Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (41 page)

The ebony leviathan stood silent in an open patch away from the main encampment. Two sentries stood watch from a more than healthy distance, but they were there more for decoration and were not even looking at the captive. What truly held the shadow steed prisoner was a peculiar, metallic harness device that hung around his neck. From the harness stretched four thin lines whose other ends were looped around his legs just above the hooves. Cabe could detect the power ravaging Darkhorse even from far away. The baleful Aramite device was designed not only to hold its captive in place, but to slowly drain him of any will or strength to escape. Judging by the way the eternal’s head dropped and how dim the once-blazing eyes were, the foul creation of the wolf raiders was doing its work and doing it well.

The guards did not notice him, but when the warlock was only a few yards from Darkhorse, the shadow steed raised his weary head. He did not look at the spellcaster, but Cabe felt a weak touch in his mind. Cabe shuddered at the feebleness of that touch. How had the eternal come to this?

He continued on past the guards, who looked too caught up in their misery at having had to stand night duty to ever notice a specter crossing their paths. The silent warlock walked until he was next to the prisoner, then turned around so that he could keep watch on the sentries while he and Darkhorse conversed.

“Can you speak?” Cabe whispered.

“That . . . power is still mine. I had . . . given up hope . . . for you, Cabe. My heart lightens.”

The shadow steed’s tone did anything but lighten his. This close, he could better feel the wicked work of the harness. Each moment further drained his companion of his might. Darkhorse, however, was almost all magic; if the harness was allowed to continue its work unheeded, it would eventually drain the eternal’s very essence away.

“You can’t shift?”

“No, the harness prevents that.”

Cabe studied the diabolical creation while he talked. “How did you come to be here? Did the patrol capture you after we were separated?”

A little of Darkhorse’s bluster returned. The harness might be sapping his strength, but the return of the warlock was a revitalizing force. “That rabble? They scattered in every direction and never came back.”

One of the guards turned, a look of curiosity spread across his war-ravaged face. His comrade also turned, but seemed more curious about what the other sentry was doing. The first man took two steps toward the eternal and stared at him. With a casual turn of his head, the black stallion stared back. The guard swallowed and stumbled back, much to the amusement of his companion. Both men swapped glares at each other, then returned to their duties.

“Talk quieter!” hissed Cabe. “At the level I do.”

“I have become . . . careless . . . but it is so good to see you, Cabe! I thought my obsession had cost you your life. In dwelling on the loss of one friend, one enemy, I did not pay heed when another friend needed me.”

“You were trying to protect me,” the human protested, still attempting to find some way of removing the harness. He had to be wary; there were alarm spells woven into the arrangement. They were old, however, likely implemented when the harness had first been created. If he was careful, Cabe was certain that he would have no trouble bypassing them. Actually releasing Darkhorse from his magical chains was a more troublesome predicament. The sorcery involved in the evil work of the device was bound also to the captive. In trying to free his friend, Cabe might kill him instead.

“Do you have any notion as to how this may be removed?”

“I do not.” Darkhorse sounded much stronger, if not any more confident. “Forget me, Cabe. There are other matters you would be better off attending to.”

The warlock thought about the wild Nimthian sorcery loose below, but said nothing concerning it to Darkhorse. He could not leave the shadow steed here. Besides, with the stallion’s aid, perhaps a solution to that situation could be discovered. “I’m not leaving you.”

Both sentries turned. Cabe moved as close as he could to his companion. Darkhorse eyed the two raiders, and as had happened before, the soldiers quickly turned away. The dark leviathan’s ice-blue orbs brightened in amusement.

He tilted his head toward Cabe. “Then hear this thought. You asked how I had come to these dire straits. When I discovered that we had become separated, I searched for you. Unable to find any sign, I returned to Esedi, hoping that you would also return there. Much to my dismay, I did not materialize where I had intended. Thinking that the same . . . the same had become of you, I searched the hills carefully. Upon my return to our original point of departure, I was greeted with a surprise.”

As desperate as he was to hear the point of the story, Cabe did not try to hurry Darkhorse. The eternal would explain in his own manner and at his own pace.

Fortunately, this was not to be a long tale. “Awaiting me in the hills was none other than the Lord Gryphon.”

“The Gryphon!”
It was all the stunned mage could do to keep from shouting the name. The one thing he had not expected was the lionbird’s return from the war.

“The Gryphon, yes. He it was who joined me when I entered Legar this second time. He it was who was with me when a second and better-equipped patrol found us.” The leviathan lowered his head, the gleam fading a little from his unsettling eyes. “He it is who is now, too, a prisoner of these jackals.”

Which was why the shadow steed had surrendered, no doubt. Cabe forgot the harness. Turning to gaze out at the mist, he asked, “Where? Do you know?”

“There is a large, flat-looking tent to . . . to your present right. It is some distance from here. When I was being led here, I saw them put him in there.”

“After I free you, we’ll rescue him.” His face was grim. The warlock had wished for aid in his mission and he had received it in the form of two prisoners, one weakened near to the point of collapse and the other . . . Cabe tried not to think about what the wolf raiders might do to their most hated enemy.

“You miss my . . . my point, Cabe. Rescue the Gryphon now for two reasons. The first is that he might have the knowledge to free me from this vile contraption. He knows the curs better than either of us. The second reason is of the most import; this morning he is to be presented to the leader by some despicable little monster calling himself D’Marr. I heard that much. If you do not rescue him very, very soon, I fear we will lose our only chance. This D’Marr sounds ready to treat the Gryphon to the tender mercies of the empire at this morning’s confrontation. I do not think our friend is supposed to survive the event.”

Cabe hesitated but a moment. As dire as the shadow steed’s situation was, there was no argument that the Gryphon faced the most immediate threat. For years, Aramite spies and assassins had tried to put an end to what they considered the empire’s chief foe. Now, that foe was in their clutches. It would be an inspiration to D’Farany’s forces and no doubt a way of wreaking vengeance for his own personal losses if the keeper was able to present the Gryphon’s battered and torn body to his followers.

“Show me again the direction,” he finally whispered.

Darkhorse dipped his head toward the unseen tent. “The camp is starting to stir. They have not slept well this last night. Go swiftly but go very cautiously.”

Cabe faced his old friend. “I
will
be back for you.”

“I have faith. Your being here gives me new strength with which to battle this thing of torture. Now go!”

Slipping past the two sentries, the warlock again moved nigh invisible through the camp. He was pleased his spell still held true, but was aware that each moment made the chances of mishap greater. Cabe had to find the Gryphon, release him, and return to Darkhorse. With the Gryphon to aid him, they would surely be able to find some way to free the eternal. Darkhorse was also large enough to carry both of them, which would be a necessity once either escape was noticed.

He had just sighted the tent when a minor tremor shook the area. It was short and mild, but its appearance raised a muttering among the soldiers nearby, including those who had been sleeping before the quake had begun. Cabe gritted his teeth as he pondered what could be done. Had D’Farany tried to halt the destruction and failed or had he simply abandoned the underworld under the mistaken impression that the violence would not affect the surface?

Guessing was futile. Cabe set his mind on his present task. First the Gryphon, then Darkhorse, and finally escape. Once they were secure, then they could discuss their next move.

Although he was positive that he had found the correct tent, the warlock nonetheless decided to risk reaching out with his mind to discover who or what was inside. It might be that the lionbird had been moved to another location. It also might be that Cabe had chosen the wrong tent. Surely there had to be more than one tent so designed. Moving over to another, much nearer tent . . . just to be on the safe side . . . the warlock probed.

Gryphon?
He sensed more than one being in the tent. There were several, in fact, and Cabe’s impression was that they were all prisoners of the wolf raiders. Cabe investigated one of the other minds, then immediately withdrew in disgust.
Quel!
They had put the Gryphon in with a band of Quel.

At least I know that he’s in there, too.
His probe had been able to verify that fact even though Cabe had not actually linked with his former comrade. Still, it would be a wise move to alert the Gryphon to his coming so that the lionbird would be ready when the time for escape arrived.

Then, before he could act, a new presence invaded his senses. Cabe flung himself against the tent and tried to shield his own existence from the other. He prayed it was not too late. If he was discovered now, it was the end for all of them.

Out of the mist came the tall, familiar figure of Lord D’Farany. The keeper strode across the camp accompanied by several men, including a much slighter but foreboding officer who carried on his belt a crystal-tipped scepter that radiated sorcery. The shorter raider was fitting his helm on his head and looked to have been only recently asleep. He was muttering something to Lord D’Farany, who nodded once but did not otherwise reply.

The keeper suddenly came to a halt. As all but the slight officer looked at one another in confusion, the Aramite commander shifted his gaze toward the tent where Cabe hid. The talisman in his hand glowed, but no discernible spell was cast. At his side, the sinister aide also studied the spot where the warlock stood.

Despite the years it seemed, only a handful of seconds passed before the raider commander turned away. The other Aramite continued to watch a moment longer, but when his master resumed his walk, the officer had to follow.

It was not until the danger to his own person was past that Cabe noticed where the party was heading. His fists clenched in frustration and he silently swore in the name of his Vraadish ancestors.

He was too late. The wolf raiders had come for the Gryphon.

XVI

AS THE DAY
began, soldiers all around the encampment noticed changes from the previous days. The fog moved with renewed violence and this time with a virile wind behind it. There were tremors now and then, each a little stronger than the last. Some also left in their wake peculiar humps of earth almost resembling the upturned dirt left by the underground passage of a mole or gopher, only larger. That started muttering about the need for fresh meat, which was quickly quelled by officers, who secretly agreed.

No one paid too much attention to the changes. There was nothing that the army could do about them and rumor had it that the expedition was at last going to be moving on to better climes. That sort of rumor was more welcome and soon became the only topic of importance.

Meanwhile, the tremors increased and the mounds, sometimes appearing even when there
was
no quake, soon crisscrossed the entire camp.

THE GRYPHON CEASED
struggling with his bonds the moment he became aware of the sounds of armored men approaching the tent. Much to his dismay, the Gryphon had made very little headway in his attempt to free himself. D’Marr’s men had performed a practiced effort upon him; try as he might the bonds had not loosened one bit. That he had less than a full complement of fingers on one hand did not help matters.

Both he and the Quel looked up as a soldier pulled the tent flap aside. A column of six men entered the tent, the last two being D’Marr and a tall, scarred figure who could only be Lord Ivon D’Farany.

One of the guards removed the gag around the Gryphon’s beak. The lionbird opened and closed his mouth a few times to see if it still worked.

“You have not changed much after all these years, Gryphon,” the Aramite commander commented in quite polite tones. He reminded the captive of D’Rak, the senior keeper at the time of his arrival on the other continent. The same tone was there, although in this case, it was tinged with borderline madness. The Gryphon did not have to look into D’Farany’s unholy eyes to recognize the sickness.

“So, we have met before,” he replied.

The keeper toyed with his talisman, one of the largest of the so-called Ravager’s Teeth that the prisoner could ever recall seeing. “Under the streets of Canisargos, in the days when the true Pack Master still ruled, the Lord God Ravager smiled down upon his children, and I was chosen to be my Lord D’Rak’s successor.”

“Under the streets?” The Gryphon recalled battles and flight as he and the drake Morgis, the latter in humanoid form, were pursued by the minions of the empire. The keepers in particular had been avid hunters. That hunt had ended in chaos and destruction, however, when the spell that had prevented Morgis from transforming into a dragon had been broken. Bursting upward through the very streets of the massive city, the dragon, with the lionbird on his back, had flown off, leaving behind him ruin.

A lipless smile crossed the drawn countenance of the raider leader. “I led that patrol that fought you. When the dragon brought the city down upon the catacombs beneath, I was nearly crushed. I
did
survive though . . . only to suffer
much
greater later on, when our Lord Ravager’s gift was withdrawn.”