Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (91 page)

“You may—” Kyl began, but then he glanced at Grath. “One moment. You should take Grath with you, perhapsss. The better to occupy Lady Gwendolyn’s attention while you prepare to take her. What do you sssay?”

Valea saw the merit in the heir’s plan, which made her hate him all the more. Grath found it of interest, also.

“An interesssting notion,” returned the renegade, his smile more open. He was no doubt pleased by this sign of Kyl’s cooperation in this foul venture.

If I only had a few seconds of freedom!
She had already planned and replanned how she would have dealt with the drakes. As to whether or not her ideas would have succeeded, Valea did not care. Trapped, the mental images of Toma and the others, especially
Kyl
, at her mercy was the only thing she had to keep up her hopes.

“Interesting,” Traske/Toma continued. “But unnecessary. I have thingsss worked out, Your Majesty. Besidesss, your safety isss as great a concern. The humans tried to assassinate you once; they may try again. Grath’sss place should always be by your side.”

“Surely I am sssecure here.”

The false scholar indicated himself. “Where I can enter, who can sssay what others might have followed?”

Kyl quieted instantly.

Traske/Toma bowed again. “Once more, with your permission, I shall now leave.” His eyes darted from Kyl to Valea. The glance was only brief, but the hatred she felt in that look would have been enough to make her stumble away had the spell not prevented her from doing so. “Before thisss day isss done, Your Majesty, I promise you that the Manor will be secure.” He returned his gaze to the heir. “Then, your future may begin in earnessst.”

XIX

CABE LEFT THE
caverns of the Green Dragon feeling drained and still more confused. He did not know how to behave toward the Dragon King and was aware that he might possibly never resolve that problem. Eventually the warlock would also have to tell his wife. She would know that something was wrong.

He had left the matter of the Dragon King’s relations with the Gryphon and Darkhorse in the claws of Lord Green himself. The only thing that Cabe had promised was that he would not permit war. Somehow, if the truth came to be known to either of the two, Cabe would have to see to it that they did not attempt to seek justice—or
vengeance
—against the master of the Dagora Forest. That would be only the beginning, for the drakes would see such an attack as an assault on their race. Even the more level-headed Blue Dragon would likely join the fray.

Why is it that justice and right aren’t always necessarily the same thing?
Cabe pondered as he exited the cavern mouth into the forest.
I can see why the Green Dragon did what he did and I can see why he should be punished for doing so. Yet, to punish him would create an even greater conflict and accomplish nothing good. Might as well punish the drake guards who, trying to rescue Kyl, pushed Toos into the path of the bolt.
No one intended to do the last. The drake bodyguards had only been performing their function. They had not known about the assassin with the bow until it was too late.

There was only one thing good about this situation. The Green Dragon was very remorseful about what he had caused to happen. He had known Toos well; Cabe knew that the Dragon King was already punishing himself for the assassination. Behind the false helm, the reptilian eyes stared too often into empty space.

The only Dragon King who
would
feel remorse in the first place over something like this. It’s almost ironic. If Black or the Storm Dragon had been behind this, they would have shrugged their shoulders in disappointment that more had not died.

He took a moment to simply stand in the midst of the forest, drinking in the peacefulness of his surroundings. Cabe would have liked to have stayed longer, but Gwendolyn would be expecting him and there was much to do before the Blue Dragon’s arrival. They might have as little as a day and a half before the drake lord showed up. Someone would have to see to Kyl so that he would be prepared when the time came. That might take some doing, Cabe thought, for the last he recalled, the heir had still been secreted in his chambers.

The warlock did not intend to argue about the Dragon King traveling to the Manor, even though it went against his earlier wishes. Under the circumstances, Lord Blue could hardly be blamed for wanting to come so quickly. Had it been any other drake lord, Cabe would have remained adamant in his refusal, but Blue he trusted, if only because of the Gryphon’s friendship with the Dragon King’s son, Morgis.

Knowing he could delay no longer, Cabe pictured the main hall of the Manor. With a sorcerer of his skill, thought was as good as action. Cabe’s surroundings faded away to be replaced but a moment later by the very location he had just imagined. The warlock was pleased by the smooth transition. Sometimes, when his thoughts were as scattered as they felt now, his travel spell either took more time or left him more weary. On a rare occasion, he even ended up in a different location.

With his sorcery, he sought out his wife. Unlike the travel spell, this proved more troublesome, for, although he found her with little effort, she seemed not to notice him at first. At least, the sorceress did not
respond
immediately. Only when Cabe pressed for contact did the link establish itself.

Gwen?

Cabe. You’re back.

Her thoughts did not reach him as intensely as they should have had.
Are you all right? You don’t sound very strong.

She took a second or two to respond.
There has just been so much to do, so many things to keep track of.

I understand.
Now was not the proper time to tell her the truth about the Green Dragon and the assassination. That suited the exhausted mage. He was very much tempted, in fact, to simply wait until Kyl was on the throne and he and Gwendolyn finally had some time for themselves again.
You’re in the library?

Yes, I am.

I’ll come to you, then.
He broke off contact with her. Cabe was almost ready to transport himself to the library when a terrible ache in his stomach reminded him that he had still not eaten. Not wanting to disturb his wife again, the warlock decided to make an unscheduled stop in the kitchen.

When he materialized in the kitchen but a second later, the familiar smells of herbs and spices almost overwhelmed him, so hungry had he become. Cabe looked around, intending to apologize for his entrance, but neither Mistress Belima nor any of her helpers were present. The kitchen was completely empty. There was not even anything baking or cooking at the moment, a truly rare occurrence. Mistress Belima
lived
in the kitchen. She had once informed the master warlock quite testily that cooking was how she relaxed. Considering the delicious meals that the woman organized, Cabe no longer even brought up the subject.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?”

His question was greeted with silence. Cabe studied the room again, but other than the fact that no one was here, there was nothing unusual to see. He finally shrugged it off and began searching for something to eat. It would have been easier to conjure up bread and fruit, but with Mistress Belima’s kitchen, it paid better to search. One never knew what delight she had concocted and set aside.

Sure enough, besides the fresh bread that the woman always had ready, Cabe also found fresh oatmeal and raisin cookies, cheese, and a small bowl of some sort of vegetable mix. The warlock made himself a quick, makeshift meal, then bolted it down. He would have liked to have savored it more, but Gwendolyn would be wondering where he had gone. He located some milk to wash down the food and finally, because it was a rule no one dared break for fear of incurring Belima’s wrath, cleaned up after himself. Cabe was just about to shift to the library when he noticed that he was no longer alone.

Aurim stood across the room from him. The younger Bedlam looked rather bleary-eyed, as if he had not had much sleep in the past few days. The sun-tressed warlock stood on unsteady legs, gripping one of the tables. He blinked two or three times at his father, but said nothing.

“Aurim!” Cabe rushed to his son’s side. “Are you well?”

“Father, I . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t remember what I was going to say. . . .” A sickly yet somehow triumphant grin crossed Aurim’s countenance. “But I know that there’s something else to rememb—remember. . . .”

The master sorcerer slipped an arm around his eldest. “You shouldn’t even try to speak right now, Aurim. Let me take you back to your room.”

He blinked again. “No . . . I have to tell you . . . the spell, I played with it. . . .”

The spell? Toma’s spell?
What had his son done to himself? “You shouldn’t have worked on it on your own. I’d better bring you directly to your mother. She’ll better understand what you’ve done. Hopefully, she’ll also know what to do about it.”

“Mother?”

“She’s waiting for me in the library,” Cabe explained, but his son no longer appeared to be listening. Aurim’s brow was furrowed in an attempt at deep thought, although the attempt was already looking to be a failure. “You relax. Don’t try to think about it. There’ll be nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, there
is.
”

“Sssh! Hold tight.”

Aurim obeyed without protest. Cabe cleared his thoughts and transported the two of them from the kitchen to the library.

The room was immaculate, as always. The Bedlams treated the collection—and books in general—with respect. Volumes were always carefully returned to their original locations. Pages were never bent; bookmarks were always used. A preservation spell kept the books from deteriorating, but Gwendolyn had laid down a rule that no unnecessary light enter the room, for sunlight still damaged books over time. Instead, carefully positioned reading chairs were spread throughout the library. Some caught the light from the one window allowed for circulation while all had candles nearby. However, most of the Bedlams, being spellcasters one and all, provided their own illumination in the form of tiny spheres that they conjured. The magical light did not harm the books and generally gave better illumination than either the candles or the narrow stretch of sunlight. In truth, the library had been well-kept before their coming, but Cabe and his wife had felt that they should not allow the Manor’s ability to fend for itself cause them to become careless and slovenly.

He did not see Gwen at first, not until he turned halfway around and discovered her standing only a few feet from him. She looked mildly surprised at the sight of his companion.

“What’s wrong with Aurim?” she asked quietly. The enchantress made no immediate move to aid Cabe with his burden.

“I think that he’s been trying to free himself from Toma’s spell. I think he’s done something worse now.” Cabe began helping Aurim to the nearest chair.

“He should be in his room, then.”

“We can look him over just as easily here,” the warlock returned, just slightly annoyed. He could not shake the sudden feeling that he had missed something. The enchantress spoke much too calmly, and the only times that Cabe could recall when she had spoken in such a way was when she had either been ill or angry with him. Glancing her way, he noticed no sign of sickness, but neither did she seem upset with him. Gwendolyn simply seemed . . . detached.

“I can’t right now.” She gave no explanation.

He started to straighten. “What do you mean you can’t d—?”

“Is everything all right here?” asked a voice from the doorway of the library. Cabe looked up and saw Benjin Traske standing there. “I thought—” His eyes alighted on Aurim and his mouth shut. After a breath or two, he finally added, “Master Aurim . . . are you well?”

Cabe was about to answer for his son when Aurim quietly asked, “Father, will you help me to my room?”

The scholar stepped toward the Bedlams. “Allow me to do that, my Lord Bedlam. I am certain that you and the Lady Bedlam have much to do. Is that not correct, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“Yes, let Benjin help him, Cabe.”

The warlock gaped at his bride. Could she not see how disoriented their son was? Benjin Traske, for all his offer of assistance, could hardly aid Aurim in this. The situation called for a knowledge and skill in sorcery. Traske barely had even a glimmer of ability.

From his chair, Aurim leaned toward his father. “Would
you
help me, please?”

That was enough for Cabe. The younger man was almost pleading. Aurim was probably afraid that he had caused more harm than good to himself, which was the way his father also felt. That Gwen could not see it astounded Cabe. Later, he would have a word with her, but for now, it was best that he brought Aurim back to his room and did what he could to help.

“Take my arm,” he ordered his son. To Traske, he added, “I thank you for your concern, but I’ll take care of this.”

The massive tutor’s face grew expressionless and he bowed. “As you wish, my Lord Bedlam. Then, if I may have but a word with your wife, I’m certain that she will be along shortly to help you.”

“Of course,” replied the enchantress.

Cabe had no more time to consider Gwendolyn’s behavior. With Aurim holding on to him, albeit unsteadily, he simply turned to her and said, “Please hurry.”

Her reply was a rather disinterested, “I will.”

He was still frowning when Aurim’s bedchamber took the place of the library. The tired mage helped his son to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Aurim looked around as if he had lost something. Cabe scanned the room, but saw no object that might have been what the younger sorcerer was seeking.

“She . . . they . . .” Aurim let loose with an uncharacteristic snarl. “Just a little
more
! I only need a little more and then I’ll have it!”

“Aurim, what
are
you talking about?” Cabe knelt by his son and tried to meet the latter’s gaze. Aurim stared past him, however, a haunted look in the young man’s eyes.