.

But why had not the same happened with the Vraad?

“I am your mother,” the ghost insisted with indignation. “And I will teach you to say, if only before you die, ‘Yes, Melenea, you are my dear mother!’”

As she spoke, Cabe at last noticed something different about the drake. Insinuated in his armor and spread among the scales was a number of tiny black roots. From what the wizard could see, they all originated somewhere on the warrior’s back. Cabe had the notion that if the drake turned, there would be a black flower there.

Melenea had outwitted them, setting in place a link to the outside that even the sealing of the amber would not sever. She had no doubt done so the moment that she had ensnared the drake.

The sinister spirit saw his interest. “Oh, yes! I’ve had so long to plan, so long to think of all contingencies! I have a thousand plans for a thousand situations, most of them well-crafted over the ages trapped in that chess piece by dear, accursed Dru!”

Twice she had mentioned that name, one vaguely known to Cabe through his contact with Shade. Another Vraad and, if the hints that Shade had made once were true, one whose bloodline consisted these days of the Bedlams.

He did not think Melenea knew this. She had made no such comment. She might know that the legacy of the Vraad race ran through him, but not that her tormentor was the progenitor of the wizard. For the first time since he had learned of the ancient sorcerers, Cabe wished at least that one had somehow survived. There was a shift in Melenea’s tone that hinted that, despite her bravado, she feared this Dru Zeree.

Suddenly, a voice echoed through Cabe’s mind, a voice that the apparition also clearly heard.

Now who said you were allowed out of the game, Melenea?

The voice was ghostly, yet dominating. It had all the arrogance, the power, of a Vraad...although Cabe recognized it as someone he had known well, someone who was certainly not Vraad.

And with that declaration came the giant shadow of a chess piece shaped like a lunging wolf, but lacking a head.

For just a moment, the ghost lost her confidence. The ensorcelled drake let out a frightened hiss and stumbled back.

Then, the brief look of uncertainty changed to one of fury. “Not a very nice trick—”

Melenea’s own animated wolf howled as a ball of pure force sent it flying through the air and far beyond the estate. Cabe paid scant attention to the distant sound of stone shattering as he moved against his adversary. He reminded himself that this was the spirit of a Vraad, not a living one. The ghost had many limitations.

The drake was still one of them.

Melenea expected a magical assault; she did not expect a physical one. Cabe threw himself at the scaled warrior, hoping that he had guessed right.

The possessed drake tried to grab him, but while Melenea controlled the body, the hands still had broken bones. The drake’s grasp was not perfect, enabling Cabe to maintain his hold on the wrists despite the warrior’s greater strength.

“My foolish little child,” Melenea hissed through her puppet. “Is that the bessst you can—”

Her derision ended in a shriek as another figure came up behind her and tore at the black flower Cabe had been certain had been there. Bertran—released by the wizard—pulled hard, his might managing to stretch the flower’s roots tight and thus weakening the Vraad’s hold.

Yet, while it weakened, it did not break. The wizard knew that he needed a force far more powerful than Marilee’s companion, no matter how strong the man. Using the distraction, Cabe reached deep and found the drake’s mind. He awoke the would-be assassin and let him feel the strangling roots, feel the insidious presence taking over his body. In addition and perhaps most important of all, the mage sent an image of what had happened to the drake’s comrades in the forest, a dread reminder of what had happened the last time plants had entwined his kind. With it, the mage sent a suggested course of action.

The drake reacted just as Cabe hoped.

He transformed...but this time far more swiftly than those slain had likely attempted. It would put a tremendous strain on the drake...but the only other choice was continued enslavement.

Cabe flung himself back, at the same time casting both Bertran and the unconscious Marilee to safety. The wizard barely had time to do this before several tons of dragon began to grow before him.

The metamorphosis from armored knight to legendary behemoth was one that ever amazed Cabe. The iron drake swelled as if about to explode. His body arched and knees bent backward. His arms stretched forward and from his back burst two vestigial wings that immediately spread wider. The dragon’s head crest slid down over the face, revealing itself the drake’s true countenance.

The roots of the black flower strained, but this time they could not hold. One by one they snapped, until at last the baleful bloom hung loosely from one long tendril.

A golden aura created by the wizard swiftly surrounded the flower. The aura solidified, becoming amber.

Summoning the captured flower to him, Cabe probed it. He could sense a faint presence within. The struggle had greatly weakened the Vraad, just as he hoped.

Then, the wizard remembered the dragon that he had unleashed.

But his would-be assassin chose that moment to let out a ragged roar. The great beast twisted around, seeking something.

Seeking Cabe.

The dragon had a chance to take him. Cabe knew that. The dragon knew that. The huge head loomed over the spellcaster. The huge maw opened wide...but the dragon did not lunge.

And then...the blue-gray behemoth slumped backward. The gargantuan body fell toward the ruined house, crushing in what remained of the entrance and the front hall. The injuries and stress created by the Vraad’s possession had proven too much even for the nameless giant, although Cabe had not intended that. The wizard had hoped to talk peace with the dragon.

He could have attacked, Cabe definitely knew. He could have attacked.

That the dragon had not could only mean one thing to Cabe. Drakes had a code of honor, though that code was not always as humans understood it. This one knew that the wizard had freed him from his captivity, given him a chance to strike back at the Vraad. In return, Cabe’s nemesis had foregone his task, even though death was nearly upon him.

It meant that the mage would have a difficult time finding out who had paid the drake to hunt him down in the first place, but that was a trail for a different time. Cabe had things to settle here...first and foremost ensuring that the foul apparition never escaped again.

 

X

He materialized in the tomb, appearing right before the amber-encrusted sarcophagus. The moment he did, the amber there turned transparent, revealing his nameless mother. The wizard had a fair idea who she might be, even if he still did not know what to call her.

She was at rest, that much he somehow felt. Cabe believed that she had sensed when he had finally bested Melenea.

Thinking of the Vraad, Cabe brought forth the imprisoned flower. It looked like an exact duplicate of the one with his mother. Cabe wondered if he would ever find out the odd reason for that flower, which had given the malevolent spirit a foothold in the mortal world.

The Vraad waited for me all that time, the wizard thought. She could never truly be free unless I enabled her.

His grandfather had no doubt fashioned the spell to be one that only he could ever remove in order to ensure her permanent captivity. Yet, Cabe’s birth had from the start left a way out. Already bound to his mother, Melenea had surely known of Nathan’s sacrifice of part of his own essence into the infant. It was a rare mistake on the elder Bedlam’s part.

Setting the smaller piece atop the enchanted coffin, Cabe delved with his mind into the core matrix of his grandfather’s spell. There, he began dismantling the heart of all Nathan had done here.

As he expected, the Vraad made an attempt to escape through the partially-unraveled spell, but in many ways now torn between two places, her power was laughable. Cabe shunted aside her feeble effort, then made his changes.

The smaller piece of amber sank seamlessly into the larger, but ceased long before the two flowers—the grown from the first—could ever touch. Then, the wizard redid the overall matrix, adding his own unique touches. He also corrected for the unsettling and peculiar nature of Vraad magic, making certain that there would never be a repeat of the near escape.

And finally, when all that was done, Cabe stepped back from the tomb and with a gesture recreated the wall as it had been, minus the accursed roots. Not satisfied yet, he left the underground chamber, reappearing next to Marilee and Bertran. The two stood a safe distance from the estate, much of which was covered with dead dragon. He had already explained to them what he intended, but they still looked from him to the dragon and back again in complete disbelief.

“Can you really do that?” Marilee asked. “He’s dead.”

“A dragon is magic, even in ways many of them do not understand. That magic is still in him and it’ll enable me to do just as I promised.”

With that said, the wizard immediately concentrated on the huge corpse, seeking that inherent magic. He had never cast such a spell, but was confident that he could succeed.

Touching the lines of force that crisscrossed all things in the mortal world, Cabe directed them into the dragon. The dragon’s magic intertwined with those forces, joining power to power.

The estate erupted in a staggering display of colors. They represented only the merest fraction of the forces Cabe now put into play. All that was the iron drake—a creature of death—now began to transform the very grounds.

The land shook. Marilee instinctively seized Bertran’s arm, which the big man was clearly glad to give. Cabe gave both a reassuring look, but secretly set in motion a protective spell just in case.

The unleashed magic engulfed and absorbed the estate house, then spread forth. As it did, the outline of the landscape continued to shift and things began to sprout from the ground.

Trees. Dozens and dozens of trees. Their seeds had come from those scattered by the forest beyond. Left to themselves, they would have rotted away, but Cabe’s spell had gathered them together, nurtured them, and accelerated their growth. Before two minutes had passed, where once the estate house had stood there was now a copse of trees, with more adding to the ranks like a growing legion of sentinels.

In their midst, one other feature added itself. A stream fed by water redirected by the spell flowed through the wooded area.

It was not exactly a vale, but it was as close as could be fashioned here. Moreover, the virgin forest would continue to spread through the ruins of Mito Pica, taking the former city over as had not been possible before. Cabe did not know if Melenea’s presence had kept Mito Pica so desolate, so full of misery, but she had certainly contributed to it. Now, her part, at least, was at an end.

As for the Vraad, her spirit was sealed far, far below the surface, with the forest roots creating a barrier not even one of the massive, burrowing Quel could have penetrated.

“It’s—it’s beautiful,” Marilee finally whispered. Bertran merely nodded.

“This is the testament to our loved ones that Mito Pica should represent,” the wizard replied. “It can never replace them, nor do I expect it to make you and the rest forgive me for what part I played—”

“We’ve been wrong about that. You weren’t responsible. I can see that now and I’ll make certain that the others learn of it.”

Cabe shook his head sadly. “They’ll just think you under a spell.”

“Those who know me won’t...and we’ll convince the rest.” In their conversations since the Vraad’s defeat, she had said nothing about her possession by Cabe’s mother and the wizard had not brought it up.

He doubted that it would be so simple for her to convince the others, but let her words pass. “You needn’t walk to them. I can at least still send you off safely to your chosen destination.”

The two quickly shook their heads. “We’re good with walking,” she continued. “Besides, it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day here...for once.”

“As you like.” Cabe stepped back. “In that case, I’ll bid you farewell.”

Marilee gave him a smile. “Thank you, Master Bedlam...for changing everything.”

“No...thank you for forgiving me.”

Before she or Bertran could say anything else, the wizard vanished. There was someone else he had to thank, someone he should have thanked long, long ago.

 

 

 

Cabe reappeared not that far from where the other drakes and their mounts had perished. He could not see the area where the remains had been, but believed that by now there was nothing left. For the one who had slain them, the drake bodies would have been a scar on an otherwise peaceful forest.

He returned to the tree before which he had knelt. Once again, the mage marveled at its height, which was greater than that of trees he knew to be much older. The good health and immense size of this giant should hardly have surprised him, for any tree touched by the spirit of an elf—or even a half-blood—generally prospered well.

Knowing no other way to begin, Cabe quietly said, “Hello, Hadeen.”

The branches rustled despite no wind. The noise of their rustling seemed to create the spellcaster’s name. Cabe...

Feeling suddenly like the youth who had found his world turned upside down by drakes hunting him for merely being the grandson of Nathan Bedlam, Cabe bowed his head. “You’re the source of so many of the frightening visions people have seen here, aren’t you? You did what you could to keep anyone from coming within her reach and becoming a puppet, a set of hands for her, as the drake did.”

There was no answer, but Cabe felt certain he had things correct so far. After a moment’s consideration, the spellcaster went on, “You also tried to warn me in particular and I ignored those warnings. I’m sorry.” When there was still nothing from the tree, he bluntly asked, “You’ve been both trying to counter her and warn me each time I visited, haven’t you?”

Now the branches rustled. Yes...

“She tricked you and grandfather somehow. She managed to find a way to at least partially reach freedom...but couldn’t do anything more without me. It was because I had part of her and part of him. That made me unique, the only one with the power to undo grandfather’s spell.”

Yes...

“Azran released her. He found her a prisoner in that chess piece...that same set the Gryphon has now.”

There was silence. Cabe frowned. The first part of his comment was definitely truth.

“The Gryphon’s set is fake, a copy, isn’t it?”

Yes...

Hadeen was not trying to be uncooperative. The half-elf had been part of the tree so long, even this much speech was an effort. Using the ‘ghosts’ was easier, but they were limited in what they could pass along.

“You said nothing the other times...or did I just not understand?”

Yes...tried so hard...

The effort put into the last was staggering. Cabe shivered, thinking how long he had ignored what Hadeen had wanted him so desperately to know.

“She was stronger this time, wasn’t she? She only managed to finally pierce the amber recently.” The mage considered. “Once you had passed on and Mito Pica fell. Then, she finally had no one to keep her under control.”

This must be kept between us...another voice suddenly urged in Cabe’s mind. The wizard spun around to see two glowing figures. One was Hadeen...and so was the other.

No. After a moment, Cabe saw that there were some slight difference. The second half-elf also wore more elegant clothing.

The Dragon Hunter did his part, the second continued. He could not know that the seed had literally been planted. The demon spirit fooled us all there.

We must remove her from the tomb—Hadeen began.

No! This is where she lies...with me and with no other! She is my only child, my heart! The stories about me will keep most away from our home. In the Vale, she will find the peace she needs...

And the peace ever eluding us, eh brother? Hadeen pointed out. It is not our fault we were cast out. We did the right thing, even if those of our elven side did not understand.

Most of what Hadeen said went all but unheard as his term for the other caught Cabe utterly by surprise despite the obvious resemblance between the two figures. Brother? If so, that meant that while he had not been Cabe’s actual father...Hadeen had been his granduncle.

Ignoring the apparitions, the wizard turned back to the tree. “The master of the Vale was your brother? She was your niece?”

Even though there was no response this time, Cabe knew that he was correct. He now also understood that there had been many reasons why Hadeen had chosen to live on the outskirts of Mito Pica with Nathan’s grandson. He had not only been seeking to protect the infant...but had been working hand in hand with Cabe’s other grandfather to keep the Vraad spirit ensnared in the body of Hadeen’s unfortunate niece.

The mage’s mind spun. He knew that his wife, Gwen, who had lived in that time, did not know any of this. Nathan had lied even to her. She had only been told that Azran had taken a servant as the vessel for his child. Still, there had to have been some clues to the full truth. There was more involved here, but Cabe knew that it might take him a long time—perhaps a lifetime—to find out even a fraction of that.

Cabe sensed Hadeen’s spirit already receding into the essence of the tree. With the Vraad vanquished, there was little to hold Hadeen to the mortal world. Only protecting Cabe had enabled him to keep some sense of self since the city’s fall and the death of his mortal shell.

This is only the beginning, the spellcaster decided. Vanquishing Melenea was only one piece of a vaster puzzle...all about me.

He knew of only one place to begin. Penacles. The City of Knowledge. The Gryphon was the only one other than Gwen who had lived in that time and he had not spent two hundred years frozen alive. If there was someone who knew what had happened, it was the Gryphon.

And if he knew, Cabe would also demand to know why the lord of Penacles had kept all of this from him.

He gazed at the expansive crown of the tree, seeing in it the face of the half-elf. With a nod, Cabe murmured, “Thank you for everything...”

There was no rustling. The wizard had half-heartedly hoped for some reply, but knew enough about elves to understand that Hadeen had given him more than should have been expected. The half-blood had loved his foster son—and grandnephew—that much.

Cabe focused on Penacles. He saw no reason to waste any time. He wanted answers, at least some answers—

The branches rustled. Hadrea...

The wizard stiffened. He waited, but there was nothing else.

Hadrea. His mother. Cabe had her name. He could picture her now, picture her when she had been alive and vibrant.

Ignoring the moistness growing in his eyes, the wizard began casting the spell that would take him to Penacles. As he finished it, he suddenly called out to the tree, “Thank you for everything...father...”

And as he vanished, he thought he heard the rustling branches form one last word.

Son...