You will raise me a demon. 


The words were seared into Drayfitt's mind. The chilling 
visage of his monarch haunted him still. There had never been 
any doubt that the king had been serious. He was a humorless, 
bitter man who had, over the last nine years since his horrible 
disfigurement, become everything that he had at one time 
despised. The palace reflected that change; where once it had 
been a bright, proud structure, it was now a dark, seemingly 
unoccupied shell. 


Yet, this was Drayfitt's ruler, the man who represented what 
he had sworn his loyalty to more than a century before. Thus, 
the gaunt, elderly man had simply bowed and said, "Yes, King 
Melicard." 


Ahh, Ishmir, Ishmir, he brooded. Why could you not have 
waited until my training was complete before you flew off to die 
with the other Dragon Masters? Better yet, why did you have to 
train me at alt? 


The chamber he occupied was one of the deepest beneath the 
palace and the only one suited to the task at hand. The seal on 
the door had been that of Rennek II, Melicard's great-great 
grandfather and a man known for dark tastes. The chamber had 
been cleaned so that Drayfitt could make his marks, etch the 
lines of the barrier into the floor. The cage, a thing of 
enchantment, not iron, filled much of the room. He was 
uncertain as to what dimensions a demon might possess, and 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


much of what he did was guesswork, even with the aid of the 
book Quorin had located for the king. Still, Drayfitt had not 
•outlived most of his contemporaries by leaping blindly into 
things. 


The room was dark, save for a single torch and two dim 
candles, the latter necessary for reading the pages of the tome. 
The flickering torch raised demons of its own, dancing shadows 
that celebrated the coming spell with gleeful movements. Drayfitt 
would have preferred the place brilliantly lit, if only for his 
own nerves, but Melicard had decided to watch, and darkness 
preceded and followed the king wherever he stalked. Shifting, 
the ancient sorcerer could feel the strength of Melicard's 
presence behind him. His lord and master was obsessed— 
obsessed with the destruction of the Dragon Kings and their ilk. 


"How much longer?" Melicard's voice throbbed with anticipation, 
like a child about to receive a favorite candy. 


Drayfitt glanced up. He did not turn to his ruler, but rather 
studied the design in the floor. "I am ready to begin, your 
majesty." 


The voice of Quorin, the king's counselor, abruptly cut 
through the sorcerer's thoughts like a well-honed knife. Mal 
Quorin was the closest thing Talak had to a prime minister 
since the demise of old Hazar Aran, the last man to hold the 
position, two years ago. The king had never replaced him, 



though Quorin did nearly everything the prime -minister was 
supposed to do. Drayfitt hated the counselor; it was the short, 
catlike man who had first reported to Melicard that there a 
spellcaster in the city—and one sworn to the king. If there was 
any justice, any demon he succeeded in summoning up would 
demand the counselor as a sacrifice—if a demon could stomach 
such a foul morsel. 


"One was beginning to wonder, Drayfitt, if your heart was 
in this. Your loyalty has been. . .cool." 


"If you would like to take my place. Counselor Quorin, I 
will be happy to let you. I certainly would not want to stand in 
the way of someone obviously more well-versed in sorcery than 
myself." 


Quorin would have replied, always seeking the last word, but 
Melicard cut him off. "Leave Drayfitt to his task. Successful 
results are all that matter." 


The king supported Drayfitt—for now. The old man wondered 
how long that support would last if he failed to produce the 


SHADOW STEED 


creature his liege desired. He would be lucky to keep his head 
much less his quiet, simple position as Master of Appointments. 
Now, the latter was probably lost to Drayfitt, success or 
not; why waste a man of his power on a minor political post 
even if it was all Drayfitt had ever wanted? 


Enough dreaming of things lost! he reprimanded himself. 
The time had come to summon the demon, if only to tweak the 
well-groomed mustache of Quorin. 


Neither the king nor his counselor understood how simple 
the summoning itself actually was. There had been times when 
he had been tempted to tell them, to see the disbelief on their 
faces, but his brother had at least taught him that the secrets of 
sorcery were the most precious things a mage owned. To 
maintain his. position and to counterbalance those like Quorin, 
Drayfitt had to build himself up as much as possible. It would 
have been laughable if it had not been so tragic. There was a 
chance that success might get them all killed. The barrier might 
not hold whatever it was, if anything, he summoned. 


Raising one hand in a theatrical manner he had practiced 
long and hard to perfect, Drayfitt touched the fields of power 
with his mind's eye. 


The summoning was simplicity itself; surviving the encounter 
with whatever happened to be snared was another matter. 


"Drazeree's ghost!" Quorin blurted in growing fear. 


Drayfitt would have smiled, had he heard the outburst, but 
his mind was on the link he had created. There was only the 
link—no chamber, no king, not even his own body. He was 
invisible—no—formless. It was an experience that he had 
never before achieved and the wonder of it almost proved fatal, 



for in maintaining his link with the spell, he nearly broke the 
one binding him to his mortal form. When the sorcerer realized 
his error, he immediately corrected it. A lesson learned, Drayfitt 
realized ... almost too late. 


Before him, the stream of light that was the mental representation 
of his bond disappeared into a gleaming tear in reality. 
He knew that the tear was visible to the king and Counselor 
Quorin, a sign of success for them to mull over while he moved 
up. If failure greeted him at any point onward, he hoped that 
Melicard would realize that he had tried his best, that he had 
proved his loyalty. 


A cold presence with a feel of great age grazed the outer 
boundaries of his seeking mind. Ancient was not a satisfactory 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


description for such a creature. A desire to abandon the 
summoning washed over Drayfitt, but he fought it, understanding 
that it was a ploy by the creature he had snared. The 
analogy of a fisherman who has caught the grandfather of all 
sea monsters did not escape him. What he had snared was 
powerful—and very reluctant to the notion of being forcibly 
brought to Drayfitt's world. It was ready to fight him with all 
weapons available to it. 


Some would have fought the demon here, in this place with 
no name, but Drayfitt knew that he could only bind his catch if 
he battled it from the physical as well as the spiritual planes. 
The earth, whose existence was interwoven with both the fields 
of power and his own life, was his anchor. 


As he retreated toward his body, the sorcerer was amazed at 
the ease with which he drew the demon after him. The struggle 
was far less than he expected, almost as if the demon had some 
strong bond of its own with his world, a bond it could not deny. 
That a thing spawned out there could have any tie with the 
mortal plane disturbed him. The thought of a trap occurred to 
him, but it was a brief notion. Such a trap was too daring; the 
closer they moved back to Drayfitt's domain, the more difficult 
it would be for the demon to free itself. 


The sorcerer felt the creature's growing frustration. It was 
fighting him—constantly—but like someone forced to do battle 
on a number of fronts. Had they met on equal terms, both with 
their respective abilities intact, the elderly sorcerer knew that 
he would have been no more than a breath to his adversary. 
Here, the battle was in Drayfitt's favor. 


The return seemed endless, far longer than when he had 
departed his body. As he finally neared his goal, he was struck 
by a great wave of panic emanating from the demon. The link 
stretched as he had not known it could and, for a moment, it 
felt as if part of the demon had broken away. 


Nonetheless, his prey was with him. Body and mind began 
to meld. Other things—sounds, pressures, odors—demanded a 
measure of his attention. 



"He's stirring again!" 


"You see, Quorin? I told you he had not failed. Drayfitt is 
loyal to me." 


"Forgive me, my liege. Three hours we've stood here, 
waiting. You said he'd dare not die and, as usual, you were 
correct." 


SHADOW STEED 


The voices echoed from a vast distance, as if the spellcaster 
were hearing them through a long, hollow tube... yet, both 
men surely stood nearby. Drayfitt allowed his senses time to 
recover and then, still facing the magical cage he had created, 
opened his eyes. 


At first glance he was disappointed. The rip in the middle of 
empty space still remained and nothing stood within the confines 
of the barrier. Around him, the shadows still danced 
merrily, among them the two distended forms of his companions. 
The shadows of the king and the counselor loomed over 
his head while his own seemed to crawl across the floor and up 
a good piece of the far wall. Most of the pattern that he had 
drawn on the floor was smothered in darkness as well. 


"Well?" Quorin asked testily. 


The link still remained, but it no longer extended beyond the 
tear, instead twisting uselessly back into the shadowy regions 
within the boundaries of the magical cage. The rip was already 
closing. Drayfitt, confused, stared at the empty scene for 
several seconds. He had succeeded—at least all indications 
pointed to that. Why, then, did he have nothing to show for his 
efforts? 


It was then he noticed the difference between the flickering 
dancers on the walls and the stillness of the inky darkness 
within the barrier. The shadows did not move when they should 
and even appeared to have depth. Drayfitt had the unnerving 
sensation that to stare too long was to fall into those shadows— 
and never stop falling. 


"Drayfitt?" The king's confidence was turning to uncertainty 
tinged with burgeoning anger. He had not yet noticed the 
difference in the shadows. 


The gaunt sorcerer slowly rose, a wave of his hand indicating 
that silence was needed. With one negligible thought, he broke 
the link. If he was mistaken and there was no demon, Melicard 
would soon have his hide. 


Stepping nearer—though not so near that he was in danger of 
accidently crossing the barrier—Drayfitt examined the magical 
cage with a thoroughness that left the king and counselor 
fidgeting. When Drayfitt saw the shadows twist away, he knew 
he had succeeded. 


There was something in his trap. 



"Do not try to play me for a fool," he whispered defiantly. 
"I know you are there. Show yourself—but beware of trying 


6 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


any tricks! This cage has surprises designed just for your kind, 
demon!" 


"What's that you're doing?" Quorin demanded, starting to 
step forward. It was clear he still assumed that Drayfitt had 
failed and that the sorcerer was now stalling in the hopes of 
saving his neck. 


"Stay where you are!" Drayfitt commanded without looking. 


The counselor froze, stunned by the sheer intensity of the 
spellcaster's tone. 


Turning his attention back to the barrier, the elderly man 
repeated his earlier command, this time for the other two to 
hear. "I said show yourself! You will obey!" 


He waved a hand in the air, using it to guide the lines of 
power to the results he wanted. He was not disappointed. 


It howled\ The noise was so horrifying that Drayfitt's concentration 
all but broke. Behind him, Quorin swore and stumbled 
back. Whether Melicard was also shaken, the sorcerer 
could not say. Even the king had his limits. As the ringing in 
his ears died down, Drayfitt wondered if everyone in the 
palace—everyone in Talak—had hear the demon's howl of 
pain. He almost regretted what he had done... but he had to 
show the creature who was master. So it had always been 
written. 


At first, he did not notice the darkness draw inward, thicken 
even, if such a thing was possible. Only when the first limbs 
became recognizable—and then the fact that there were/owr of 
them, all legs—did he fully appreciate his success. The demon 
had finally, completely, bowed to his will. 


The three men stood mesmerized by the transformation 
occurring before them. Forgetting their uncertainty, the king 
and counselor joined Drayfitt near the outer edge of the barrier 
and watched as a trunk joined the legs, and a long, thick neck 
stretched forth from one end, while a sleek, black tail sprouted 
from the other. 


A steed! Some sort of ghostly steed! The head coalesced into 
a distinct shape, and Drayfitt amended his opinion. It was more 
like the shadow of some great horse. The body and limbs were 
distended, changing as the demon moved, and the torso... The 
spellcaster had the uneasy feeling that if he stared too long he 
would fall into the demon and keep falling forever and ever. 
Anxious to rid himself of the idea, he turned his head, only to 
find the face of the king. 



SHADOW STEED 7 


Unaware of the sorcerer's nervous gaze, the disfigured king 
giggled at the sight of his new prize. "You have done me a 
wondrous service, Drayfitt! This is all I asked for and more! I 
have my demon!" 


With a smooth, swift motion, the huge head of the dark steed 
turned to face the trio. For the first time, the ice-blue eyes 
became noticeable. Drayfitt returned his gaze to his prisoner. 
He shivered, but not nearly so much as he did when the demon 
arrogantly shouted, "You mortal fools! You children! How 
dare you pull me back into this world! Don't you realize the 
havoc you've brought forth?" 


Drayfitt heard a sharp intake of breath from beside him and 
knew immediately that Melicard was mere moments from one 
of his fits of rage. Not wanting the king to do something 
foolish—something that might release the demon in the process— 
the spellcaster shouted back, "Silence, monster! You have no 
rights here! By the spells I have performed, you are my servant 
and will do my bidding!" 


The black horse roared with mocking laughter. "I am not 
quite the demon you originally sought, little mortal! I am more 
and I am less! You caught me because my link to this world is 
stronger than that of any creature of the Void!" The steed's 
head pressed against the unseen walls of his cage, eyes seeking 
to bum through Drayfitt's own. "I am the one called Darkhorse, 
mage! Think hard, for it is a name you surely must know!" 


"What is he talking about?" Quorin dared to mutter. He had 
one hand pressed against his chest, as if his heart were seeking 
escape. 


In the dim torchlight, neither of his companions could see 
Drayfitt's face grow ash white. He knew of Darkhorse and 
suspected the king did as well. There were legends, some only 
a decade old, about the demon steed, a creature whose former 
companions included the warlock Cabe Bedlam, the legendary 
Gryphon, and, most frightening of all, the enigmatic, cursed 
immortal who called himself Shade. 


"Darkhorse!" the sorcerer finally succeeded in uttering, as a 
whisper. 


Darkhorse reared high, seemingly ready to burst through the 
ceiling. In a mixture of regret and anger, the demon steed 
retorted, "Aye! Darkhorse! Exiled by choice to the Void in the 
hopes of saving this mortal plane from the horror of a friend 
who is also my worst enemy! This world's worst nightmare!" 


8 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"Silence him, Drayfitt! I want no more of this babbling!" 
Melicard's voice had a dangerous edge to it that the spellcaster 
had come to recognize. He feared it almost as much as he 
feared what now struggled within the barrier. 


"Babbling? If only it were so! Darkhorse shifted so that it 



was now the king who faced his inhuman glare. "Don't you 
listen? Can't you understand? In summoning me back, you've 
pulled him along, for I was his prison! Now he roams free to 
do whatever ill he so desires!" 


"Who?" Drayfitt dared to ask, despite the growing rage 
of his liege at the lack of obedience. "Who is it that I have 
accidently released?" It was the thing he had feared all during 
the preparations, that he would accidently loose some demon 
on the Dragonrealm. 


Darkhorse turned his massive head back to the sorcerer and, 
oddly, there was a sadness inherent in both the chilling eyes 
and the unholy stentorian voice. "The most tragic being I have 
ever known! A friend who would give his life and a fiend who 
would take yours without a second's care! A demon and a hero, 
yet both are the same man!" The spectral horse hesitated and 
quietly concluded, "The warlock ShadeV 


So different from Gordag-Ai. So big! 


Erini Suun-Ai peered through the curtain of her coach 
window, ignoring the worried looks of her two ladies-inwaiting. 
A light wind sent her long, blond tresses fluttering. 
The breeze was pleasantly cool against her pale, soft skin and 
she leaned into it, directing the delicate, perfect features of her 
oval face so that the wind stroked every inch. Her dress, wide, 
colorful, and flowing, made it impossible to sit directly next to 
the window, and Erini would have preferred to take it off, 
hating it the way it ballooned her slim figure. 


Her ladies-in-waiting whispered to one another, making dis-


SHADOW STEED 9 


paraging remarks. They did not care to see their new home, the 
huge, overwhelming city-state of Talak. Only duty to their 
mistress made them come. A princess, especially one destined 
to be a queen, did not travel alone. The driver and the cavalry 
unit escorting her did not count; they were men. A woman of 
substance travelled with companions or, at the very least, 
servants. Such was the way of things in Gordag-Ai, in Ae 
lands once ruled by the Bronze Dragon. 


Erini's mind was unconcerned with things of her former 
homeland. Talak, with its massive ziggurats and countless 
proud banners flying in the wind, was her new home, her 
kingdom. Here, after a suitable courtship, she would marry 
King Melicard I and assume her duties as wife and comonarch. 
The future held infinite possibilities and Erini wondered 
which ones awaited her. Not all of them would be pleasant. 


The coach hit a bump, sending the princess back against her 
seat, her companions squealing with ladylike distaste at the 
rough road. Erini grimaced at their actions. They represented 
her father, who had made the marriage pact with the late, 
unfortunate King Rennek IV almost eighteen years ago. Melicard 
had been a young boy just growing into manhood and she a 



newbom babe. Erini had met Melicard only once, when she 
had been perhaps five, so she doubted his impression of her 
had been very favorable. 


What made all three of them nervous were the rumors that 
floated about the Dragonrealm as to the nature of Melicard. 
There were those who called him a fanatical tyrant, though 
none of his own people ever talked that way. There were 
rumors that he trafficked with necromancers, and that he was a 
cold, lifeless master. Most widespread of all were the horrible 
tales of his appearance. 


"He has only one true arm," Galea, the stouter of the two 
companions, had whispered at one point. "They say that he cut 
it off himself, so as to wear that elfwood one he now sports." 


"He has a lust for the worst aspects of sorcery," Magda, 
plain but domineering, uttered sagely at another time. "A 
demon it was that is said to have stolen his face so that the king 
must always hide in shadow!" 


After such horrible statements as these, the two ladies would 
eye one another with their perfectly matching Poor Princess 
Erini! expressions. At times, they somehow succeeded in 
looking like twins. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 


The princess did not know how to take the rumors. She knew 
it was true that Melicard sported an arm carved of rare 
elfwood, a magical wood, but not why. Erini also knew that 
Melicard had suffered some catastrophe almost a decade before 
that had left him bereft of that original arm and disfigured as 
well. Even magical healing had its limits at times, and something 
involved with the incident made it impossible to repair 
the damage to any great extent. Erini knew she was marrying a 
crippled and possibly horrifying man, but her brief memories of 
gazing up fondly at the tall, handsome boy had combined with 
her sense of duty to her parents to form a determination 
matched by few. 


That did not mean she did not wonder—and worry. 


Returning her gaze to the spectacle outside, she studied the 
great walls. They were gigantic, though the arrogant ziggurats 
within thrust higher. Against any normal invader, these walls 
would be unbreachable. Talak, however, had always been in 
the shadow of the Tyber Mountains, lair of the true master of 
the city, the late and unlamented Gold Dragon, Emperor of the 
Dragon Kings. Drakes had little problem with walls, whether in 
their birthforms or the humanoid ones they wore more often. 


Things have altered so much. She had, as a child, understood 
that, as queen, she would rule beside Melicard but that, at any 
time, the Gold Dragon might come and make demands of the 
city. Now, the Dragon Kings were in a disarray; with no heir to 
take the place of the Dragon Emperor—though there were 



rumors about something in the Dagora Forest far to the south— 
Talak was, for the first time, independent. 


An army of majestic trumpets sounded, giving Erini a start. 
The coach made no move to slow, which meant the gates had 
been opened and they would proceed straight through. The 
sides of the road began to fill with the locals, the farmers and 
villagers, some clad in their holiday best, others looking as if 
they had just come from the fields. They were cheering, but 
she expected that. Melicard's advisors would have arranged 
such a showing. Yet, Erini was somewhat skilled at reading 
faces and emotions, and in the dirty, worn features of the 
people cheering her she did see honest hope, honest acceptance. 
They wanted a queen, welcomed the change. 


The rumors about Melicard whispered mockingly in the back 
of her mind. She forced herself to ignore them and waved to 
the people. 


At that moment, the coach passed through the gates of Talak 
and the rumors were once again buried as Erini devoured the 
wonders of the inner city with her eyes. 


This was the market district. Bright, clashing tents and 
wagons competed with decorated buildings, many of them tiny, 
multileveled ziggurats, exact copies of the titans looming over 
all else. The more permanent structures appeared to be inns and 
taverns, a cunning move to snare the unwary traveler who 
might, merely because it was so convenient, end up buying a 
few extra things from the bazaar. Even more banners flew 
within the walls, most bearing the patriotic symbol of Talak 
these past nine years: a sword crossing a stylized drake head. 
Melicard's warning to the remaining drake clans, including the 
Silver Dragon's, to whose domain the city was now geographically 
annexed. 


Galea and Madga were oohing and aahing over everything, 
having finally given in to growing curiosity and forgetting that 
they did not want to be here. Erini smiled slightly at that and 
returned her attention to her new kingdom. 


Clothing styles differed little here, she noted abstractly, 
though they tended to be even brighter, yet more comfortable in 
appearance than the bedsheet she was wearing. There was also 
a propensity toward military uniforms, a confirmation of one 
rumor that Melicard was still expanding his army. A troop of 
footsoldiers saluted smartly as she passed, as alike as a row of 
eggs—with shells of iron. The precision pleased her, though 
she hoped that there would be no need for all this training. The 
best armies are those that never have to fight, her father had 
once said. 


The coach continued on its way through the city. The market 
district gave way to more stately structures, obviously the 
homes of an upper class, either merchants or low-level functionaries. 
There was a market here as well, but this district was 
subdued in comparison to that of the more common folk. 
Erini found this section pleasant to view, but rather lacking 
in true life. Here, the shadowy masks of politics were 
first worn. She knew that from this point on reality would be 



slightly askew. Without hardly being aware of it, her posture 
stiffened and her smile grew empty. It was time to play the part 
she had been trained for, even though she had not yet met her 
betrothed. For the lowest courtiers on up, the princess had to 


12 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


13 


wear a mask of strength. Their loyalty to her depended on their 
belief in her power. 


Power. Her fingers twitched, but she forced them still. In the 
excitement and then the uneasiness of finally arriving in Talak, 
she had almost dropped her guard. Erini glanced at her ladies. 
Magda and Galea were staring at the palace, awed by what was 
the greatest edifice in the city, and had not noticed the involuntary 
movements. The princess took a deep breath and tried to 
steady herself. She dared not trust them with her problem. 


What would she do about Melicard, though? 


By the time the coach reached the outskirts of the royal 
palace, she felt she was ready. The turbulence of her tired mind 
had been forced down again. Now, her only concern was 
making the proper impression when Melicard came to meet her 
at the bottom of the palace steps, as was custom. 


"Don't these people know anything about protocol?" Magda 
sniffed imperilously. "The royal steps are all but bare of the 
members of the court. The entire aristocracy should be here to 
meet their new queen." 


Erini, who had been straightening her clothing out of 
nervousness, looked up. Pulling aside the curtain of her window, 
the princess saw what, in her anxiety, she had not noticed 
before. It was true; there were no more than a handful of 
people awaiting her arrival and even at a distance the princess 
could see that none of them matched Melicard's description in 
the slightest. 


The coachman reined the horses to a halt, and one of Erini's 
footmen jumped down and opened the door for her. As the 
princess descended, she caught sight of a short, graceful man 
with odd eyes and stylish mustache who reminded her of 
nothing less than a pet panther her mother had once bought. 
from a merchant of Zuu. Erini felt an almost instant dislike for 
the newcomer despite the toothy smile he gave her. This could 
only be Melicard's counselor, Mal Quorin, a man obviously 
ambitious. What was he doing here instead of Melicard? 


"Your majesty." Quorin took the tiny hand that the princess 
forced herself to thrust out and kissed it in a manner that 



suggested he was tasting her as a predator might taste its prey 
before devouring it. 


She gave him her most courteous smile and withdrew her 
hand as soon as he released it. You will not make a puppet out 


of me, grimalkin. His nostrils flared momentarily, but he 
remained outwardly pleasant. 


"Is my Melicard ill? I had hoped he would be here to greet 
me." She fought hard to keep emotion of any sort out of her 
words. 


Quorin straightened his jacket. His pompous, gray military 
outfit made him look like a parody of some great general and 
Erini hoped he was not actually commander of the king's 
armies. "His majesty begs your forgiveness, princess, and asks 
that you indulge him in this. I trust you were informed as to his 
appearance." 


"Surely my betrothed would not hide from me?" 


The counselor gave her the ghost of a smile. "Until word 
arrived that you had reached the age of consent set down by 
your father, Melicard had completely forgotten about the pact. 
Please don't take it as any offense, lady, but you will find he is 
still trying to cope with it. His physical... detriments... only 
add to the difficulty. He tries to see as few people as possible, 
you understand." 


"I understand far better than you think, counselor. You will 
take me to King Melicard now. I will not shun him because of 
his past misfortune. We have been paired almost since my 
birth; his life, his existence, is my tantamount concern." 


Quorin bowed. "Then, if you will follow me, I will escort 
you to him. The two of you will have a private audience... fitting, 
I should think, for the beginning of your courtship." 


Erini noted the hint of sarcasm but said nothing. Mal Quorin 
summoned an aide who was to assist the princess's people with 
settling down. Her ladies-in-waiting prepared to follow her but 
she ordered them to go with the others. 


"This is not proper," Magda entoned. "One of us should be 
with you." 


"I think I will be safe in the palace of my husband-to-be, 
Magda." Erini gave the counselor a pointed glance. "Especially 
with Counselor Quorin as company." 


"Your parents ordered—" 


"Their authority ended when we entered Talak. Captain!" 
The cavalry officer rode up to her and saluted. She could not 
recall his name, but knew he was inherently obedient to her 
from past experience. "Please help escort my companions to 
our rooms. I will also want to see you before you return to 
Gordag-Ai." 



14 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


25 


The captain, a thin, middle-aged man with narrow eyes and a 
hungry look, cleared his throat. "Yes.. .your highness." 


Erini pondered briefly his hesitation but knew now was not 
the time to ask about it. She turned back to Quorin, who was 
waiting with slight impatience. "Lead on." 


Offering his hand, the counselor led her up the long set of 
steps into the towering palace. As they walked, Quorin pointed 
out this object and that, relating their histories like a hired tour 
guide to Erini, who pretended to listen for the sake of appearance. 
Several aides and minor functionaries fell in behind 
them, as did a silent honor guard. All very out of place, but the 
princess had been warned that things had taken a strange turn in 
the years of Melicard's rule. So far, only Mal Quorin and the 
king's absence disturbed her. 


The palace was spacious to say the least, but much of it had 
an unused look, as if only a few people actually lived or 
worked within its walls. It was true that Melicard was the last 
of his line now, but most rulers still surrounded themselves with 
a gaggle of fawning courtiers and endless numbers of servants. 
Melicard, it seemed, maintained only what was necessary. 


Has he secluded himself that much? the princess worried. 
His state of mind concerned her far more than whatever scars 
he bore physically. On that rested the fate of his kingdom. 


"Your majesty?" 


Counselor Quorin was studying her curiously and Erini 
realized they had finally come to a stop at a massive set of 
doors. Two fearsome guards, hooded, kept a grim watch, 
armed with axes that stood taller than she did. Erini wondered 
if they were human. 


"I shall be leaving you alone now. Princess Erini. I'm 
certain you and the king will want your privacy." 


She almost wanted him to stay. Now that the princess stood 
within mere seconds of meeting her betrothed, the potential 
ramifications of her reaction to Melicard's features struck her 
dumb. Would hate or pity be the only bond tying the two of 
them together? She prayed it would not be, yet... 


Quorin snapped his fingers. The two gargantuan sentinels 
stepped aside and the massive doors slowly swung inward. 
Within the chamber was only darkness. Not even a single 
candle glimmered in invitation. 



The counselor turned back to her and his catlike face wore a 


matching feline smile. "He awaits within, your majesty. You 
have only to enter." 


Those words, coming from him, strengthened Erini as nothing 
else could have. With a regal nod of her head to Counselor 
Quorin and the two guards, she walked calmly into the pitch-
black room. 


Her eyes sought vainly to compensate for the utter lack of 
light, as the doors slowly closed behind her. Erini fought hard 
not to turn back to the comfort of the light. She was a princess 
of Gordag-Ai and soon would be queen of Talak. It would be a 
disgrace to her ancestors and her future subjects if she showed 
her growing fear. 


Not until the doors had closed completely did she hear the 
breathing of another within the chamber. Heavy footsteps 
echoed as somebody slowly walked toward her. Erini's heart 
pounded and her breathing quickened. She heard the other 
fiddle with something and then a single match burst into 
brilliant life, blinding her briefly. 


"Forgive me," a deep, smooth voice whispered. "I sometimes 
grow so accustomed to the shadows that I forget how lost 
others can be. I "shall light us some candles." 


Erini's eyes adjusted as the burning match lit a candle sitting 
on a hitherto unseen table. The match died before she could 
study the hand that held it, but the one that reached for the 
candlestick, the left hand, gave her a start. It was silver and 
moved like the hand of a puppet. Neither it nor the arm it was 
attached to was made of flesh, but rather some other, stitfer 
substance that played at life. 


Elfwood. The tale was true\ 


Then, the hand was forgotten as the candle was lifted into 
the air and Princess Erini caught her first glimpse of the man 
she was to marry. 


The gasp that escaped her echoed harshly in the dark chamber. 


The innkeeper of the Huntsman Tavern was a bear of a man 
named Cyrus who had once had the misfortune of owning a 
similar establishment called the Wyvern's Head some years 
ago. The hordes of the drake Lord Toma had ravaged it with the 
rest of the countryside, concentrating especially on the grand 
city of Mito Pica, where the powerful warlock Cabe Bedlam 
had been brought up in secret. Toma had not expected to find 
Bedlam there and was making the region an example to any 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 



who would dare protect, even unknowingly, a potential enemy 
of the Dragon Kings. Cyrus, along with many other survivors, 
had taken what he could salvage and made his way to Talak. 
The people of Mito Pica were welcome in Talak, for Melicard 
shared their hatred for the drakes. For a brief time, Cyrus had 
even been one of the raiders the king had supplied in secret, 
raiders who harassed and killed drakes with the help of old 
magic. The innkeeper found, however, that he missed his 
former calling. A good thing, too. It was the raid on the home 
of Bedlam and his bride that had led to the king's maiming. 
The objects of the raid, the late Dragon Emperor's hatchlings, 
had completely escaped Melicard's grasp. 


In all that time and the time that passed after, Cyrus had 
never told a soul that the warlock Bedlam had once been a 
serving man in his inn. The beginning of the end of his first inn 
was etched in his mind. It had started with a vague image. The 
image of a cloaked and hooded man sitting in the shadows, 
waiting silently for service... 


Like the man who sat in the comer booth now. 


Had his hair not gone gray long ago, Cyrus felt it would have 
done so now. He looked around quickly, but no one seemed to 
notice anything out of the ordinary and there was not a blessed 
soul to wait on the mysterious personage. 


Just when I've set me roots down. Wringing his hands, the 
innkeeper made his way through the crowds and over to the 
dark table. He squinted, wondering why it was so dark even 
though there were candles nearby. It was as if the shadows had 
come with the stranger. 


"What can I get ya?" Make it something quick and easy! he 
begged silently. Then leave, by Hirack, while I've still got a 
place! 


The left hand, gloved, emerged from the enveloping cloak. 
A single coin clattered against the wooden table. "An ale. No 


food." 


"Right away!" Thanking Hirack, a minor god of merchants, 
Cyrus retrieved the coin and hustled back to the counter, where 
he swiftly overfilled a mug. He would give the warlock the ale, 
the fellow would drink it, and the innkeeper would bid him a 
fond farewell. In his haste, Cyrus bumped several customers 
and spilled ale on a few more, but he did not notice. Nothing 
mattered but to serve his unwanted guest and get as far away as 
possible. 


SHADOW STEED 17 


"Here ya go!" He slammed the ale down right in front of 
the figure and made to leave, but the hand, with astonishing 
speed and bone-crushing strength, caught his own and trapped 
him there. 


"Sit down a moment." The slight amusement in the hooded 



one's tone made Cyrus go pale. He sat down with a heavy 
thud. The warlock released his hand, almost as if daring the 
innkeeper to run away. 


"What city is this?" 


It was an odd question, seeing as how a spellcaster of all 
people should know such a simple thing. Despite that thought, 
however, Cyrus could not stop himself from responding immediately. 
"Talak." 


"Hmmm. I noticed a commotion earlier. What was the 
cause?" 


Cyrus blinked in a mixture of fear and shock as his mouth 
formed the answers without his aid. "King Melicard's betrothed, 
the Princess Erini of Gordag-Ai, arrived only today." 


For the first time, the fixture in the dusky hood reacted. 
Cyrus was certain it was confusion despite being unable to 
make out the warlock's features. He had been trying to see the 
man's face for several seconds, but there was something wrong 
with his eyes, for the other's visage never seemed in focus. 


" 'King Melicard'? What's happened to Rennek IV?" 


"Rennek died some time back. He spent the last part of his 
life mad as a sprite." Where had this man been that he didn't 
know something common knowledge to everyone else? 


"I've been far, much too far away, innkeeper." 


Cyrus shook as it hit him that he had not asked the question 
out loud. 


The warlock reached over and touched Cyrus on the forehead 
with one gloved finger of his right hand. "There are people of 
importance that I would know more about. You know their 
names. Tell me and I will let you return to your business." 


It was impossible not to tell the hooded figure what he knew. 
The names that flashed through Cyrus's unwilling mind frightened 
him, so powerful and deadly the bearer of each one was. 
His mouth babbled tale after tale about each, mostly from 
things he had heard from patrons, much of it forgotten until 
now. 


Finally, it ended. Cyrus fearfully felt himself black out. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


The warlock watched with little interest as the innkeeper, his 
mind fogged, rose from the table and returned to his duties. 
The mortal would remember nothing. No one would recall that 
he had been here. He could even stay long enough to finish the 
ale, something he had not had in ten years. The long lapse 


made the drink even sweeter. 
Ten years. Shade thought as he stared into his mug. Only ten 



years have passed. I would've thought it longer. 
Memories of endless struggling in the nothingness that had 


been his prison, the prison that was a part of his enemy and his 
friend, flashed through his mind. He had thought he would 
never touch the earth again. 


Ten years. He took another sip of ale and could not help but 
smile again at circumstances. A small price to pay, actually, for 
what I've gained. A very small price to pay. 
Shade put a hand to his head as a sharp pain lanced through 
his mind. It was as short-lived as the others he had experienced 


since his return, and he ignored it once it had passed. The 
warlock took another sip. Nothing would mar his moment of 
triumph, especially an insignificant little pain. 


III 
The single torch, left by the mortals, had long ago burned 
itself out, but Darkhorse had no need of such things, anyway. 
He did not even notice when the light sputtered and died, so 
deeply was his mind buried in a mire of concerns, fears, and 
angers—none of which he had come to terms with yet. What 


distressed him most was that Shade roamed the Dragonrealm 
untouched, free to spread his madness across an unsuspecting 
and, in some ways, uncaring land. 
And here 1 lay, helpless as a newborn, trapped by a mortal 
fool who shouldn't have the-knowledge to do what he's done! 


Darkhorse laughed low, a mocking laugh aimed at himself. 
19 
SHADOW STEED 
How he continually underestimated human ingenuity—and 
stupidity. 
His pleas of freedom fell on deaf ears and mad minds. 


Nothing mattered more to Melicard than his quest to rid the 
realms of the drake clans, whether those drakes were enemies 
or not. That Shade had the potential to bring the lands down 
upon them all—human, drake, elf, and the rest—meant nothing 


to the disfigured monarch. 
"What threat is a warlock compared to the bloody fury of 
the Dragon Kings?" Melicard had asked. 
"Have you forgotten Azran Bedlam so soon?" Darkhorse 


had bellowed. "With his unholy blade, the Nameless, he slew 
a legion of drakes, including the Red Dragon himself!" 



The king had smiled coldly at that. "For that, he had my 


admiration and thanks." 


"They might've easily been humans, mortal! Azran was no 


less dangerous to his own kind!" 


"The creature you call Shade has existed for as long as 
recorded memory, yet the world remains. If you wish, you may 
deal with him after you have served me. That seems fair." 


It was futile to try and explain that always there had been 
someone to keep Shade in check and that someone had more 
often than not been Darkhorse. Other spellcasters had fought 
and beaten the warlock, true, but always the shadow steed had 
been, at the very least, in the background. Now, he was 
helpless. 


"Well, demon?" 


In pent-up anger, Darkhorse had reared and kicked at the 
unbreakable, invisible wall, screaming, "Madman! Can you 
not hear me? Does your mind refuse to understand reality? 
Your damnable little obsession will never be fulfilled, and 
while you muster your fanatics Shade will bring both drake and 
human down! I know this!" 


At that point. King Melicard had turned to the sorcerer 
beside him and said, "Teach him." 


For his refusal to obey, Darkhorse had suffered. The old 
sorcerer Drayfitt had surprised him again, intertwining a number 
of painful subspells into the structure of the magical cage. 
The pain had not stopped until the jet-black stallion had been 
no more than a mass of shadow huddled on the floor. Finally, 
Melicard had simply turned and departed, pausing at the 
doorway only long enough to give some instructions to the 


20 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 21 


spellcaster. With the king had gone the devious one, the mortal 
who was known as Counselor Quorin. 


Alone with the elderly sorcerer, Darkhorse had pleaded his 
cause once more. Fruitlessly. Drayfitt was one of those men 
who embodied the worst and best trait of his race: blind loyalty. 


And so here I remain, the spectral horse snorted in frustration. 
Here I remain. 


"I once suffered a fate similar to the one facing you now," a 
familiar voice mocked. "Trapped with seemingly no way out. I 
think you can imagine how I felt." 


Darkhorse rapidly drew himself together, all his power pre



paring for the worst. 


The torch was suddenly ablaze again, but its flame was a 
deep red that bespoke of blood. Amidst the crimson shadows, a 
cloaked and hooded figure detached itself. 


"Shade... or Madrac..." Darkhorse rumbled. "Come to 
mock only when you know for certain your hide is safe from 
harm." 


The warlock bowed like a minstrel after a successful command 
performance. "Call me Madrac, if you will—or any 
other name, for that matter. I don't care. I've come to tell you 
something. I sat quietly drinking in a tavern, absorbing life 
itself for once. I remember, you see. I remember everything 
from every life. I recall the fatal day, the agony of being torn 
apart and restored to existence again and again and again! I 
recall more than I could ever recount to you!" 


As long as he had known the human, Darkhorse had known a 
man condemned. Forever resurrected after each death, whether 
his body was whole or not. Shade was cursed to live lives 
alternately devoted to the dark and light sides of his nature. 
Each was only a shadow of the original spellcaster, however. 
Memories were so incomplete as to sometimes be nonexistent. 
Abilities altered. In desperation to be whole, each new personality 
even took on a secondary name of its own, such as 
Madrac, hoping that somehow he would be the final, immortal 
Shade. Now, after millennia, something had changed to make 
that possible. Understanding this, hope briefly spurred Darkhorse. 
"Then your curse is lifted; you can live in peace." 


Shade chuckled bitterly and stepped forward. Raising his 
hood, he let the shadow steed stare into his face, or rather, the 
blurry mask that passed for it. "Not yet, my dear friend, not 
yet, but—Madrac is fading and I cannot be certain what sort of 


persona will replace him. A different one from those past, that 
much is evident. I felt the need to speak to you, though, to tell 
you, but..." 


"If you can free me, I will do what I can for you, Shade." 


"Free you? Don't be absurd} I rather enjoy the irony of 
this!" 


The tone of the warlock's voice stirred the etemal's misgivings 
far more than the actual words did. Has the curse given 
way to something darker, something much more sinister? Darkhorse 
wondered. Shade's personality seemed to be swinging back and 
forth unpredictably. If the warlock had not been mad before, he 
soon would be under the pressure of this new torture. 


Putting a hand to his forehead as if trying to relieve pain, 
Shade continued, "I also came to tell you this: I know where 
my mistake was made—where my spell went awry. I know why 
the 'immortality' I did receive turned out to be a never-ending 
agony. That can be rectified—this time." 


He took a step closer to the magical cage. "You—you can 



do nothing to deter me. Not while you are trapped here. The 
spellcaster responsible for your pleasant little domain has touched 
upon Vraad sorcery to create the cage. Do you know what that 
means?" 


Darkhorse did not respond at first, stunned as he was by the 
warlock's words, especially the last. "I know of Vraad sorcery. 
It no longer exists in this reality! The Vraad only live on in the 
seeds of their descendents; their magic has given way to the 
magic of this world!" 


Shade inclined his head in a brief nod. "As you wish. Test 
the spell yourself—oh"—the spellcaster may have smiled; it 
was difficult for anyone other than him to know for certain— 
"that's right. You can't. You're inside, of course, and the 
patterns are outside, surrounding the barrier." 


"Why did you come here. Shade? Merely to talk?" 


"1 came against my better judgment—but—I felt an 
overwhelming urge. Call it a whim." 


"Call it conscience." Darkhorse retorted quietly. 


"Conscience? I no longer have such a wasteful thing!" The 
hooded warlock stepped back, growing more indistinct with 
each step. There was always something not quite right, not 
quite normal, about Shade's magic, but Darkhorse could not 
say what. 


"Enjoy your vast domain while you can, friend. When you 


22 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


see me next, if you ever do, I will at last be master of my 
fate—and so much more." 


"Shade—" It was too late; the warlock dwindled away into 
nothing. The torch died the moment he was gone, plunging 
Darkhorse into the blackness again. It was the least of his 
concerns, though. The brief, puzzling visitation by him who 
was both enemy and friend interested him much, much more. 


To say that Shade's return to him was contradictory to what 
the spellcaster should have done was putting it so mildly that 
Darkhorse had to laugh. Shade did nothing without reason, 
even if Shade might not know the reason himself. To simply 
come to mock Darkhorse was not enough; it was not the 
warlock's way in any of his countless lives, at least, the ones 
that the shadow steed knew about. 


How old are you really? It was a question he had asked 
Shade time and again and it blossomed unbidden now, but there 
was no answer. The spellcaster could never recall. He only 
remembered a few vague things; that he, an ambitious sorcerer, 
had tried to gain mastery over powers that were, at the time, 
known simply as good and evil, dark and light. Perhaps colored 



by such primitive perceptions. Shade had made some fatal error 
in the final steps of his master spell. The powers were not his 
to command; he was theirs to play with. Perhaps the enchantment 
had even succeeded, but not the way the spellcaster had 
supposed. That still did not answer the question that always 
bothered the jet-black stallion. How old was Shade before we 
first encountered one another? Old enough to recall the Vraad? 
Old enough to—be one? 


The thought was so insane, he cast it from his mind. 
Generations upon generations of Dragon Kings had come and 
gone since the brief, fiery appearance of the Vraad in this 
| world. Humans were their descendants, yes, but nothing more. 
I All plans of immortality eventually/oil. Even for the Vraad 
they did. 


Darkhorse knew he was wandering away from the subject. 
He returned to the reason behind Shade's brief and mysterious 
visit. If not to mock his helplessness, then what explanation 
was there for the warlock's return? A warning? Perhaps. 
Possibly that and more. Darkhorse laughed low as another 
choice suggested itself. Could it be ...? 


His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key unlocking 


SHADOW STEED 23 


the chamber door. This is a busy day! I always thought prison 
was a lonely place! 


The door swung open with a protesting squeal and torchlight 
flooded into the room. A guard stepped in and, his eyes 
focused on any spot other than the captive, lit the wall torch. 
As the human departed hastily, a second figure, tall and 
familiar, entered the chamber in a much more sedate manner. 
The gaunt, ancient form waited quietly while another guard, as 
anxious as the first to be gone, placed a stool midway between 
the door and the edge of the barrier. 


When they were finally alone, Drayfitt spoke. His eyes 
drifted to a spot to the right of Darkhorse. He seemed a bit 
preoccupied, as if he could sense that someone else had been in 
the room. "So... demon. Have you reconsidered what my 
liege has requested of you?" 


The shadow steed shifted to his left, trying without success 
to meet the gaze of the sorcerer. "That was a request? Do as he 
commands—without question—and he may free me some day 
to chase after Shade?" 


"He is king and must be obeyed." 


"You are well housebroken, spelltosser." 


Drayfitt flinched, but he did not shift his gaze. It was 
apparent he knew what might happen if his eyes locked onto 
Darkhorse's. "I swore an oath long ago to protect this city. It is 
my home. Melicard is my lord and master." 


"As I said, 'well housebroken'! Every king should have such 



a loyal pup for a sorcerer!" 


"Would that I had never needed to make use of these 
powers!" Drayfitt's gaze turned upward, toward some memory. 
Darkhorse cursed silently. 


"Why, then, did you?" 


"The king needed a sorcerer. Counselor Quorin sought me 
out, knowing from his spies that I had held one minor political 
post or another for more than a century, something beyond the 
lifespan of a normal human, of course. Always before I was 
able to bury myself in the shuffle of bureaucracy, claim I was 
my own son or some such lie, and utilize just enough power 
to make men believe it. I have no desire to follow in my 
brother Ishmir's footsteps and die fighting the Dragon Kings. I 
also have no desire to see Talak destroyed, which is a very real 
threat should the Silver Dragon ever succeed in his claim to the 
Dragon Emperor's throne." 


24 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


So many things had happened during the years of Darkhorse's 
absence that it was difficult for him to say what was the most 
astounding. That Cabe Bedlam, grandson of the greatest of the 
Dragon Masters, had bested the Dragon Emperor and fought 
his own father, mad Azran, to the death cheered the shadow 
steed, for he had met the young mortal and even travelled with 
him for a time. The death of the Gold Dragon had broken the 
drakes; who now could claim the throne of the highest of the 
Kings was arguable. Cabe Bedlam and his bride, the Lady of 
the Amber, had been raising the hatchlings of the Dragon 
Emperor alongside their own children, trying to teach the two 
races to coexist. Whether the drakes would accept the eldest 
royal male as their ruler when he finally came of age—whatever 
age was to a drake—was a question bandied about with no 
answer as of yet. Meanwhile, at least two of the remaining 
Dragon Kings had sought the throne of their "brother" on the 
basis that to wait for the young to mature was too risky, too 
speculative. Neither of the two could gain sufficient support 
among their kind, but the Silver Dragon was growing stronger 
every day. Drayfitt knew that the first step toward reunifying 
the lands would be to stamp out Talak, the enemy now within 
Silver's own domain. Having just gained its true independence 
only a few years ago, the city-state was not going to give in, 
not while Melicard was king. 


"Mal Quorin whispers in his ear at every opportunity, urging 
him to reckless crusades. Survivors of Mito Pica, the city 
ravaged by the drake Toma, still call for the blood of the 
reptiles and their voices are strong. Melicard himself is obsessed 
with the Dragon Kings. Once discovered, I came to realize that 
the only way to bring some sense to this chaos was to become 
an integral part of my liege's court, a voice of reason." 


"And so you summoned a demonV Darkhorse responded 
with false innocence. "Truly you are a master of logic! What 
genius! Never would / have thought of so cunning a plan!" 


The sorcerer rose, his brief reverie broken by the stinging 



words. Almost, he glared at Ris captive. Almost. 


"Mal Quorin would have found another to translate the 
damnable book! One more flexible to his will! Now, at least, I 
can control the situation, keep it from growing unchecked!" 
"Is this what Ishmir would've done?" 
The question was Drayfitt's undoing. Mention of his brother's 
name gave birth to a rapidly growing rage, a rage coupled 


SHADOW STEED 25 


with carelessness. He whirled on Darkhorse, intending to 
punish him for bringing to the surface the thoughts that had 
been wracking the old man's mind since agreeing to this insane 
plane. Would Ishmir have gone through this; Drayfitt knew the 
answer and did not like it. He glared at the shadow steed, his 
gaze making contact with the cold, blue eyes. 


Darkhorse froze the sorcerer where he was, seizing control 
of his unprotected mind. The phantom stallion laughed quietly 
at the success of his plan, but it was a hollow laugh. Drayfitt 
was a good, if naive, mortal. Using his brother's name so 
pained Darkhorse, who had known most of the long-dead 
Dragon Masters, including Ishmir the Bird Master. 


"Forgive me for this, both of you," he muttered, "but I had 
no choice." 


All emotion fell from the spellcaster's face. His arms hung 
limply. He looked more than ever like a dead man; Darkhorse, 
who did not want to hurt him, moved cautiously. 


"Your mind is mine, mortal! Your soul is mine! I could 
hurry you along the Path Which Men May Travel Only Once, 
but I will not! Not if you obey!" 


Drayfitt remained motionless, but Darkhorse knew, as only 
he could know, that, deep within, the sorcerer's subconscious 
understood. 


"You will remove the barrier, and open a gate in this 
Void-forsaken cage, and let me out! Do so and I will leave you 
untouched!" 


Though his voice boomed, the shadow steed had no fear that 
the guards outside would give warning. Melicard had ordered 
Drayfitt to enshroud the chamber in a blanket of silence, 
meaning that all sounds would pass no further than the walls. A 
very important guest had arrived and the king, oddly subdued, 
did not want knowledge of his activities to reach that unknown 
personage. 


The masks of royalty are many, Darkhorse thought snidely. 
Who could it be who would make ' 'handsome'' King Melicard 
so nervous? 


Drayfitt worked smoothly, methodically, going through the 
motions of the spell. Though he no longer had the book, the 
memory of his first attempt still remained and Darkhorse had 
drawn that out. Had there been time, he would have had the 



mortal repeat the steps out loud so that he could study the 
makings of the spell. Vraad sorcery it was and the black steed 


26 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


was disturbed he had not seen it sooner. Again, had there been 
time, Darkhorse would have sought out the book—and the one 
who had discovered it. Vraad sorcery was dangerous, although 
on the surface it seemed amazingly simple at times. 


With a stiff gesture, Darkhorse reversed the outcome of the 
spell. Instead of creating yet another cage around the first, he 
tore the present one apart. 


The elderly sorcerer lowered his hands and resumed his 
deathlike stance. Darkhorse took a hesitant step toward the 
edge of his prison. One limb, stretched to needle-thin, touched 
the barrier—and passed beyond it. Jubilant, Darkhorse leaped 
free, not trusting his luck to hold long. 


"Freedom! Ahhh, sweet-tasting freedom! Excellent work, 
my mortal puppet! Most excellent work!" He gazed down 
almost fondly at the spellcaster. "For that, you deserve a 
reward of great value, something I think you've lacked these 
past days! Sleep! Deep, restful sleep! A long, restful nap will 
do you wonders! When you wake, I want you to do one more 
thing for me; seek out the source of your Vraad sorcery, this 
book, and destroy it! Rest now!" 


Drayfitt slumped to the floor. 


With one last, contemptuous scan of the chamber that had 
been his prison, Darkhorse reared, opened a path to the 
beyond, and vanished through it. 


As night prepared to give way to day, the object of Darkhorse's 
desperate quest materialized in the middle of a chamber that 
was quite a contrast to the one recently forced upon the shadow 
steed. Though a bit more austere than the personal quarters of 
King Melicard, they were elegant and, indeed, also fit for a 
king. 


Shade reached out a hand and ran a finger along the edge of 
a massive, golden couch. A thick layer of dust flew off. The 
warlock may have smiled. No one had made use of this room in 
quite some time, years perhaps. 


The rumors were true, then. These chambers had once belonged 
to the Lord Gryphon, inhuman but just ruler of Penacles, the 
legendary City of Knowledge. Once, the Gryphon had been a 
comrade, sometimes a friend, but only at those times when 
Shade could be trusted. The Gryphon had understood him 
better than most, save Darkhorse. As Shade wiped the dust 
from his fingertip, he found he almost missed his sometime 


SHADOW STEED 27 


adversary. The Gryphon was rumored to be somewhere across 
the Eastern Seas, fighting some war that seemed unwilling to 
completely finish itself. Despite numerous pleas by various city 



functionaries, the man he had left in charge, a minor spellcaster 
of masterful strategy. General Toos, refused to take on the 
mantle of king. Instead, the general had chosen to become 
regent, with powers equal to those of the monarch with the 
unique option of retiring in favor of the Gryphon if and when 
he returned. 


So much the better. Shade decided. He turned in a slow 
circle, observing each and every object, whether it stood on the 
floor, was pinned to the wall, or hung from the ceiling. Most 
things were as he remembered them, even down to the two 
lifelike metal statues standing on each side of the door. They 
were iron golems, animated creatures of cold metal created by 
the former lord of Penacles to guard his personal chambers. 
Surprisingly swift, the creatures should have been on top of the 
warlock the moment he materialized. Unlike most intruders, 
however. Shade had the key to their control., 


There were words, implanted deep in their very beings, that, 
when acknowledged by the golems, made them no more than 
fanciful statues. Words that Shade had silently flung at them 
before completely materializing. There were advantages to 
having once been privy to the secrets of the Gryphon. The 
warlock chuckled quietly, then turned to one of the far walls, 
where the object of his search, a great, intricately woven 
tapestry of the entire city of Penacles, hung. 


That the tapestry hung here, unwanted by the regent, said 
many things. The artifact was ancient, even older than Shade. 
He touched it delicately. General Toos had never hidden his 
dislike for talismans of power, though he tolerated them. The 
tapestry itself was only a link to another greater wonder, 
though. Leaning as close as he dared, the warlock slowly 
studied the pattern. Each and every street, every building, was 
represented. Despite having been originally weaved during the 
initial construction of Penacles, the tapestry revealed structures 
that were no more than a year or two old. 


"Even after all this time, you still work flawlessly," Shade 
whispered. The creator had been a perfectionist and even Shade 
acknowledged the superiority of this artifact. 


For several minutes he scanned the tapestry, seeking a 
marking that he could not even be certain he would recognize. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Like the city, the mark he sought changed over the years. 
Sometimes, it was a stylized picture of a book. Other times, it 
had been a single letter. There had been many symbols over the 
centuries, a number of them highly obscure. 


/ need your fantastic eyes. Lord Gryphon! You were always 
able to spot the mark with little more than a glance! 


Then, his eyes fell on a tiny, twisted banner, one familiar to 
him as it would be to no other creature living today. Shade 
smiled his hidden smile and the blur of face seemed to swirl 
with emotion. He memorized the location and briefly looked up 
at the tapestry in open admiration. "One would think you were 



living, old thing, and, if so, you have a wicked sense of 
humor! My—my father—might even have been amused!" 


Father. The warlock shivered. Not all the memories that 
returned were particularly pleasant ones. He quickly buried 
himself in his task. 


Locating the mark again, Shade rubbed the banner with one 
finger, and as he did, the room around him began to fade. 
Shade may have smiled. He continued to rub the mark as the 
Gryphon's chambers gave way to another room of sorts, a 
corridor. The tapestry, still whole, remained until the living 
quarters had completely dissipated. Then, it, too, faded away. 
The warlock was left standing in a corridor whose walls were 
lined with endless shelves of massive, bound tomes, all identical, 
even in color. The tapestry still worked. 


He stood in the legendary libraries of Penacles. 


The libraries had been standing long before the city. His 
memories returning. Shade recalled some of the truth about the 
odd structure, a building beneath the earth, beneath Penacles, 
that was larger on the inside than the outside and never to be 
found in the same location. Its true origins were unknown even 
to him, but he suspected that, as with the spell that Melicard's 
sorcerer had used to make Darkhorse's cage, this was Vraad 
work. 


Other than the countless volumes stored here, there was not 
much to see. The floor was polished marble. The corridor he 
stood in and those he could see were all illuminated by the 
same unseen source. The shelves themselves might have been 
brand new, though Shade knew otherwise. Time seemed not to 
matter in the libraries. 


"You have returned after all this time." 


The matter-of-fact statement proved to be issued by a small, 


SHADOWSTEED 29 


egg-headed figure Clad in simple cloth garments. His arms 
almost reached the ground, due in great part to his uncommonly 
short legs. There was not so much as a strand of hair on his 


head. 


One of the gnomes—or perhaps the only gnome—who acted 
as librarians here. As far as Shade could recall, the libraries 
had always had gnomes and all of them had been identical in 
appearance. 


"Ten years is not so long to the two of us," the spellcaster 
mocked, recalling his final visit here with the Lord Gryphon. 


The gnome seemed oblivious to the tone of mockery, replying 
simply, "Ten years, no. A thousand thousand years, yes. 
Even to the two of us." 


Though his face was unreadable. Shade's body was not. He 



stiffened and tried to speak, but was uneasy about his choice of 
words. The gnome chose to fill the silence. 


"What you seek is not here. It is, perhaps, the one piece of 
knowledge the libraries refuse to contain." 


Speaking of the libraries in terms of a thinking creature 
irritated the warlock. He had no desire to feel as if he were in 
the belly of a beast. "Then where is it? It exists!" 


The librarian shrugged and slowly turned away, a book in 
one hand. The book had not been there before. "Seek the 
caverns, perhaps." 


"Caverns?" 


"Caverns." The gnome turned back to Shade, eyeing him as 
one might an inept young apprentice. "The caverns of the 
Dragon Emperor. What is left of the place where it all began 
for you." 


The place where it all began for you. Shade may have 
smiled, but, if so, it was a grim smile. He had forgotten that. It 
was a memory only now restored to him and it was, quite 
possibly, the one he would have most preferred never to 
recall—even at the cost of his own existence. 


IV-


Erini woke to the light of midmoming intruding in her room, 
her thoughts and feelings a tangled web of half-remembered 
images and a full gamut of emotions ranging from joy to fear. 


The bed was huge and so very soft. She tried to bury herself 
in it, both physically and mentally. Her old bed back home— 
no,-former home!—was little more than piece of wood and a 
blanket compared to this. The entire room was overwhelming, 
as vast as any chamber she had seen other than the main hall. 
Multicolored marble tiles made up the floor, partially obscured 
by the great fur rugs running to and from the various doorways. 
Columns thrust upward in each comer, festively decorated with 
golden flowers. Gay tapestries covered the walls. The furniture, 
including the bedframe, was carved from the finest northern 
oak, rare after the destruction of so much forest nine years ago 
during that horrible, unseasonable winter. 


To her dismay, Erini found herself remembering how whole 
herds of giant diggers, great creatures of fur and claw, had torn 
their way south, leaving little more than churned earth. The 
princess shuddered, for they had been no more than a day from 
her city when a disease or something had killer off all of them 
within hours. Oddly, that was about the same time that Melicaid— 


Melicard. 


Erini's eyes opened wide as she surrendered to the inevitable 
and turned her thoughts back to the night before. The princess 
had expected so many things when she had entered his darkened 
chamber, the elfwood arm being the least of those. Despite its 
graceful appearance—thanks to some skilled craftsman, no 



doubt—the arm moved with an awkwardness that would forever 
remind one it was not real. Even had it been painted so 
perfectly as to match the king's skin, Erini would have recognized 
it for what it was. 


SHADOWSTEED 31 


First seeing that arm in the dim light, however, had 
subconsciously made her anticipate the worst. That was why, 
when Melicard had held the light close to his face, Erini 
had let out a gasp without even actually seeing his features. 
When her eyes had at last rested on her betrothed and the 
images had sunk deep enough into her shocked mind, that 
shock had turned to confusion and, gradually, joy. 


Melicard I, king of Talak and once the handsomest of men in 
her young eyes, had a visage that, Erini at last admitted to 
herself, was everything she had ever hoped for as a girl growing 
up. Strong, angular features, athletic, and with a commanding 
presence befitting his rank. It was a wondrous thing to behold, 
and the princess was so relieved she almost flew into his arms, 
barely missing knocking the candlestick from his hand. 


Only then, when they were so near to one another, did the 
unholy nature of his face become evident. If there was a 
graphic indication of her own reaction to this sudden turn, it 
was the tightening of his mouth and the narrowing of his 
eye—one eye—when he saw her stumble and pause. 


The "accident" that had claimed his arm had claimed much 
'of his face as well, even as rumors had foretold. Because of the 
ancient magic said to be involved, that face would not heal. 
Whole sections of skin had been torn away and Melicard had 
even lost his left eye. When all else failed with his arm, the 
king had turned to elfwood, rare wood that, legend had it, was 
cut from a tree blessed by the spirit of a dying elf, and had his 
artisans carve him a new limb. 


He had done the same thing with his face. 


Erini, remembering what had followed, pulled the sheets 
around her. Tears streaked her own features and she whispered, 
"I'm sorry!" 


While his bride-to-be stood where she was in what he could 
only believe to be disgust and horror, Melicard coldly lit other 
candles from the first. It was evidently his intention to give her 
the full effect, so positive was he that she loathed him. 


"You certainly must have heard enough gabbers' tales about 
my—difficulties—before making your way here! Is it so much 
worse than even the stories?" 


How could she tell him? Erini could not keep her eyes off his 
face. It was the face of Melicard, every curve and angle exactly 
as it should have been—save that most of the left side was 
masterfully carved from the same wood that his arm had been, 



32 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


even down to the cheekbone and lower jaw. A third of the nose 
had been replaced; the elfwood spread as high as the middle of 
his forehead and as far back as his ear. She was certain that 
unbuttoning the collar of his dark shirt would reveal more of 
the same. 


The damage had not been confined to the left side, either. 
His right side was streaked by what almost looked like roots 
spreading from the left. Three major branches split across his 
cheek and each had one or two minor appendages as well. So 
contrasting was the enchanted wood to his own pale skin that 
the entire patchwork face looked like nothing less than that of a 
man dying of plague. 


"You are free to depart any time. Princess Erini," he said 
after a time. 


She shook her head, unwilling to trust her mouth. Melicard, 
carefully skirting her, came around and offered her a chair. 
Erini had been so engrossed in his appearance that she had not 
even noticed there was furniture, or anything, for that matter, 
in the room. "If you plan to stay, then please be seated. This 
should be more comfortable than those coach benches, even a 
royal coach." 


With a whispered "thank you," Erini adjusted her ungainly 
dress and sat down. The king, moving swift and silent, suddenly 
leaned before her, a goblet of red wine in each hand. She 
took the proffered goblet and waited until he was seated in 
another chair directly across from her before sipping. The wine 
succeeded very little in steadying Erini's nerves, for her eyes 
could not leave his face even when she drank. 


They sat like that for several minutes. Melicard, whose 
manner had been as politely cold as his words, drank from his 
own goblet in silence. With each sip, he seemed to draw deeper 
into his own mind. The princess wanted to say something, 
anything, to ease his pain and her own guilt, but the words 
would not come out. She grew angry at herself for becoming 
one of those helpless, useless maidens the storytellers often 
created for their fables. Until now, Erini had secretly mocked 
those pitiful women. 


At last, the king set his goblet down and rose. The princess 
straightened, expecting some announcement, some word from 
her betrothed as to their future—or even lack of it if that was 
his desire. To her surprise, Melicard turned and walked to the 
far end of the chamber, where another door stood. Melicard 


SHADOW STEED 33 


opened it and, without looking back or even saying a word, 
stepped out of the room. 


Erini stared at the door as it closed behind him, not 
comprehending immediately what had happened. Only when a 
liveried servant stepped in from the first doorway did realization 
sink in. 



"If you will come with me, your majesty, I have been 
commanded to show you to your quarters." Through his 
manner, the servant verified her fears; Melicard was not returning. 
The king had read her disgust and pity and had been able to 
stomach it no longer. 


She saw no one other than the servants who fed and cared for 
her and her two ladies-in-waiting. Galea and Madga pressed 
her for snippets of information about the king, but Erini would 
have none of that. After dismissing them politely, she had 
retired early, the combination of the journey and her trial here 
too much to bear. 


Letting the sun now bathe her, heal her mental wounds, she 
silently swore an oath. / must make it up to him somehow! I 
must show I can care without pitying! Small wonder he acts the 
way he does if everyone reacts as I did! Melicard could not be 
faulted for his efforts, the princess decided guiltily. If his own 
flesh would not grow back, what was he supposed to do? Wear 
a mask of gold and silver? Leave his own, mangled features 
visible? In many ways, the elfwood face was the best solution, 
unnerving as it as. Even the king's sorcerer had come up with 
nothing better after failing to heal his master's wounds. 


Her own fingers began to twitch at the thought and she 
clasped both hands together in order to fight the urge down. 
She would not succumb. There was nothing the princess could 
do that others more skilled, others who were trained, could not 
do better. 


Erini repeated what had become a chant to her—she was a 
princess of Gordag-Ai and could never be a sorceress or witch. 
Never. She was destined to be a queen. No king would trust a 
witch for a wife. Her own people would not have. 


Though she fought it down successfully, Erini shook so badly 
after that, that she rose and dressed herself, not daring to have 
Galea or Magda or any of Melicard's people wonder what 
made her shake. By the time the princess was finished, the 
danger was past. Erini inspected herself in the vast mirror that 
overwhelmed the wall opposite her bed and, satisfied, dared to 


34 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


summon a servant. If she succeeded in nothing more today, she 
would at least eat a decent meal. 


Neither Melicard nor the unsavory Counselor Quorin met her 
at breakfast. Galea and Magda joined her, but she made some 
pretext and left them as soon as she was finished. When none 
of the palace servants seemed to object, the princess began 
exploring, trying to understand more about Talak and its 
monarch through the vast building itself. Erini already knew 
much of the city-state's "official" history, having been educated 
about her future kingdom most of her life, but there was 
more, so much more, beneath the surface of the facts that tutors 
had poured into her. All she had learned about her betrothed 
had availed her nothing in his actual presence. It was a mistake 
she did not intend to make a second time. 



As lavishly decorated as the palace was, she soon discovered 
two things. One was that the vast majority of items had been 
gathered during the reigns of past kings, to the extent that 
whole wings had been built to house them. The second and 
more interesting point concerned, those few treasures gathered 
or created during the years of Melicard's rule. Most of the 
pieces were dark in nature and not a few of them dealt with the 
death and destruction of foes, especially dragons. Paces in 
portraits were always shadowed or, if they were fully revealed, 
were sinister and even hideous. It did not paint a pretty picture 
of her betrothed. Erini began to have doubts. 


At a window overlooking an interior garden filled with 
hanging plants and blossoming flowers of all colors, she paused 
to relax. A noise at the far end of the garden made her look 
there. Her eyes narrowed at an curious sight. Far below, two 
guards were carrying a third man between them. As opposed to 
the tall, muscular soldiers, the unconscious figure in the middle 
was thin to the point of emaciation and as old as any soul the 
princess had ever seen. He wore a dark robe with a cowl on it, 
identifying him from Erini's teachings as Melicard's sorcerer 
Drayfitt. The history that the ancient spellcaster had lived 
through had always fascinated her, but not nearly so much as 
why Drayfitt now needed to be carried anywhere. She leaned 
closer. 


Erini glanced back at the direction the trio had come from 
and noticed the small doorway buried beneath the vines of the 
far wall. The way to the sorcerer's inner sanctum? Possibly, 


SHADOW STEED 35 


and, if so, it was also possible that his present condition was 
due to some spell gone awry. 


"What's going on here?" a voice that grated on her nerves 
snarled. 


The two sentries paused and, readjusting their unconscious 
package, saluted Mal Quorin. He ignored protocol and repeated 
his question in the same vicious tone as before. 


One of the guards, his face no longer visible to Erini, 
nervously replied, "His majesty gave us orders to seek out the 
sorverer Drayfitt and find out why he had not reported to the 
king this morning. When we arrived, the guards on duty let us 
in, reporting that no one had entered or left since they had been 
stationed there." The man hesitated before concluding quickly, 
"He was lying on the floor! We tried to wake him, but nothing 
worked, my lord!" 


Quorin looked at both of them, evidently not satisfied. 
"There's more, isn't there?" 


"The demon is loose, my lord!" the other guard finally 
blurted. "Or, at least, it's no longer in the chamber!" 


Erini, listening intently and growing more shocked with each 
word, fully expected the counselor to vent his rage and power 



on the two hapless soldiers. Instead, he simply stood where he 
was, staring. Whether he stared at the sentries or into open 
space, the princess had no way of knowing. At last, the 
counselor reached forward and, in a move that stunned not only 
Erini but the soldiers as well, slapped Drayfitt sharply across 
the face. The elderly spellcaster's head snapped to one side, but 
he did not wake. Quorin rubbed his hand. 


"Be on your way, then. I want to know when he wakes." 


"My lord." 


Quorin watched calmly until the trio was out of sight and 
then whirled back in the direction of the vine-covered door. 
With tremendous, catlike strides, he covered the distance to his 
objective in mere seconds. The counselor put one hand on the 
handle and then, as if sensing he were being watched, turned 
around and glanced upward. Erini, however, anticipating such 
a move, was already flattened against a wall. 


She counted more than twenty breaths before she dared to 
look. Mal Quorin was gone, evidently having decided he did 
not have the time to search for shadows. The princess debated 
going down to the mysterious door or following the guards and 
their package. Knowing that the counselor might be waiting for 


36 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


her, Erini chose the latter and tried to guess where the two men 
might enter. They had mentioned Melicard and his interest in 
the workings of the sorcerer. If nothing else, they would 
eventually return to their monarch with some type of report and 
that report would include Drayfitt's odd condition. 


A demon, by my ancestors! Do all the rumors about Melicard 
have some basis in fact? Am I engaged to a human monster? 
Have I been so wrong about him? 


Drayfitt and the guards. They had to be inside by now. 
Where might they go? The chamber in which she had confronted 
Melicard? It was her only real choice. Taking a deep breath, 
the princess made her way to the central staircase and started 
down, walking with the air of one who is inspecting her new 
domain. Erini did not know what might happen if she actually 
stumbled across the trio, but that was a risk she was willing to 
take. Her only fear was running into Quorin or the king 
himself. The counselor was an annoyance; her betrothed... Erini 
was not quite ready to deal with him. There were things she 
wanted to think about before the two of them spoke again, 
especially if she had properly understood the conversation 
between Quorin and the two guards. 


At the foot of the stairs, she confronted four sentries, who 
saluted in simultaneous fashion. Erini nodded imperiously and 
continued on. No one made a move to stop her wanderings. 
Once she was far enough away, the princess exhaled deeply, 
wondering if her heart would ever slow to normal again. 


She was turning down the main hall when she spotted the 
two soldiers from the garden. Drayfitt was nowhere to be seen. 



The guards themselves were just marching up to the doorway 
of the chamber she had entered last night. The same sentries 
stood watch. After a brief consultation, the soldiers who had 
discovered Drayfitt were ushered inside. 


Disappointment washed over Erini. There was no way she 
could eavesdrop on Melicard and his men. Barging in was also 
too risky, considering that she might at any minute discover she 
was no longer to be his bride. Erini began to wonder what 
room Drayfitt might have been deposited in by the guards. If 
she could find some way to wake him... 


"Your majesty is awake. Did you sleep well?" 


The princess trembled in surprise. Her left hand made an 
automatic sweep across her midsection and suddenly began to 
glow, but she reversed the motion, thereby countermanding the 


SHADOW STEED 37 


spell. By the time the princess turned around, her hand was 
back to normal. 


Mal Quorin was standing behind her, his feline features 
enhanced by the predatory smile spreading across his face. The 
counselor was all politeness as he spoke. "My deepest sympathies 
for yesterday, princess. The king is—overwhelming—at times." 


"And I was not understanding. Counselor Quorin. I have 
every intention of atoning for my lapse. The king has nothing 
to regret." She glanced down the hall at the guarded doorway 
with a majestically indifferent eye. "I thought I might speak to 
him now." 


Rubbing his chin, Quorin diplomatically hesitated before 
replying, "I regret to say, your majesty, that now would not be 
a good time to disturb the king. He has thrown himself into his 
work, something he does when his mood grows dark, and I 
think it might be best to wait until this evening, when it is time 
to sup. I assure you that the evening meal would be a much 
better time to mend any rift between the two of you." 


The false face of courtesy that the counselor wore for her 
irritated Erini and she was tempted to tell him so. The real Mal 
Quorin was the man who had been shouting in the garden, an 
ambitious, hot-tempered plotter in her opinion. To speak the 
truth would avail her nothing, however, and would probably 
make matters worse since this man had the ear of Melicard. 


"As you say, Counselor Quorin. You will arrange, I trust, 
that the meal is a private one. The king and myself. I have 
much to make up for." 


"I shall do my utmost." He gave one of his sweeping bows. 
"If you like, since the king is unavailable, I can have someone 
escort you through the city, show you all Talak has to offer its 
new queen. Would you like that?" 


His tone was that of an adult asking a child if she wanted a 
piece of candy. Erini struggled to keep her temper. If there ever 



was a reason to let her powers loose, it was the counselor. She 
wondered what he would say if he knew how dangerous his 
position actually was at present. 


"I think not, counselor. Not today, anyway. There is still so 
much to see and leam about in the palace itself. I should get to 
know Melicard's heritage, for it will be mine as well." 


His eyes spoke otherwise in response to her quiet challenge, 
although Quorin's words themselves were nothing less than 
admiration and the desire to assist. "You are to be recommended, 


38 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


your majesty. If you will retire to your chambers, I will send a 
member of the royal archives who will be able to answer all of 
your questions for you. There arc also a vast number of books, 
some in the handwriting of the king's illustrious ancestors, that 
I will have pulled from the archives." 


Erini smiled so very sweetly. "You must be a godsend to 
your lord, counselor. There is no reason to do that as yet. I find 
I leam so much more just walking these exquisite halls. If you 
will excuse me now...." 


With Quorin watching her back, the princess walked sedately 
down the opposite hall, visibly admiring the treasures around 
her. After a few moments, she heard the scuffle of his boots as 
he turned away. Erini paused, pretending to study a statuette, 
and looked back out of the comer of her eye just in time to see 
the man barge into the same chamber that the two soldiers had 
passed through only a short time before. 


More and more, Mal Quorin bothered her. There were times 
when he moved much like the creature he resembled and others 
when he made more noise than a full honor guard. He was also 
her enemy, that much was now completely evident, and she did 
not doubt that he might even turn to violence. The counselor 
had no desire for the king to marry, likely because he feared 
Erini's influence might some day overshadow his own. 


Despite her lapses, the princess had no intention of folding 
up like the heroines of the storytellers. Come an endless army 
of demons and Mal Quorins, she would still mend the rift 
between Melicard and herself and, in the process, find out what 
had truly happened behind that garden door. 


If it also meant giving in to her own curse, so be it. 


In the eternal darkness of what had once been the throne 
room of the Dragon Emperor, a searing light burst into life, 
flooding the entire chamber in its bloodred brilliance. Things 
that were not entirely of this world, things that had once 
.obeyed the will of the Gold Dragon, scurried back into the 
safety of cracks and fissures where the light did not reach. 


Like a wisp of smoke. Shade uncurled out of nothing and 
stepped forth into the ruins of the Dragon King's lair. 


This had once been the chamber in which the Dragon Kings 



met in council. There had been thirteen of them until the end of 
the Turning War, when Nathan Bedlam had succeeded in 
destroying the regal Purple Dragon who had ruled Penacles 


SHADOW STEED 39 


before the Gryphon. The council—and the unity of the drakes— 
had broken up for the final time with the madness caused by 
the discovery of Cabe Bedlam, Nathan's grandson and successor, 
who carried a part of the spirit of the great Dragon Master 
within him. In this chamber, where some of the huge effigies of 
creatures long dead still stood despite all the violence that had 
passed through here, two drake lords, the battle-hungry Iron 
and his ever-present shadow Bronze, had paid for their rebellion 
against Gold. In this chamber. Shade had learned, Cabe 
Bedlam had defeated the Dragon Emperor, tearing his mind 
apart. Here also, it was said, Cabe and the Lord Gryphon had 
battled young Bedlam's mad father, the sinister Azran. 


Death is so very much a part of this place still. Shade 
thought uneasily. If there was a place that could unnerve him, it 
was here. As Madrac, he had forgotten that fear briefly, coming 
here and using the Dragon Kings themselves to further that 
incarnation's goals. 


Shade stood and scanned the cathedral-high ruins about him, 
marveling at the carnage for several seconds before finally 
deciding that enough time had been wasted. The warlock took 
two tentative steps toward what had once been the throne itself— 


—and paused. 


Though no one but the warlock himself would have been 
able to tell. Shade blinked. He studied the cavern again—and 
then for a third time. When that no longer seemed to satisfy 
him, he sought around for a safe place to sit. There, he stared 
into the darkness of an adjoining cavern and wondered... 


... wondered why he had come here and why he had 
suddenly forgotten that reason. 


Darkhorse burst from the portal at full gallop, all defenses 
ready. He did not stop until he was certain that Shade was 
nowhere near. It never paid to be too confident in the Dragonrealm, 


40 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


especially with the warlock, but still, he could sense nothing 
hostile within immediate range and decided it was safe to come 
to a halt. 


A wave of sulfur drifted past his muzzle. Had he been less 
than he was, the treacherous smoke would have left him 
choking on the ground. Being Darkhorse, he noted it only for 
its pungent scent. 


"The Hell Plains! How aptly titled!" the shadow steed 
muttered. It was actually more of a shout than a mutter, for 



,even he found it difficult to hear his normally stentorian voice 
in a land where few minutes went by without some sort of 
volcanic eruption. All around him, the ground shook. Hills 
formed, burst open as molten rock was spewed forth, and then 
collapsed as some new crater redirected the flow. The very 
earth beneath the eternal's hooves cracked wide and lava began 
to rise to the surface. 


Darkhorse glanced down at the burning, liquefied rock and 
laughed. The lava licked at his forelegs, but it might as well 
have been the touch of a blade of grass. Mocking the power of 
the land with a swish of his thick tail, the phantom horse trotted 
to stable ground, the better to think. 


He had been over a hundred places that Shade might choose 
to visit and none of those had been sought out by the mad warlock 
despite more than a day passing. More than a dozen times, 
Darkhorse had found himself tricked by false or old trails. Dark-
horse did not feel defeated yet, but his options were diminishing. 


The earth shook, alerting him to yet another crater forming 
beneath his hooves. Annoyed, the shadow steed began trotting 
north, toward the more stable regions of the Hell Plains. There 
was yet one place nearby that Shade might deem to visit. A 
place hidden from all during its master's reign, but likely to be 
unprotected now. 


Darkhorse kicked up the ash in frustration. He was running 
blind. He had no idea what Shade planned, where the warlock 
was, or if the spellcaster had already struck. His only hope was to 
come across his former comrade in a place of power such as 
the one he neared even now. Perhaps this time ... he dreamed. 


The birdlike skull of a Seeker went bounding into the air, 
kicked high along with the soot it had been buried under. 
Startled, Darkhorse came to a halt—but not before kicking up a 
mangled pile of bones that had come from more than one 
creature and more than one race. 


SHADOW STEED 41 


The bones were jumbled together, the result of continual 
tremors and eruptions. Treading softly, the shadow steed discovered 
that they literally covered the earth, hidden from view only by 
a blanket of ash that had accumulated over the years. Memories 
of the past stirred. He recalled bits of news picked up concerning 
the fates of his friends and foes. It was as if time had not 
passed, for he had been battling the new, deadly incarnation 
called Madrac when these creatures had died fighting one 
another. Drake bones mixed freely with Seeker bones. The 
Seekers, the ancient avian masters of this land, had fought, not 
for themselves, but for the lord forced upon them, Azran 
Bedlam. They had died defending his citadel and, when even 
that was not enough to keep the hordes of the Red Dragon from 
his walls, Azran had destroyed the fiery legions and the Dragon 
King with his accursed demon blade. Darkhorse eyed the 
remains with clinical interest. This, then, was part of the battle 
site. He was closer than he had thought. The shadow steed 
puzzled over the remains and then looked up, openly curious. 



This had to be the region where Azran's sanctum was 
located—yet—it was nowhere to be found. 


He stirred up more ash and bone as he searched the ground. 
There were a number of jagged hills and craters, but none 
massive enough to be what Darkhorse sought, unless... unless 
all that remained of the tower was—its foundation. The ancient 
structure, supposedly built by the Seekers to withstand time and 
the Hell Plains had to be no more than a ruin. It was the only 
answer and, if true, yet another failure on his part. Shade 
would never come here. 


"Darkhorse, you are a vain, unmitigated fool!" He brought 
a hoof down on some unidentifiable bone, sending fragments 
and dust flying. He had been determined to do this alone 
because he felt the responsibility his. Shade was—had been— 
his friend. Shade's exile had been the etemal's doing and the 
warlock's escape had been Darkhorse's failure. Pride ruled the 
shadow steed as much as, if not more than, it ruled humanity. 


A touch of latent power disturbed the edges of his mind. 


"What have we here?" he rumbled. That which touched his 
thoughts was not living, not by any stretch of the imagination. 
It had the stink of death—no, it was death!—and it lay not too 
far from where he stood. Darkhorse, having few options of his 
own, followed the chilling trail. 


Soon, Darkhorse found himself standing before a long, wide 


42 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


mound some two or three times the height of a normal man. 
The jet-black horse stepped up to the front edge of the mound 
and dug away at it with his hoof, not daring to unleash a spell 
in the vicinity of such a dark power. Darkhorse had no fear for 
himself, but he knew that careless action might very well rob 
him of his only possible chance to find and stop Shade. That, 
of course, depended on what had sought him out. There were 
things in the Dragonrealm that even he hoped never to meet. 


After a few moments, he uncovered the edge of a wall. It 
was true, then. Something, perhaps Azran himself, had stripped 
the ancient castle of its preservative spells. Age and the 
primitive fury of this cursed region had caught up to the 
citadel. From what he could see, Darkhorse guessed that an 
eruption had taken place not too far from the once magically 
protected grounds. In a few more decades, there would be little 
or nothing remaining of the lair of Azran. 


Somehow, Darkhorse could not bring himself to weep for 
the loss of such a place. If the Hell Plains buried the evil 
memory of Nathan Bedlam's treacherous foal, so much the 
better. 


The touch of death returned. Shaking his head to remove the 
foul feeling, the stallion followed the trail left by the magical 
contact. Ash, mortar, and yet more bones flew as Darkhorse 
used the slightest touch of his own power to clear a path. One 
never knew what might be lurking beneath. The ground rum



bled ominously; perhaps decades was too long an estimate. 
There might be nothing remaining in mere minutes. 


He came across what had once been stairs leading down to a 
room, a room still protected by sorcery though the physical 
structure itself was no more than half a wall and several loose 
stones. Darkhorse paused only for a moment; then, spelling the 
ash away, he descended. The protective measures here were 
bound together with the same unearthly power that had reached 
out to him, which was why they still remained. Even if the 
entire region exploded in one massive eruption, this spot would 
go untouched. Darkhorse laughed, his challenge to what awaited 
him. He knew with what he dealt now. 


His form passed through a spell that would have killed any 
mortal creature and several entities of lesser ability than he. As 
the tip of his tail passed beyond the deadly trap, the violent 
land of the Hell Plains ceased to be. 


"I am unimpressed," was his first comment as he surveyed 


SHADOW STEED 43 


the chamber he now stood in. "Typical of your masters, who 
have no imagination!" 


How the room had looked before Azran's death was questionable, 
though, knowing the necromancer's madness, it had 
probably been much the same. Without Azran's physical influence, 
however, control of this place had slipped back to the 
oppressive rulers of the Final Path, the beings known to men as 
the Lords of the Dead and other, in the etemal's estimation, 
overly pretentious titles. 


/ wonder what humans would think if they knew that even 
these Lords must die at some time! 


The odor of rotting flesh filled the chamber. Decaying forms, 
human and otherwise, littered the place. A pool of some 
brackish liquid—definitely not water—bubbled ominously. 
Darkhorse laughed again. 


"Save your show for those who believe in it, Lords of the 
Overacting! You know that I have no fear of you! If I should 
ever perish, my ultimate destiny lies elsewhere, not in your 
slime-crusted fingers! If you have something to say to me, then 
do so! One who has cheated you over and over for millennia 
threatens the mortals—mortals who have not yet lived the lives 
that are their due! Well? Do I need to start dumping this refuse 
into your little puddle?" He prodded an unidentifiable mass 
covered with black flies toward the pool. 


The bubbling grew violent, creating a green froth that swelled 
high. The pool became more agitated, waves lapping the floor. 
Something long, large, and blacker than Darkhorse briefly 
broke the muck-covered surface before disappearing again. The 
shadow steed watched all in total disinterest. 


In the center of the pool, a new form slowly rose. Accurate 
description failed, save that it was a hodgepodge of rotting limbs, 



torsos, and heads combined in impossible ways. Eyes dotted its 
form, all of them staring at the phantom horse with more than 
a touch of fury. Several limbs pointed in Darkhorse's direction. 


"I feel no more pleasure in seeing your lovely face—faces, / 
suppose I should say\—than you feel in seeing mine! Come! 
Speak and we can be done with this—or are you going to pass 
along some unmanageable riddle like those you foist upon 
mortals who seek your—fools that they are!—guidance'." 


"Child of the Void." The voice grated, scratched, pierced— 
it did everything as far as Darkhorse was concerned. Despite 
the irritation it caused him, however, outwardly he revealed 


44 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


nothing. Let them play their little games out as long as they 
told him something of importance. 


"Dweller Without." 


The shadow steed kicked the fly-covered corpse into the 
pool, which caused a flurry of bubbling as the scavengers 
sought unsuccessfully to escape their sinking home. Darkhorse 
focused an ice-blue eye on the guardian of the pool. 


"Yesss, I have earned my share of pretentious titles as well! 
Second move to you, my pretty friend! Now, unless you 
concede this idiotic game and tell me what is so important, I 
will depart this godforsaken hole forever—but not before sealing 
it so that no one else has to put up with your stench!" 


"Kivan Grath." The guardian of the pool spit the name out, 
along with a number of tiny, vague pieces of matter that 
Darkhorse did not bother to try to identify. 


"Kivan Grath?" 


"The Seeker of Gods, demon horse." It was the first 
understandable reply the thing had given him. 


"I know what it is, but why—" 


"Kivan Grath. Now." Each of the numerous mouths 
formed into what Darkhorse could only vaguely accept as a 
smile. A smile of triumph. "Do not lose him again, unwanted 
one." 


The jet-black stallion met the guardian's multiple gaze. "And 
how many times has Shade departed your domain without more 
than a nod of his head?" 


The guardian did not respond to his retort, instead choosing 
that moment to sink back into the mire. Up to the very moment 
its head submerged, all eyes remained fixed on Darkhorse. 


He bid the guardian, who may or may not have been little 
more than a puppet through which his masters had spoken, 
farewell with a mocking laugh that echoed throughout the 
chamber. Turning, the shadow steed kicked yet another moldering 



form into the grisly pool as he burst back through the magical 
veil and out into the Hell Plains. 


Ascending to the surface, Darkhorse scanned the area with 
renewed interest. "Not so bad a place after all! Almost pleasant!" 


His gaze returned to the stairway and the ruins of the 
chamber. Azran's pool lay in some space between the mortal 
plane and the lands of the dead, a brilliant piece of sorcery. 
Almost indestructible, too. 


Almost. 


SHADOW STEED 45 


"Some doors are too dangerous to leave opened," he finally 
decided. 


The black emptiness that was his form melted, changed. 
Like the molten rock flowing from the craters, the inky darkness 
streamed down the broken steps, pressing with purpose 
toward the magical doorway. As it enveloped the physical 
portal, a brief touch, a brief moment of protest, tapped at the 
edges of Darkhorse's consciousness. He ignored it and, as the 
magic which had created the portal was absorbed within him, 
the protest faded. 


The shadow steed re-formed himself at the top of the stairs. 
At the base of those stairs was now a clean, flat surface. Other 
than the steps, there was no sign that there had ever been a 
portal. Indeed, there was not even a trace of the room remaining. 


Kivan Grath. Most majestic of the Tyber Mountains. The 
name was familiar to Darkhorse and he cursed himself for not 
having searched there earlier. Lair of the Gold Dragon, long 
dead. The caverns within Kivan Grath were endless and they 
predated even the Seekers. Was it possible that one of Shade's 
rediscovered memories had sent him searching in those caverns? 


Darkhorse paused. The rot-riddled masters of human mortality 
had given him a clue, but did he dare trust it? They cared 
nothing for him and that feeling was returned to them twofold. 
Why, then, were they aiding him? Was there something greater 
they feared, should the warlock remain free? 


Again, he contemplated seeking out Cabe Bedlam, the one 
mortal who might be of help, and again the painful belief, that 
he was responsible for Shade, kept him from doing so. 


The guardian had indicated that speed was of the essence and 
Darkhorse, knowing he had already stalled longer than he 
dared, opened a path through reality. This time, he would find 
Shade. This time, there would be no exile. 


Only one sentry guarded the room where Erini guessed 
Drayfitt had been deposited. He stood at the doorway, a bored 
look on his rough features, his hand on the pommel of his sword. 
In the palace royal of the king of Talak, no one expected 
trouble. That, despite what had happened to the old sorcerer. 



What exactly she planned to do, the princess could not say. 
Her ideas had gone no farther than locating Drayfitt and she 
was chagrined to realize she had no notion as to how to proceed 
now. Of what use would sneaking past the sentry be, always 


46 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


assuming that Erini could do even that, if success only meant 
confronting the unconscious spellcaster? 


She was turning away, defeated for the moment, when she 
heard the sound of a door opening and the voice of the guard 
raised high in surprise. Erini, positioned down a side corridor, 
glanced back in time to see the sentry's face glaze over as a 
determined Drayfitt stared into his eyes. The sorcerer had an 
odd look in his own eyes, a fanatical gaze that somehow did 
not fit the elderly man's appearance. It was almost as if he, like 
the soldier, were under a spell. 


Drayfitt wasted no time. Like a man possessed, he hurried 
down the hall—toward the corridor where Erini still stood. 
Quickly, she looked around for some place to hide, not wanting 
to chance the same fate as the hapless sentry. Sighting a 
stairway leading downward, the princess scurried over to it. 
She rushed halfway down and paused, hoping to hear the 
sorcerer as he passed. 


A horrible thought occurred to her. If Drayfitt was returning 
to the garden, his quickest way to reach it was the very 
stairway she was standing on. Erini took several steps down 
and then paused. By now, Drayfitt should have been descending 
behind her, yet, his footsteps were growing fainter. She waited 
a moment longer and then slowly made her way back up. No 
sorcerer barred her way. The princess reached the .top of the 
stairs and looked around. The elderly man was gone. 


Holding her breath, she listened for some sound. Nothing. 
Drayfitt had continued down one of the two hallways, but she 
could not say which. The ancient sorcerer was much sprier than 
the princess could have believed possible. Now, there was no 
way she could follow him. 


Voices and heavy footsteps down the original corridor made 
her turn. Quorin was one of them. The two soldiers who had 
carried Drayfitt to the room were likely with him. The other 
voice... 


Melicard! 


Erini cursed her luck. If she went down either corridor, they 
would see her. If she descended the stairs, they might notice 
her as she hurried across the garden. Either way, things would 
look suspicious. With her future already in a fragile state, this 
might be more than it could stand. 


Strengthening her resolve, Erini did the only thing she could. 
It was time to rely on hope and her own ability to act as a 


SHADOW STBED 



princess acted. Smoothing her gown, she strode down the 
hallway and entered the corridor by Drayfitt's former resting 
place just as Melicard, Quorin, and at least six guards came 
into sight from her right. 


She pretended to notice the stunned guard for the first time. 
Shock was not a difficult emotion to play; the sentry's slack 
features and blank eyes were a frightening sight. Without 
realizing it, she put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. 


"Princess Erini! Your majesty!" Quorin's voice. She refused 
to acknowledge it, instead shaking her head as if ready to break 
down at the sight of the unfortunate victim of Drayfitt's power. 


"Erini." 


The new voice was Melicard's and the soft tone of it turned 
her uneasiness to wonder. She gratefully tore her eyes from the 
sentry, fixing them instead upon Melicard's face. This time, the 
princess felt no uneasiness, only uncertainty. Would they suspect 
why she was here? 


"Melicard, I—" 


Quorin stepped forward to intercept her as she moved toward 
the king. "Your majesty, if you will permit me, I will have two 
of these men escort you to your chambers. There has been 
some unpleasantness here, as you can see, and we would not 
want you endangered." 


She purposely sidestepped him. "If there is some danger to 
Melicard, I will certainly not abandon him for my own sake! If 
there is some danger to me, I will feel safer with my betrothed!" 
Erini looked up at the king. Melicard met her gaze 
momentarily, then looked down. "Unless, of course, he does 


not wish me here." 


The king lifted his head and studied her. Erini kept her gaze 
on his eyes. Her own played tricks; she almost came to believe 
that both his eyes were real. Would he respond to her bald 
statement? Did Melicard understand that she would leave Talak 
now if he so desired it? 


Beside her, Mal Quorin grew anxious. He put a hand on her 
arm, intending to lead her away from both the king and the 
present, dire situation. It proved to be a mistake. Life seemed 
to suddenly illuminate Melicard's visage, even that carved of 
elfwood. He looked from the counselor to Erini and back 


again. 


"It's all right, Quorin. She will be fine with me." 
The faces of Erini and Mal Quorin were a study in opposites. 


48 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


More pleased than she had thought she could possibly be, the 



princess barely noticed the scowling features of the counselor. 


"My liege, I don't think—" 


"We'll speak of the other matters later on. I know I can 
depend on you to deal with the present crisis as I would want it 
dealt with." The king's tone brooked no argument. 


Defeated for the moment, Quorin obediently bowed. "As 
you wish, your majesty. I shall report to you as soon as we 
have the crisis under control." 


Melicard absently touched one of the streaks of elfwood 
running across the right side of his face. "Unless you can't 
control it, I see no need why it can't wait until this evening. I 
leave it in your very capable hands." 


"My liege." The counselor barked orders to the guards. Two 
of them took the stricken sentry away while the rest followed 
Quorin down the side corridor Erini had stepped out of before. 
The king by her side, Erini watched until the party was out of 
sight. 


"Princess Erini," Melicard suddenly began, "I apologize to 
you for yesterday. You shouldn't have been expected to be at 
ease with something so... I sometimes try to provoke a response, 
I think." 


"My conduct was reprehensible, my lord. I should apologize 
to you for that. As a princess of Gordag-Ai and your betrothed, 
I should behave better. It could not have been easy for you to 
accept the fact that you had a bride, not after all these years." 


The thinnest shadow of a smile played briefly across the 
king's mouth. Through some trick of the light, Erini imagined 
that the elfwood portion of his face flexed and shifted as he 
talked, as if it believed it was flesh and blood. She wanted to 
reach up and touch it, just to be certain, but she doubted that 
Melicard would tolerate such a thing at this point—and she had 
no desire to do anything that might break anew the bond 
between them just as it was beginning to mend. 


"It was a bit of a surprise," he responded. It was as if Erini 
had met twins, so different was this Melicard from the cold one 
she had encountered briefly yesterday. "I hadn't even planned 
on marriage for several years. I have so much to do." 


The princess was careful not to press him on what sort of 
projects kept him so busy, instead saying, " 'The years pass as 
quickly as they once passed so slowly.' An old saying of 
Gordag-Ai. A king needs heirs if he wishes his legacy to live 


SHADOW STEED 49 


on. Where would Talak be if something happened to you and 
you had no heir? The city would fall." 


From the look in his working eye, Erini knew she had struck 
one of his most sensitive points. Melicard's campaign would be 
all for nought if he died. There was no one with the drive, the 



determination, to take over. Mal Quorin had such dreams, but 
the princes knew that putting Talak in the counselor's hands like 
that would result in nothing less than civil war. The counselor 
was a madman and madmen made for short, brutal reigns. 


Melicard reached out and took her hand. "Perhaps we can 
find a quiet place and talk for a little while." 


Having no desire to destroy what she had so far wrought, 
Erini made no mention of the fact that, under these circumstances, 
it was proper for others, specifically her ladies-inwaiting, 
to also be in attendance. When it came to courtship, 
the king was a babe. Still, she understood that they could make 
no progress if he had to endure the stares of other, less flexible 
souls like Magda or Galea—besides, Erini had no desire for 
them to be in attendance, either. 


Melicard led her down the hall, but not to the chamber they 
had met in the day before. Instead, the two of them walked 
toward the cathedral high doors of the main hall, where several 
startled guards quickly straightened. The king touched his face 
where elfwood and flesh met, hesitant. Then, with iron resolve, 
he took her arm and guided her forward. Two guards quickly 
opened the door for them and several others moved to fall in 
behind the royal couple. 


The king turned and calmly said, "Return to your posts. We 
will be within the palace grounds and very safe. That is a 
command." 


With some misgivings evident in their features, the guards 
stepped away. 


"Such loyalty is commendable," Erini commented. "Where 
are we going?" 


Melicard did not look directly at her, but she thought she 
detected a brief smile. Twice in only a few minutes, the princess 
marvelled. There's hope. 


"If you'll permit. Princess Erini, I would like to show you 
my kingdom." 


Her own smile was the only reply he received. Reddening 
slightly, Melicard escorted her outside and into the sunlight. 


so 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


In the caverns of Kivan Grath, a desperate Shade sat silently, 
his thoughts a raging fury in contrast to his still form. Try as he 
might, the warlock could make no sense of his memories; he 
barely even remembered the name by which he had gone for all 
these centuries. Shade. It was the only solid memory he had left. 
Somehow, he hoped, he would be able to build from it. Somehow. 


From the darkened caverns beyond, a single, unseen watcher 
studied the human. When curiosity was satisfied, the watcher 
vanished into the darkness to tell the others. 



The crimson fire that illuminated the throne room of the 
Dragon Emperor was momentarily drowned out by the brilliant 
white glow of Darkhorse's gate as the shadow steed burst 
through. Chilling eyes quickly drank in the details of the 
massive cavern, from the few huge effigies still standing, to the 
flittering, frightened shapes seeking haven in the cracks and 
crevices. Darkhorse ignored the creatures, knowing them as 
useless servants of a long-dead Dragon King. There was only 
one thing, one creature who demanded his attention... and 
though he was nowhere to be seen, the ebony stallion could 
feel his nearby presence. 


"Shaaade!" 


The warlock's name echoed hauntingly through the endless 
labyrinth of caverns. It was said that here, if one dared, a way 
to the bottom of the world might be found. Darkhorse neither 
knew or cared. He wanted Shade and each passing second 
made that hope dwindle. 


"Come, Shade! It is time to join the ghosts of our pasts! 
This poor world can ill afford our constant struggle! Let it end 
now!" 


He waited, listening intently as the echoes of his challenge 
slowly died away. The things hiding in the cracks and crevices 
chittered in mad fear. More out of impatience than anything 


r 


SHADOW STEED 51 


else, Darkhorse looked up in their general direction and laughed, 
sending them scattering to hiding places farther away from the 
phantom horse. 


Still no one answered his challenge. 


There was too much old magic here for him to pinpoint the 
spellcaster. Old spells abandoned, for the most part. There was 
also something else, something older and newer. Darkhorse 
sniffed. 


Vraad sorcery. 


Shade's words to him while the shadow steed had remained 
helpless in Drayfitt's cage resurfaced. The warlock had said 
that his elderly counterpart had used Vraad-style sorcery. Now, 
in this ancient place where Shade himself had come, there were 
again Vraad traces. 


Darkhorse cursed silently. Now there was more than Shade 
to deal with. If he somehow survived his encounter with the 
warlock, there were still the legacies of the Vraad. Legacies 
that threatened more than a world. 


Dru Zeree, the stallion thought, recalling the first being to 



befriend him. I've need of your guidance. How do I fight what 
even the Vraad themselves could not? 


There was no answer, of course. It was a friendship of the 
far past. It was a reason that Darkhorse rarely sought the 
friendship of others, though he yearned for their trust. Everything 
passed beyond, save him. 


And Shade. 


If the spellcaster had come seeking the foul inheritance left 
by that ancient race of sorcerers, he would be deeper in the 
caverns, possibly miles below the surface. Though the Vraad 
were recent by this land's standards, they had been a jealous 
people and prone to secrets, especially from one another. If one 
of their number had left artifacts behind, those items would be 
buried deep—and well-protected. 


Mystery upon mystery! 


Darkhorse struck the floor furiously, leaving a gouge where 
his hoof had landed. It also worried him that generation upon 
generation of Dragon Emperor had made this mountain and its 
caverns the home of their clans—yet not one of them had ever 
been known to make use of whatever the Vraad had abandoned. 


Scanning the chamber, he chose a likely side cavern. A gate 
would have been quicker, true, but only if he knew where 
Shade was. Besides, there was too much sorcery lingering in 


52 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


53 


the air. There was no telling what effect it might have on his 
own abilities. 


Darkhorse trotted cautiously toward the cavern entrance. 


A sinewy, metallic appendage wrapped itself around his 
throat. Another trapped one foreleg and two more snared his 
hind legs. Momentarily disconcerted, the shadow steed struggled 
futilely, gouging the earth with the sharp hoof of his sole 
free limb, as his unseen attackers struggled to maintain their 
holds from their shadowy hiding places. Then, the true seriousness 
of his situation jarred him back to reality. No physical 
bond could hold a creature whose essence was part of the Void 
itself, not unless master sorcery was at work. Even then, he 
should have been able to free himself simply by truly becoming 
a shadow. To his dismay, however, Darkhorse found that the 
transformation was beyond him. The same sorcery that had 
been used to create his attackers' weapons also prevented him 
from utilizing his own abilities. Someone had planned well, 
though they could have hardly done so with him in mind. It 
was only unfortunate coincidence that he had fallen prey. 



A final, jagged tentacle darted from one of the lesser caverns 
and snared his remaining leg. Each limb was pulled in a 
different direction, making movement impossible. The noose 
around his neck kept him from using more primitive methods to 
escape, such as biting his bonds in two. 


"Hurry, you foolssss! Bind him quickly!" 


Slowly, so as not to lose the hold each had, the ebony 
stallion's attackers abandoned their hiding places and moved 
toward him. Their identities did not surprise him, not after 
hearing the hissing voice that commanded them. So engrossed 
had he become in his search that he had not noticed the spells 
that must have masked their presence, spells which he, more 
sensitive to sorcery than most, should have at least felt, 
regardless. 


Despite his predicament, Darkhorse responded to his captors 
presence with disdain. "Drakes! I might have known your kind 
would be slithering about these holes in the ground!" 


The crimson light poured over the newcomers, giving them 
the appearance of walking dead risen from some terrible battle. 
Each stood a little taller than a man and, outwardly, resembled 
savage warriors clad in masterly crafted scale armor that 
covered all but their heads. The heads themselves were mostly 
obscured by great dragonhelms that made the humanoid figures 


seem even taller. Within those helms, eyes the color of fire 
blazed and mouths full of sharp, predatory teeth opened wide in 
triumphant smiles. Their noses were little more than slits and, 
if one was so foolish as to get close enough to see, their skin 
was scaled, like a reptile. 


Darkhorse knew far better than most that the armor was 
illusion. The scales were real, as real as those on the drakes' 
faces. It was not true clothing they wore, but their own skins 
transformed by the drakes' own innate sorcery. Even the 
mighty helms were false in nature, the intricate dragon crests 
being the true faces of the creature and not some craftsman's 
design. The shadow steed had seen drakes revert to their 
dragon forms, and watched as the fierce dragon head slid down 
and stretched, becoming animated with life. It was a sight none 
could ever forget—provided they survived the encounter. 


Dragons who preferred the forms of men, that was the drake 
race. With each generation, there were more and more of those 
who could better copy the human form. The females were 
already adept—too adept, some human women said—but they 
sacrificed much of their power for that perfection. 


The drake holding the noose wrapped around Darkhorse's 
neck gave it a tug. Pain burned the eternal where the metallic 
bonds touched his form, and all thought of drakes and their odd 
ways vanished as anger resurfaced stronger than ever before. 


"Thisss isss our domain, demon," the apparent leader hissed 
with gusto. "To enter here meansss to sssacrifice your life!" 


Darkhorse chuckled. "You sound like your cousin the ser



pent, reptile! Is proper speech beyond you?" 


The leader hissed, revealing a long, forked tongue. A throwback, 
the shadow steed noted in one part of his mind. A drake 
whose ties to the dragon form of his birth were stronger than 
those of his brethren, those ties manifesting themselves in such 
things as the split tongue, jagged teeth designed to tear flesh, 
and a savage manner that made them the deadliest of their race. 


"Your death will be mossst—most enjoyable, demon! Our 
lord will gain great pleasure from watching you perish slowly! 
Too many of our race have suffered the unspeakable at your 
hands!" 


"Hooves, dear lizard, hooves! Those things at the end of 
your arms are hands—more or less! Tell me; can you really 
hold a sword with those gnarled appendages—or do you scratch 
and bite your opponents like a riding drake?" 


54 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Riding drakes were huge, swift, wingless dragons of an 
intelligence just below that of horses. That such mindless 
beasts were as much a part of the drake race as these warriors 
before him amused Darkhorse. It did not amuse the leader—as 
the ebony stallion had hoped. "It might prove interesting to see 
if a sword could cut you now that you are forced to remain in 
the form of a beast of burden, demon horse! I will have to 
make such a suggestion to our lord when we have dragged you 
before him!" 


Darkhorse looked scandalized. "Drag me before him? Did I 
say that I would be party to such a thing?" 


The drakes grew nervous. A few touched their swords, 
forgetting the type of creature they were dealing with. The 
sword was the most useless of their weapons. 


"You have no say in the matter." 


"Oh, my dear friend, but I do!" Darkhorse retorted. He 
began to laugh, taunting his captors with the very madness of 
his act. -The sorcerous bonds burned into his solidified form, 
but he turned the agony around, adding its strength to his 
mocking reply. In the vast maze of caverns, the sound of his 
voice echoed and echoed, but nowhere with more intensity than 
in the throne room. The more the pain sought to defeat him, the 
louder he became. 


One by one, his captors lost control as the laughter battered 
their ears. The drake keeping his right foreleg in check lost his 
grip on his weapon as he reached up and buried his head in his 
hands, trying without success to block out the noise. Darkhorse 
shook the coil loose and used the one leg to pull himself 
forward. The drakes behind him, barely able to even stand, 
could not maintain their grips. Freed, the shadow steed whirled 
and struck at the drake who controlled the coil around his left 



foreleg. The kick sent the warrior flying into one of the statues 
that still stood. Though he wrapped around it like a ribbon, the 
drake never felt his back break; Darkhorse's blow had killed 
him. 


The noose around his throat still bumed. Darkhorse, no 
longer laughing, turned to the source of his pain, the leader of 
his attackers. The drake was on one knee and slowly recovering 
as the agonizing sound died away. Throughout all of it, he had 
maintained a tight grip. One coil, however, was not enough to 
hold the shadow steed, not now. Darkhorse prodded two of the 
other coils before him and, as the drake rose, kicked them 


SHADOW STEED 55 


expertly toward his adversary. The reptilian warrior had just 
enough time to realize his danger when both deadly toys 
dropped on him. 


He screamed—almost. The power needed to contain an 
eternal such as Darkhorse was more than enough to consume 
the drake completely. There was not even a trace of ash. 


Desperate, one of the remaining attackers leaped at the 
shadow steed, beginning the transformation to dragon form 
midway through the air. Darkhorse made no move to stop him. 
To what would forever be his dismay, the drake found no solid 
flesh to rend. He did not land upon Darkhorse but rather within 
him. The now-completely transformed dragon sank into the 
emptiness that was the jet-black stallion. Smaller and smaller 
the unfortunate attacker became, dwindling the way a figure 
falling forever and ever gradually diminished—until there was 
nothing to see. He would continue falling in that abyss, as still 
did so many before him, until everything—the multiverse, 
chaos, and even the Void—ceased to be. 


"I am the demon to demons. I am the traveller who defies 
the Final Path. I am the Void incarnate. / am Darkhorse." The 
eternal fixed his chilling stare on the remaining drake warriors 
as he whispered. 


The drakes fled, disappearing in all-out panic into one of the 
caverns. Darkhorse watched them escape, all the while chuckling 
in morbid amusement. 


Lead me to your master, drakes' Though the cursed light that 
only Shade could have left behind colors you scarlet, I think 
that silver is more to your lord's taste! Darkhorse began 
trotting after the vanished drakes, his hooves making no sound 
despite seeming to strike the stone floor with enough strength to 
shatter it. This time, the advantage would be his. 


Lead me to your master, brave ones, for I think that there 
might be a warlock I am seeking with him as well—and I will 
fight all the clans of your kind if that is what it takes to finally 
face him! 


Faces vaguely recalled. Names only beginning to resurface. 
Images of the ancient dead walking the earth once more. 



Shade could not say what urge had suddenly driven him to 
this subcavern far, far below the throne room. Not exactly a 
memory, but something more. Something to do with the insignia 
carved in raw marble and embedded in the wall he now 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


stood before. An insignia he remembered seeing on the Gryphon's 
tapestry and which he now traced in an abstract manner 
with his left hand. A militaristic banner with the stylized image 
of a fighting dragon. 


The banner of his clan. The banner of his father. 


"What memories do you hold?" Shade whispered, not 
knowing whether he spoke to the relief on the wall or his own, 
murky mind. He still could neither recall what he had come to 
this mountain for nor why the image of a great black beast, a 
demonic horse, had burned itself a permanent place in his 
thoughts. 


"What memories do you hold?" the warlock repeated. 
Unable as he was to see his own face—or lack thereof—Shade 
could not notice the brief clarity which played across it. The 
change came and went in less than a breath, but it left its mark, 
though the warlock could not know that. 


"Give me your memories." The words were not the product 
of wishful thinking, but rather a command. The resistance was 
strong, but not enough, not to one who knew—now. Shade 
nodded. His own memories were returning again and now he 
would add new ones as well. 


A pale, blue light formed in the center of the chamber and 
expanded. The warlock, his hand still on the ancient carving, 
turned to gaze on that light, seemingly fascinated by it as a 
moth to a flame. The light continued to expand and, as it did 
so, began to take on shapes. One after the other without stop. 
Tall. Short. Distant. Near. Simple. Unbelievable. 


Memories of a long-forgotten time. Of a race of sorcerers 
called the Vraad. Of Shade's kind. 


The images were indistinct at first. Shade put his other hand 
on the relief. The memories had been gathered over generations 
and from countless places. He could not say exactly when he 
recalled this information, but it was true, just as it was true that 
this carving had been set in the wall for just the reason he 
utilized it for now. 


"Give them to me!" he swore between clenched teeth. 


An image broke from the rest, solidified, and sharpened. 
Even though it was not yet distinct. Shade inhaled sharply, 
knowing already who it would be. It was not the one he had 
wanted—probably one of the last he had wanted—but it made 
sense, given the dragon banner on the wall. 



Father... Shade raised his left hand to the top of the banner. 


SHADOW STEED 57 


With a violent twist of that hand, he banished the image. It 
flared like a miniature sun—and was gone. 


A new image separated from the jumble, grew, and defined 
itself. A tall figure, female and only recently into womanhood. 
Shade dismissed it as he had the first, though he briefly 
wondered why it bothered him almost as much as seeing his 
father had. There had been no name to put to the woman, but 
he knew her. He also knew that, whatever her connections to 
him, she was not part of what he now sought. Still... 


Caught up in his thoughts, the warlock looked away for 
several seconds. When he returned his gaze to the blue light, he 
started in surprise, for another figure, tall and clad in armor, 
stood waiting patiently. Where the others had been bright, as if 
the" sun of midday had shone overhead, this one stood with the 
light behind him, blocking the glow and creating a shadow. 


A shadow? 


Shade glanced down at the rocky surface, eyeing the shadow 
that stretched long and narrow. This was no memory of the 
past. What stood before him was very, very real. 


"Warlock. Shade." The huge, armored newcomer took a 
few steps toward him. In the light, the scale armor glittered 
silver-blue. The voice was a quiet, soothing hiss. "I would 
have words with you, warlock. Words of things that concern 
both of us." 


The distant sound of mocking laughter echoing through the 
caverns made both look in the direction of the sole entrance to 
the chamber. Images of a creature with ice-blue eyes once more 
demanded Shade's attention. 


His new companion stirred visibly. Reptilian features partially 
masked by the massive dragonhelm were turned once more 
toward the warlock. Shade caught uncertainty tinged with 
greed—and fear. 


The Silver Dragon spoke again, his words uttered a bit faster 
than the first time and his eyes continually darting toward the 
entrance. "I would have words with you, friend—and quickly, 
if you do not mind." 


The drakes who fled from Darkhorse led him deeper and 
deeper into the caverns. Even he, who had known that a 
fantastic system of chambers lay within and below Kivan 
Grath, was shocked at the complexity and extent of the labyrinth. 
Still, it did make sense, for this had been the home of the 


58 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


entire clan of Gold, the most royal of drake clans. In one hot, 
steamy chamber, a hatchery by the look of it, he had even 
come across the skeletal remains of a huge female dragon who 



obviously had been the guardian of the newly bom drakes. Her 
death had been quiet if not peaceful from the look of it. Old 
age or lack of purpose, he judged. Darkhorse had also not 
missed the brittle fragments of the second skeleton in that area, 
a drake warrior who looked suspiciously as if he had been 
killed by the elderly dam herself. 


So many things to wonder about, he thought as he turned 
down yet another corridor. Would he ever find out what had 
happened since his exile? There seemed to be so much. A 
sudden uneasy feeling filled him, but it had nothing to do with 
his unanswered question. Darkhorse paused. No, something 
else disturbed him. He sniffed the air. 


Vraad sorcery—and close! 


"Shade..." he whispered to himself. So close the shadow 
steed could almost see him. Darkhorse opened a path in reality 
and, without hesitation, stepped through. 


The path itself was short, almost nothing, and the ebony 
stallion emerged from the other end of the portal in mere 
seconds. He found himself in the center of a chamber, bathed 
in a pale blue light and surrounded by phantom images that 
ignored him as they played out their brief lives. 


"What manner of monstrosity is this?" the shadow steed 
bellowed without thinking. Had he fallen into some hell created 
by Shade? 


Two figures whirled at the shout, both momentarily shadowed. 
Darkhorse stepped quickly from the light, shaking his 
body as if that would remove the thought of these disconcerting 
specters from it. They had about them the feel of Vraad 
sorcery, which made their existence all the more foul. 


One of the two figures watching him stepped closer, as if 
taking a casual walk. "You... you're... Darkhorse... aren't 
you?" 


"As much as you are the warlock Shade, my blurry friend! 
You know that very well! You remember everything—or have 
you forgotten that?" 


Perhaps it was his eyes that played tricks on him, Darkhorse 
wondered, but he would have been willing to swear even to the 
Lords of the Dead that Shade was smiling just a little. Was it a 
trick or were those two dark spots his eyes? 


SHADOW STEED 59 


Before the shadow steed could take it further, the warlock 
nodded and replied, "I remembered... but I forgot. I am 
remembering again... but not as Madrac. As myself, I think." 


Darkhorse's eyes glittered. "Yourself?" 


"I can't be certain yet." Shade indicated his companion. 
"The drake lord asked me the same question. He seemed 
disappointed. I think he wanted to make some sort of pact. I 



don't know." 


"Thisss isss insssanity!" The Silver Dragon raised a fist. 
Something crystalline glittered in its grip. "He isss our enemy!" 


An oppressing weight crashed down on the black stallion. 
Darkhorse fell to his knees and grew distorted as the pressure 
on him increased and he was slowly flattened. The Silver 
Dragon took a step forward, the light of victory burning in his 
anxious eyes. 


"It worksss! It worksss!" 


Shade remained where he was, watching everything with 
clinical interest. "Of course it does. Vraad sorcery does not 
fade easily. Still, I doubt if it will be enough." 


The drake cocked his head in sudden confusion. Victory had 
been replaced anxiety. "What'sss that? What do you mean, 
human?" 


"He means," Darkhorse forced himself to his feet again, 
"that you'll need more than that pretty bauble to keep me 
kneeling before you, lizard!" The shadow steed chuckled. 
"Surprise was its only useful weapon—and you've used that 
up!" 


The Dragon King cursed and shook the crystal, as if that 
would make it stronger. Shade shook his cowled head. 


"He knows more about it than you do, it seems, drake. I 
would have to say he probably knows more than I remember, 
too." 


Slowly, the Silver Dragon backed away. "I have my own 
power! I can deal with him!" 


"Ha!" Darkhorse looked down at the reptilian monarch. 
"Power includes the confidence and will to back it up, my little 
friend! Do you have enough of either? Somehow, I doubt that!" 


Shade crossed his arms and looked at both of them. "He 
may be right. Dragon King. He may be wrong as well." 


"You! He is your enemy, too! If he defeats me, you will be 
next!" 


60 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"Possibly. Possibly not. I could just depart—but I suppose 
he would find me eventually." 


Darkhorse moved cautiously. He was confident that the 
Dragon King would give him little trouble, being the most 
pathetic of his brethren that the horse could recall. This is a 
drake lord? This one would be Emperor? What worried him, 
however, was this new Shade, this indifferent, even possibly 
amoral creature who stood talking calmly while two powerful 
beings prepared to fight to the death—a fight that might very 
well include the warlock before long. 



Desperation was written in every movement of the Silver 
Dragon. Darkhorse began to understand. This drake lord had 
lived under the favor of the Gold Dragon and had apparently 
drawn much of his strength from his emperor—who had been 
more than a little paranoid about his own position. That 
paranoia had evidently transferred itself to this Dragon King, 
who saw himself as the obvious successor to his former master. 


The drake hissed and suddenly threw the crystal at Darkhorse. 


"That was definitely foolish," Shade commented. 


Knowing the artifact for what it was, the stallion stepped 
nimbly aside. A magical talisman could be deadlier when used 
in desperation than in planned combat. The Vraad device went 
flying past him, striking the cavern wall behind. It bounced two 
or three times on the floor and then rolled to a stop—all without 
the slightest sign of danger. 


Shade leaned over, clearly interested at the lack of reaction 
on the talisman's part. 


The crystal split into two perfect pieces and a gray-green 
smoky substance began to rise from it, forming into a cloud 
that swelled with each passing second. The warlock straightened 
quickly with as much emotion as Darkhorse had seen him 
convey since his arrival here. 


"I warned you that it was foolish. I think I may leave after 
all." 


Darkhorse snorted and trotted a step closer to the cloaked 
figure. "None of us is leaving here, dear friend Shade, until—" 


The shadowy warlock curled within himself and vanished 
with a slight pop\ before the next word was even out of the 
eternal's mouth. 


"No!" The Dragon King reached toward the spot where the 
spellcaster had stood, uselessly grasping at air. 


"You!" Darkhorse turned on the drake. "Where has he 


SHADOW STEED 61 


gone, carrion eater? Where?" Notagainnotagainnotagain! the 
shadow steed mentally cursed. 


Sizing up the chamber and knowing his chances against the 
creature before him, the Silver Dragon came to a rapid decision. 
He transformed. 


The transformation was quick, almost unbelievably so. Wings 
burst from the drake's back and the creature hunched forward 
as his spine arced and his legs bent backwards. Taloned hands 
grew long and arms twisted, becoming more like the legs. The 
Dragon King's neck stretched high, an ungodly sight at first, 
what with the humanoid head, but then the dragon-crest slid 
down over the half-hidden face, slid down and lengthened. The 



jaws snapped and the eyes opened, the true visage of the Silver 
Dragon revealed at last. All the while, the form of the leviathan 
expanded, growing and growing until it threatened to fill the 
cavern and more. 


All this in but a breath. Time enough for Darkhorse to have 
attacked—save that his limbs were suddenly heavy and the 
chamber was beginning to fade. He blinked, wondering if the 
ominous smoke cloud had affected his senses. His second 
thought was that Shade had made a fool of him, had returned 
somehow without Darkhorse sensing him and struck with some 
new spell. He struggled forward. The dragon, now whole, did 
nothing but stare. Shade and slowly smile that toothy smile that 
only his kind was capable of. 


"The nag hasss been sssnared himssself!" the Dragon King 
hissed jubilantly. He inhaled sharply and, as Darkhorse looked 
on in helpless frustration, bathed the shadow steed in white 
flame summoned up from his own magical essence. Darkhorse 
steadied himself, knowing that here was a fire whose burning 
touch even he might feel. 


The flame passed through the trapped stallion without so 
much as a hint of its unbearable heat. The Silver Dragon roared 
angrily. Darkhorse laughed, covering his own surprise with 
bravado. What was happening? 


You will come to me, demon! a familiar voice demanded. 
Now! 


"Damn the Final Path, no/" Darkhorse renewed his struggles, 
fighting with such ferocity that that Dragon King backed 
away again. "No!" 


The choice is not yours, demon! You will come! 


He was wrenched from the cavern and the dragon with the 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


ease that one might reach down and pick up a twig. The 
world—everything—twisted and faded. Darkhorse struggled, 
but he might as well have been trying to physically run the 
boundaries of the Void so futile was his attempt. He had 
underestimated an adversary again. His self-exile, he grimly 
decided, had warped his senses beyond help. 


The world of the Dragonrealm returned then—and with it a 
place that he had thought he would never have to see again. 


In the dim light of the torch, Drayfitt rose before him, 
exhausted but satisfied. The look in his eyes was unreadable, 


even to Darkhorse. 


"He will not escape this time. We can stare in those dead 
eyes until the Dragon of the Depths comes to visit the king for 
lunch before the demon will be able to trick one of us again. 
His other abilities are stifled as well." 



The markings around his magical cage had been altered 
slightly. Darkhorse tried to make them out but could not. 


Mal Quorin joined his rival and eyed the shadow steed with a 
mix of fury and glee. "You've cost us much, demon! That 
book cannot be replaced! Rest assured, though, before long, 
you will have repaid us for it over and over again!" 


"Mortal fools! I am not your fetching slave! Release me! Shade 
still wanders free and the danger may be greater than I supposed!" 


The Silver Dragon was a bully, strong but with little true 
bravery to back it up. Yet, if he was allowed to study the Vraad 
for very long, he might become an even deadlier threat. Kivan 
Grain might again be home to an emperor, if it did not become 


the citadel of Shade first... 


... and Darkhorse, trapped again through his own lack of 
forethought, would be unable to do anything about either peril. 


Erini woke the next day feeling as if the dreams of her 
childhood had become reality. Yesterday had turned the fears of 


SHADOWSTEED 63 


the future back into hopes. Yesterday, she had met Melicard the 
man. 


In the light of day, the magical aspects of his unique features 
had taken on a new quality. Erini had thought him handsome 
in spite of the coldness of his elfwood side; now, she saw 
that the elfwood could enhance as well. There was a beauty 
to the wood when it became one with the king's pale skin. 
The rare wood had always been beautiful by itself, but, as 
Melicard had seemed to draw from it, so, too, had it drawn 
from him. The two sides of his face had become one despite 
their differences. 


Even the stiff, artificial arm had felt smoother, more supple 
than earlier. 


Galea and Magda came and helped her this morning; a good 
thing, too, since she found she could not concentrate. Her 
thoughts continued to be of yesterday's journey out onto the 
palace grounds and the tower to which he had led her. It was 
part of the wall and there were three others identical to it spread 
equal distances apart. This was the best one, Melicard had 
informed her quietly, to view the city as a whole. 


His manners were rusty, as would be reasonable after so 
many years with so little practice. Still, the more they walked 
together—without the ever-present shadow of Mal Quorin—the 
more a new man had emerged; a new man, or one who had 
been locked away for over a decade. More and more, Erini was 
discovering that the dark, moody ruler of Talak was a creation 
of Melicard's own fears and, though she dared not suggest it 
openly, the influence of men like the counselor. This was not to 



say that the drakes were innocent, not by far, but the princess 
knew that some, at least, were trying to make peace with 
humanity. The others... she could not entirely fault Melicard's 
crusade. 


He had pointed to the north first. "There you see the old 
center. After the palace was built here, everything shifted. 
The buildings in the old center were torn down and new ones 
put up. Since there's a gate over there, merchants and travellers 
have taken it over much the way they have the other gates. Also 
out that way is the main garrison of the city. A remnant of the 
days when a drake ruled from the Tybers." 


Sensing his mood changing at the mention of the Dragon 
Emperor, Erini had turned west and pointed at a number of 
fancier buildings. "What about those?" 


64 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STBED 


65 


"The wealthier families. Master merchants and the old blood 
make their homes there. You probably saw some of that since 
the gate you entered lies in that direction." 


She smiled then, already knowing the effect a smile would 
have on him. Few women—few people—had smiled at him and 
meant it, possibly because the king never smiled himself. 


In the tower, he had returned her smile. She wondered how 
she could have ever thought it would be a chilling sight. In 
reply to his comment, the princess said, "There was so much 
to see that I cannot recall half of what I passed. Besides, most 
of the time my thoughts were on meeting you." 


Only one other thing disturbed the otherwise pleasant tour. 
Pointing to a large structure in the eastern side of Talak, the 
princess asked, "What is that? I saw a building like that in the 
west. Are they theatres? Arenas?" 


"In a sense. You'll find similar buildings in the northern and 
southern parts of Talak as well. All together, they house a 
standing force at least five times the size of the armies of 
Penacles, Zuu, or Irillian by the Sea." 


A standing army. The city of Zuu, though far to the southeast 
of Gordag-ai, was familiar to her by name at least. Though 
relatively small in comparison to giants like Penacles and the 
maritime Irillian, their armies were of similar strength—mainly 
because nearly every adult was willing to take on a foe and 
being a part of the army was considered an honor. Erini did not 
understand the ways of Zuu, but if Melicard had a force five 
times the population of that city-state... 



The rest of the day went peacefully. She had eaten with the 
king for the first time and, during the course of the dinner, had 
carefully broached the subject of their courtship and impending 
marriage. Melicard's replies were short and vague, but more, 
she suspected, from shyness than reluctance. Realizing she was 
starting to push things too quickly, the princess turned to small 


talk. 


Her betrothed had walked her to her room, where both 
ladies-in-waiting tried not to look disconcerted at the sight of 
their mistress and the king walking arm in arm. Melicard 
wished her a pleasant evening and departed. Erini could not 
recall when exactly she had finally gone to bed, only knowing 
that she had probably spent several hours either thinking or 


talking about the king—whether Galea and Magda wanted to 
hear it or not. 


Now, at the beginning of what she hoped to be an even more 
promising day, the princess found she could not be satisfied 
with anything she wore. Magda tsked a lot, reminding her that 
it was Erini the king was to marry, not a particular dress. Erini 
grew flushed. Here she was acting like the mindless young 
things that had always surrounded her at the palace back in 
Gordag-Ai. Always they had spoken of this young duke or that 
in giddy terms, much to her annoyance. Now, she realized with 
a wry smile, she was acting every bit as empty-headed. 


"Give me that one," she commanded with as much conviction 
as she could muster, pointing at a dress she had already 
tried on. Galea shook her head and picked it up again. 


Some time later, as Erini studied her finished self in one of 
the mirrors, she discovered she was still dissatisfied with the 
dress. 


Is this what love is? the princess wondered. / hope not. I'll 
never be able to live with myself if I keep acting this way. 


A servant arrived just as she was about to leave her room and 
informed her that something had come up; Melicard was 
begging her forgiveness but he would not be joining her. 


"What is it? Does Talak face an attack? Is Melicard injured 
or ill?" 


"He did not say, milady. He seemed well, though, and there 
.was no word of an encroaching army in the outlands. I know 
nothing more." 


"Thank you." Erini ended up eating only with her ladies. 
All through her meal, a meal which proved that, if nothing 
else, Melicard had someone who could perform miracles with 
eggs and spices, she found herself returning to the mysterious 
actions of yesterday. The strange states of the sorcerer, Drayfitt. 
The anger and fear of Mal Quorin. The door in the garden 
wall. 



The door in the garden wall? 


After brunch, she insisted that her two companions leam 
more about the city so that they would feel more comfortable. 
With a start, she also realized that she had yet to speak to the 
captain of the troop that had accompanied her coach to Talak 
from Gordag-Ai. The hapless soldier had not disturbed her, 
obviously believing she was too busy adjusting to Melicard to 


66 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


67 


speak to him. Surely, though, the captain and his men-wanted 
to return home as soon as possible, didn't they? 


"Magda, before the two of you depart, would you please ask 
someone to summon—oh, what is his name? The captain of the 
cavalry troop that my father had accompany us." 


"Captain Iston?" Galea piped up quickly. "I'll do it for you, 
Madga. I know you have some things you want to take care of 
before we leave." 


"Thank you, Galea. I'd appreciate that." 


The princess, who felt she had missed something, looked at 
her other companion as soon as Galea was out of the room. 
Magda smiled briefly. "Little Galea and Captain Iston have 
known each other for several months. He Is the third son of 
Duke Crombey and a career soldier himself. That his unit was 
given to you is a sign of favor on the part of your parents." 


"Gave to me? Do you mean to tell me—" 


"They're staying here, yes. Permanent attachment. Not one 
of those men has a family to return to. If I may be forward, I 
hope you'll encourage Galea. The captain is a bit older than 
her, but they are very serious and definitely a good match. She 
will bear him strong children." 


Erini fought down a grimace. "Is that his main priority with 
her? Passing on his name to a new generation?" 


"It has some importance." The taller woman looked at her 
curiously. "Your father, King Laris, and Melicard's father kept 
that in mind, I imagine. Most royal marriages are set up that 
way and quite a few more common ones as well—but, before 
you say what your face is already shouting, I think I speak 
truthfully when I say that Galea and her cavalry officer would 
marry even if children were out of the question." 


The princess looked at her older lady with new respect. 



"You surprise me, Mag. The two of you aren't that much older 
than me—" 


"Fourteen years is not that much older? You flatter me." 


"As I was saying, sometimes I watch you and I see those 
creatures that my father insisted I associate with, those—those 
crystalline dolls of the court. Other times, you seem to be in 
command of the world." 


Magda made some adjustments on Erini's dress. "No secret 
there. I'm a woman. If you want a puzzle to play with, try to 
figure out men. Now there's a mystery." 


Erini thought of Melicard and nodded. 


Her talk with Captain Iston was short. Once she had gotten 
over the fact that her parents had turned an entire unit of 
Gordag-Ai's cavalry over to her—as a personal guard—the rest 
was simple. Captain Iston proved to be a competent soldier and 
one of the few who listened to her without trying to act 
parental. 


"I have only one request, then, your majesty," he said at the 
conclusion of their talk. 


"That is?" 


"It makes little sense for your bodyguards to be so far away 
from you. True, we are cavalry, but any soldier of Gordag-Ai is 
also a master warrior on foot, too. We were given the honor of 
becoming yours. At the very least, let me set up a series of 
watches so that each man can perform his duties." 


Erini thought it over and nodded. "I'll have to talk to King 
Melicard first, captain, but I don't think that he will object to 
my request." Counselor Quorin might, but his likes and dislikes 
meant little to the princess. "I think I'd also like you to 
have a permanent place in the palace itself, captain. There will 
be times when I'll need you and I want you to start developing 
ties with our new countrymen." 


"Your majesty, I'm a soldier\ I should be sleeping with my 
men!" 


"You won't be far. Besides, an officer is allowed some 
privacy, I think. You've earned the right to live life a little, 
too." 


Magda and Galea announced themselves almost as if on cue. 
Iston did his best to maintain a military appearance, though his 
eyes wandered to the shorter lady-in-waiting more than once. 


"We were about to leave, as you suggested, when I thought 
that there might be something in particular you wanted us to 
look for. Good day, captain." 


"Good day, my ladies." 


Erini smiled while the officer's eyes were on other matters. 



"Nothing, thank you, but a thought occurred to me. Captain 
Iston, if it would not be inconvenient, I have one more request 
of you." 


He bowed. "Name it." 


"I am occupied with many things at the moment, but I want 
someone to get to know the city. Magda and Galea are 
performing that favor for me. I'd feel better, however, if they 


r 


68 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


69 


had someone trustworthy to protect them—just in case. Would 
you be so kind as to take a few of your men and escort them? It 
would give you a chance to study Talak for yourself, something 
you were undoubtedly planning, anyway." 


Iston hesitated, then, with a glance at Galea, nodded. "A 
wise idea, your majesty. If the ladies will permit me a few 
minutes, I will have horses and half a dozen of my finest join 
us. Will that be acceptable, my ladies?" 


Galea was silent with just the slightest crimson in her 
cheeks, but Magda took events in hand and gave her approval. 
"That will be fine. Captain Iston." 


"Has the princess any other need for me?" 


"None." 


The cavalry officer extended his arms. "If the two of you 
will accompany me?" 


Erini watched them depart, Galea's hold on Iston so tight, 
the princess wondered if it would be possible to separate them 
again. 


Her feeling of joy increased tenfold. She was on her way to 
strengthening her relationship with Melicard and now her own 
people were beginning to adjust to their new home. She turned 
to the mirror for one last look, wanting to be her best when she 
found her betrothed, which she would. Now there was only— 


Erini started. 


A figure stood visible in the mirror. A hooded figure much 
like Drayfitt, only younger in stature, but clad in garments a bit 
archaic for the times. She could not make out his face; 



something about the angle seemed to make it indistinct, almost 
a blur. His cowled head had just turned in her direction... 


She whirled instinctively. Her hands began to move of their 
own accord. 


The room was empty. 


Erini glanced back in the mirror, almost expecting to see the 
figure still standing there. Nothing. She turned and rushed to 
the spot where he had stood. Kneeling, the princess touched the 
floor. 


There were bits of dirt in the vague shape of a heel. 


A feeling of ancient, enduring power caught her by surprise 
and she fell backward, only barely managing to stifle a scream. 
It was the first time she had truly sensed another spellcaster 
and, though she did not understand exactly what she had done, 
Erini had a fair idea of what she had felt. 


She debated for some time what to tell Melicard, if anything. 
All she had to prove her story was a tiny clump of dirt that 
even the princess had to admit could have come from her own 
shoes or, more likely, the shoes of some errant servant. Only 
because of her increasing sensitivity to the powers did she 
know for certain that what had been reflected in the mirror was 
no figment of her imaginative mind. Erini could visualize Mal 
Quorin's expression should she give in and tell Melicard or 
anyone else her secret. It would probably be the fatal blow to 
the betrothal. 


Not now. Not yet. I have to wait. Her decision was far from 
strong and she wavered even as she chose. Drayfitt! He might 
understand, but... won't he tell Melicard? Erini knew that the 
sorcerer was extremely loyal to his liege and that such loyalty 
might demand he betray the princess. Erini muttered a curse 
her father did not know she had overheard countless times 
while growing up. She slowly rose, deciding that she would 
postpone telling anyone for the time being. Her only fear was' 
that, by doing so, she might let some other danger grow 
unchecked. 


Confused and no longer looking forward to the day, the 
princess left her chambers. Whatever else happened today, 
nothing matched the importance of strengthening her relationship 
with Melicard. Nothing save what might destroy that 
relationship before it matured. 


Princess Erini found Melicard in the least likely of places in 
the palace. He was holding court—in a sense. What she 
actually discovered was a huge, nearly empty throne room in 
which the king sat on a simple chair—not even the throne, 
which stood empty at the top of a dais—and argued with four 
or five men whom Erini realized were emissaries from other 
city-states. Quorin, standing behind the king, looked on in a 
combination of barely contained anger and contempt. 


"...drake lovers, all of you. I should have guessed as 
much, especially from you, Zuuite. You've long lived under 



the beneficial rule of the Green Dragon, haven't you?" 


The emissary from Zuu replaced his helm, which he had 
been holding in the fold of one arm. A bear in size, he looked 
more than ready to trade blows with Melicard. Instead, he 
retorted, "Tell that to Prince Blane and the others who died 
defending Penacles from the Lochivarites and the monstrous 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


forces of the Black Dragon and the drake commander Kyrg! 
You recall the sadist Duke Kyrg, do you not, your majesty?" 


It was a telling blow. Kyrg's name, Erini recalled, conjured 
images in Melicard's mind of his father slowly losing control as 
the drake ate freely from the writhing bodies of still-living 
animals. Rennek IV had spent the next week babbling on and 
on about not wanting to be eaten alive, something he knew that | 
Kyrg had been capable of doing. Those memories were only 
two of the many that haunted Melicard almost every night. 


The king's face turned as pale as bone. The elfwood hand 
came down on the arm of the chair and broke it into splinters. 
Even Mal Quorin stepped back from the rising fury of his 
master. 


"Get... them... out of... here, Quorin! Get them out before 
I forget treaties!" 


As the counselor rushed around the chair to aid the emissaries 
in their hasty departure, Erini started forward. She had been 
waiting out of sight near one of the side doors to the massive 
room with the intention of joining her betrothed once the talks 
were finished. Now, the princess wanted nothing more than to 
soothe Melicard before his anger drove him to further destruction 
and possible injury. 


A firm hand clamped itself on her shoulder. "Your majesty, I 
wouldn't recommend you speak to him at this time." 


She turned on the sudden intruder, intending to give him a 
strong, royal reprimand, and met the sad gaze of the sorcerer 
Drayfitt. 


"He is in a dangerous mood, milady, and neither of us 
should be nearby. Things have not gone well." The aged 
spellcaster shook his head slowly. "And I fear that I am the 
cause of much of it." 


"So what have your problems to do with me?" 


Drayfitt gave her a sour smile. "Counselor Quorin, in what 
may be his finest performance, has been trying to make your 
arrival and stay here a detriment to the king's crusade. He's 
already pointed out how you kept the king occupied while I 



destroyed Quorin's damnable book." 


Erini blinked. "Book? What are you talking about, mage?" 


"I speak too much. Suffice to say, milady. King Melicard is 
not quite certain about the courtship. We have to give him a 
little time to recall all you did for him yesterday—and it was 


SHADOW STEED 71 


significant, I can tell you. He was almost the Melicard of long 
ago." 


"You ramble a bit. Master Drayfitt," the princess paused, 
"but I will stay clear of him for a short while—providing you 
give me some answers I seek." 


Drayfitt closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened 
them, he quietly replied, "Don't ask me about yesterday. Even 
I don't know everything—as Quorin has reminded me again 
and again." 


The spellcaster's muttered words did little to assuage Erini's 
curiosity, but she knew there were other-ways to find out what 
she wanted to know. The princess was about to ask him a 
question that she was fairly certain he would answer, when the 
elderly man stumbled against the wall. Erini reached out and 
grabbed his hand to prevent him from sliding to the floor. 


He regained his balance almost immediately, but the look on 
his face was the most tragic yet. "Forgive me, princess. My 
powers have been tested beyond their limits lately; I've made 
heavy use of them much too late in life. Had I continued to 
train, to practice, while I was still young..." Drayfitt's voice 
trailed off as he stared at Erini's hand, which he still held in his 
own. After several seconds, he looked up at the princess as if 
she had sprouted wings. All his grief, all his exhaustion, 
seemed to vanish as he said, "Step down the corridor with me, 
please. We need privacy. I think there is something we must 
talk about quickly." 


Not knowing whether she was mad to trust him, Erini 
reluctantly followed. Drayfitt led her along for quite some time, 
refusing to release her hand from his own. She began to worry. 
What if the spellcaster cared as little for her as Mal Quorin did? 
Despite his polite, sometimes helpful attitude, he might object 
to the marriage as much as the counselor did. What did he see 
in her hand? 


As if trying to relieve her fears, Drayfitt turned and smiled 
assurance. He led her around a comer and stopped. There were 
no guards in sight. 


"I could've touched the minds of some of the sentries and 
had our talk in a more open place, but such flamboyancy 
always backfires. Knowing something as simple but important 
as that' was one reason I lived peacefully most of my life. I 
dearly wish it was still true." 


"What do you want with me?" 



72 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


73 


"You have a natural affinity like none that I have ever seen." 
The sorcerer continued to hold her hand, studying it closely 
as if looking for some minuscule marking. Erini had a very 
uncomfortable idea that she knew what he was searching for. 
Nevertheless, she played innocent. "What sort of affinity? For 
excellent fingernails? For having the 'fair skin' of a maiden in 
the tales of the minstrels and players?" 


His features grew grim. "Don't play games with me, your 
majesty! You know what sort of affinity I talk of. Have you felt 
the involuntary desire to test your skills? What do you see? 
Most burgeoning spellcasters see the lines and fields of power 
that crisscross the world. Others see the spectrum, the dark and 
the light, and choose what they need from that. Which are you, 


Princess Erini?" 


He'll tell Melicard! The thought was an irrational outburst, 


but Erini did not care. She was not yet ready to face the king 
with her own curse, not until she was certain her relationship 
with him was stronger. The princess tried to pull away, pretending 
to be offended. "You're mad! I am a princess of Gordag-Ai and 
the betrothed of your own monarch! Release me at one and 


forget this nonsense!" 


Drayfitt's other hand shot forward and Erini had momentary 
fear that the sorcerer was going to strike her. Instead, his hand 
went up to the hair above her eyes. Mystified, she stood silent 
as the elderly man searched for something. 


"Aaaah! The growth is slower than I would've thought, but it 
seems to be different with each magic-user. Interesting. Ishmir 


was wrong." 


"What—what are you talking about now?" She jerked her 


head away, as if suddenly feeling continued contact would 
affect her somehow. Simultaneously, Drayfitt released her hand. 


"There is a lock of silver amongst your beautiful, golden 
tresses, Princess Erini. The silver will expand—magically, you 
might say—as your abilities grow. Soon—and sooner than you 
want, I know—it will be impossible to hide it. Before that 
point, you must decide what you will do." 


This was the last thing she had expected to deal with this 
morning. Erini stepped back and smoothed her dress, more to 
try to calm herself than because it needed it. "You don't know 



what you're saying! If you will excuse me. Master Drayfitt, I 
believe I will retire to my chambers. I'm not feeling well." 


She started to go around him, but the aged sorcerer took hold 


of her again. His strength was phenomenal, a complete contrast 
to his weakness a moment before. A fire burned in his eyes. 
"Don't make the mistake I did, milady. Even if you never need 
them, it is best to hone your skills. I can help you. I've lived 
through the pain and the fear—more than most, I regret to say. 
I can teach you. There is no choice; your abilities will grow 
with or without your permission." 


"Let me go," Erini commanded icily. 


Drayfitt obeyed, but he was not yet through speaking. 
"Think about it. I'll be honest. I may need your assistance later 
on." As her eyes widened, he immediately added, "What I ask 
of you will only benefit King Melicard, not hurt him. I want 
the best for him, as do you. I think that your marriage will may 
possibly save him from the fate of his father—or worse." 


Erini could listen no more. There was too much in what 
Drayfitt had said that had the ring of truth or, at the very least, 
conviction. A part of her wanted to turn to him for whatever 


• aid he could give her... but the fear of losing everything and 
the shame of what she was becoming held her back. Perhaps 
some time alone would let her clear the fog that had grown 
thick in her mind. 
As she walked stiffly away, the sorcerer called after her, "I 
hope you feel better, your majesty. Let us talk again soon." 


She did not respond. 


The throne felt proper beneath him. Taloned hands stroked 
the cracked armrests. He smiled as he thought of the others 
making obeisance to him, awarding what was due to him after 
these frustrating past few years. 


The hatchlings are tainted, the Silver Dragon decided. They 
have lived with humans for too long. That was the fault of the 
Green Dragon, master of the Dagora Forest and ally to the 
humans. When the Gold Dragon had been defeated, the royal 
hatchlings had been taken by traitorous Green and turned over 
to Cabe Bedlam, the foulest of the human race. Now, those 
hatchlings that would have become Dragon Kings were on their 
way to becoming human sheep instead. 


It is the only thing to do. They must be eliminated eventually 
so that some other traitor does not try to use them as puppets. 
The line that rules all others will be mine. My claim is 
strongest. They will see that. I will make them see that. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 



SHADOW STEED 


"I didn't return to you so that you could sit dreaming in a 


broken-down chair." 
The Dragon King jumped. "Curse you, warlock! Announce 


yourself from now on!" 


Shade stepped out of the darkness of a nearby tunnel and 
looked around. "Where are your brave warriors? Out trying to 
scrounge up some more toys to replace your crystal bauble?" 


"What of it?" The crystal had been a double blow to the 
drake's ambitions. Not only had it broken, but the chamber of 
the Vraad and several others nearby were now impassable. The 
smoky substance released by the artifact showed no sign of 
dissipating, either. Even Shade, who had come back to look for 
the Silver Dragon, would not enter. 


The shadowy sorcerer had still not explained exactly why he 
had chosen to finally accept the drake's offer of an alliance. It 
was not for what the Dragon King had already discovered, 
though there was one item of interest that the warlock wanted— 
or at least remembered—nor was it because they shared common 
goals. Shade seemed to care little who was emperor, as it 
long as it did not interfere with his own goals, whatever those 


might be. 


"Nothing," Shade finally replied in answer to the drake 


lord's question. "Let them search." 


"What about you?" Silver's reptilian eyes narrowed sharply. 


"Did you find it?" 
"You said it was in the palace." 


"Correct." 


The warlock shook his head. "I will try again later. Something 
went amiss." A slight hint of humor touched his normally 
indifferent voice. "I ended up in the personal chambers of the 
king's bride-to-be. She'll probably have nightmares for weeks 


and drive Melicard mad." 


The Silver Dragon chuckled. "Such a tragedy is little in 
comparison to what I intend to do to that cowardly scavenger of 
a human! Talak will fall as Mito Pica fell—but, this time, there 
will not be enough left over to rise again. After Talak.. .Penacles, 


I think." 


"Why not Gordag-Ai in the region of Esedi? Your 'brother' 



there is dead and few of his clan remain active; you've already 
taken claim to his kingdom. Teach your subjects that they must 
obey you. That is the point of having true power." 
Shade watched the Dragon King visibly mull over the thought. 


Gordag-Ai would be easier pickings and boost the morale of 
the drake's clans. It would also guarantee that his erstwhile 
draconian ally would remain busy, thereby gaining Shade 
valuable time—time to remember what it was he had set out to 
do and whether he had any right to do it. 


Staring at one of the majestic effigies lying broken on the 
cavern floor, the warlock tried to ignore the increased pressure 
building in his head. He knew his mind had changed again, 
simply by the added pain. Shade also knew that the fact that he 
could recall his personality changes meant that he was beginning 
to stabilize. What worried him was what he would be like 
at that point. 


He felt some shame and remorse for his past actions, 
especially against Darkhorse, but yet, at the same time, it was 
his growing feeling that those who stood in his way, regardless 
of their reasons, were simply in the wrong. If they surrendered 
to the inevitable, the warlock would leave them be—maybe— 
but if they continued to oppose him, he felt he was justified in 
removing them in whatever way necessary. 


Shade realized that the drake lord was speaking. "What was 
that you said?" 


"I asked you what you think you are doing, human! Is this 
how you vent your frustrations?" The Dragon King pointed 
toward the spot Shade had been staring at moments before. 


The warlock returned his gaze to the effigy—or to where it 
had once lain. Now, there was only a pile of fine dust. Very 
fine dust. Shade looked down at his hands. They literally 
glowed with the use of the powers. 


"I am Vraad,''' he whispered to himself. "Vraad is power." 
The words had been spoken millennia before by many, all of 
whom, save Shade, were dead now. It had almost been a litany 
to the race, and his remembrance of it was yet another sign of 
what was happening to him. Still, it bothered the spellcaster 
that he had reduced the ancient statue to ash without realizing 
it. A warning beat briefly against the walls of his mind, but the 
pain drowned it out. He looked up at the impatient and 
somewhat nervous Dragon King. "Merely a little carelessness 
on my part." 


The drake's burning red eyes narrowed. "Yesss. That is what 
got you into your predicament originally, is it not?" 


"Watch your tongue, drake lord. It might dart too far out of 
your mouth once too often." 


76 RICHARD A. KNAAK 



The Silver Dragon hissed anxiously. Because Shade had 
found a need for him, he had grown overly confident about his 
power. Only now did the drake realize that there were limits to 
which he could push the spellcaster. Both knew that the 
alliance was temporary at best. Quickly, the would-be emperor 
turned the conversation back to an earlier subject. "What do 
you ssseek in the book? Most of it makes little sense." 


"A key, of sorts. I really don't know what. Not yet, but 
soon. Soon I'll be my old self again." A vague line that was 
what now passed for his smile surfaced briefly, faltered, and 
died. Shade wrapped his cloak about him and, as the Dragon 
King rose in the sudden realization that something was amiss, 
vanished. 


Through his own words, the warlock had just rediscovered 
the purpose, the goal, of his search—and why he dared not let 
anyone, even Darkhorse, stand in his way. 


The pain inflicted upon him was like such he had not suffered 
in centuries. The human called Mal Quorin claimed it was on 
order of the king, but Darkhorse, in his more lucid moments, 
suspected that Melicard knew only vaguely what his underlings 
were doing. Something in the feline features of the counselor, 
as if he were toying with his prisoner the way the creature he so 
resembled toyed with its prey, told Darkhorse that. 


It was obvious that the sorcerer was reluctant to question his 
rival and that alone spoke volumes as to their respective 
positions of influence with the king. Drayfitt's loss of face was 
the shadow steed's doing, made doubly worse by the successful 
destruction of the spellbook by the entranced mage. For that, 
even Drayfitt had exercised a bit of vengeance. 


They had abandoned him for other matters some time back— 
how long, Darkhorse could not say. Now, the eternal recovered 
slowly in his accursed cage, his present form little more than a 


SHADOW STEED 77 


blot of shadow darker than the rest. Had he been human, he 
would have died several times over and that fact had not 
escaped him. With one part of his mind, he plotted the torture 
of his foes; with the other, he cursed himself for his stupidity 
and lack of foresight. Drayfitt had taken care with his original 
spell. Had the.stallion delved deeply, he would have discovered 
the thin magical bond that still tied him to the sorcerer, a tie 
that the elderly human had used to recapture him. His escape, it 
seemed, had been no more than a farce. 


So close! Shade was no doubt laughing at him even now. He 
had come so close, actually confronting the warlock. Darkhorse 
knew he should have come in striking, beating down Shade 
before the warlock had a chance to think. Hesitation had cost 
him the battle and his freedom. 


Once more, he re-created the equine form he favored. A 



hollow victory, creating a form again, but a victory nonetheless. 
With nothing else to do, Darkhorse began a slow and 
thorough scan of his magical prison. Perhaps this time... 


Nothing. If anything, Drayfitt had tightened the control of 
the pattern, used the power of the cell to cancel out the shadow 
steed's own abilities to the point where even eye contact would 
not help. The aged sorcerer was a survivor and learned readily 
from his mistakes. 


Odd, he wondered, that Melicard's spellcaster would have 
access to a Vraad artifact at the same time that both Shade and 
the Silver Dragon were searching for such things. What was the 
connection? What did Shade want with a work from so 
ancient a time? Surely not to summon a true demon. Its power 
would be insignificant compared to his own. Was this latest 
madness just the product of his unstable mind? The warlock 
had undergone yet another personality change; in centuries 
past, he had done stranger things during various incarnations. 
These rapid and continuous changes, however, smelled of 
something different, something gone awry. When would they 
stop? Which "Shade" would be the final result? 


Significant questions weaved in a hundred different directions 
like a swirling mass of tentacles, confusing and unanswerable 
for the most part. He soon realized there was little point in 
pursuing them for now, though he knew that forgetting them 
entirely would be impossible. 


More time passed. All the while, Darkhorse stubbornly 
continued to raise, revise, and reject options as they occurred to 


78 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


him. There was no way that he could physically—so to speak— 
pass through the boundaries. His magical abilities all seemed 
useless while he languished in his prison. He did not even 
know what was going on; the Dragonrealm might be on the 
brink of destruction— 


Darkhorse did not breathe, though he often pretended to for 
appearance. Nevertheless, he came close to holding that 
nonexistent breath when it occurred to him that, though his 
magical abilities were muted, there were natural ones—unnatural 
by human standards—that he might make use of. Regardless of 
his careful work, Drayfitt could not hope to completely understand 
the nature of the ebony stallion. ' 


There were many over the centuries who had called the 
legendary Darkhorse the Child of the Void. They were closer 
and farther from the truth than they knew. Darkhorse was a 
creature of the border regions between reality and the Void who 
only wandered that empty realm, much akin to the mist 
dwellers who guarded the secret paths that crossed into and out 
of the world like portals. Through practice, Darkhorse had 
made himself stronger than most, though that had tied him to 
reality and lost him some mastery over the Void. He did not 
regret that; there was so much more to the multiverse. Had it 
not proved necessary in his prior struggle with the warlock, the 
shadow steed would have chosen never to return to the dismal 



domain he had dwelled in for so long. 


Yet, it was the Void to which he now turned in hope. 


While willing himself back into the form of a horse had 
proved difficult after his ordeal, the act of literally separating 
himself into two parts was sheer agony. The strain alone 
threatened to overcome him. Despite the horror, however, he 
was willing to suffer that pain and even the permanent loss of 
that smaller portion of self. What mattered most was learning 
what he could in the hope of using it to engineer his escape. 
There might even be a clue as to how he could stop Shade, 
though his hopes in that respect were less than nothing after 
what had happened. 


He willed one of his hooves into a wide circular shape a little 
less than a foot in diameter. That was the easy part of his task. 
The second was far worse, a strain on his already worn 
consciousness. There was also the danger of losing too much of 
his essence. He planned to separate a tiny portion of himself 
from the main body. It was a dangerous thing, risking his very 


SHADOW STEED 79 


identity in the process, for a piece of his "self" would be lost 
along with his essence. Humans who had lost a limb might 
claim to have lost a part of who they were, but with Darkhorse 
it was literal. It would take him years to fully recover. 


Straining his concentration to the limit, he forced the reshaped 
hoof to expand away from his leg. Slowly, as the two masses 
separated, the ankle grew thinner and thinner until it was little 
more than the thickness of a twig. Darkhorse felt his mind 
separate into two distinct "selves," one greater, one lesser. 
With one last effort, they broke the remaining physical link 
between the fragment and the main body. 


What must be done... He wondered why such a thought 
would come to him unbidden—then paused in sudden guilt as 
he realized it was a fading thought from another, that piece of 
"self he had sacrificed. Darkhorse stared at the black spot for 
several seconds before he could bring himself to work the rest 
of his plan. With great reluctance and a little revulsion, he 
extended his essence and created a new hoof to replace the old. 
The shadow steed could not help feeling as if he had abandoned 
himself. 


"It is said," Darkhorse whispered to his other self pulsating 
on the floor, "that, from the Void, all places may be reached or 
viewed. The danger lies in forgetting yourself, losing the way 
home. I am my own home, yet I am also the path to the Void. I 
will consume you the same way that I have consumed so many 
of my adversaries, such as the drake in the cavern, over the 
endless years; but rather than be condemned to floating in the 
emptiness forever, you, who know the way as I do, will find 
the path and return through my body, the Void, and the border 
realms to this world, to the place called the Dragonrealm. 
Waste no energy in seeking the path closest to this palace, but 
enter at the first available. Entering reality will cost you your 
"self and eventually your essence, but you will provide me 



with eyes and ears in the world out there—in the hope that 
there is still something that can be done." 


He felt better saying it out loud, though communication 
between his two selves could have just as easily been accomplished 
by mere thought. 


With a touch of the new hoof, he absorbed the lesser portion 
of his essence in the same way he had absorbed the drake who 
had tried to jump him in the cavern. It fell within him, growing 
smaller and smaller until it was beyond even his senses. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Darkhorse sighed—because it felt right to do so—and then 
stiffened as the world around him changed. 


Mountains passed swiftly before his eyes, smaller than the 
Tybers, but still majestic in their own right. Green hills dotted 
the borders of that mountain chain and a few habitations could 
be seen in the distance. 


Darkhorse jerked backwards, falling against the invisible 
barrier that held him. By the twin moons! So quickly? 


It was impossible at first to separate the visions from his own 
sight, but, gradually, they came under control. The journey his 
other self had taken went beyond things such as time, but even 
the eternal was surprised at the speed with which it had 
travelled. That surprise turned to worry, for the images he 
perceived were weak, as if the strain of the journey had been 
worse than he had hoped. Little of the fragment's essence 
survived. There was only one mind, too, for the other him no 
longer had the strength to preserve its own will. Darkhorse had 
gained his eyes and ears, but he had lost all else that mattered. 
Even though it had happened the way the stallion had thought it 
would, the pain was deep nonetheless. 


The northwest. I have emerged into the northwest of the 
continent. It was now an easy matter to guide the fragment 
along the simpler paths he knew until it emerged again, this 
time in the outskirts of the city. Darkhorse could not recall the 
last time he had seen Talak. He wanted to know what sort of 
place was ruled by men like Melicard and the foulness calling 
itself Quorin. 


Through the dim vision of the fragment, he observed the 
people. They seemed healthy, though he was no judge of 
human conditions, and relatively happy. Darkhorse moved on, 
intending to work his way to the palace. The more he saw, the 
more Talak resembled a prosperous and very normal city-state— 
not what he would have expected under a madman. 


No sooner had Darkhorse thought that, when he caught sight 
of the first soldiers. 


They were armored and very definitely hardened veterans. A 
full column rode through this section, evidently leaving on 
some military exercise. Darkhorse paused his tiny spy and 
observed the marching men closely. From the looks on their 



faces, they were almost fanatical in their devotion to the king. 
The shadow steed turned his gaze to the banners they carried. 
The stylized dragon made him chuckle in bitter humor. Melicard 


SHADOW STEED 81 


was preparing for all-out war and, judging by the size of this 
column, he was nearly ready. 


He will have his glory... and the Lords of the Dead will 
have their bounty. Melicard had numbers, but the drakes had 
the ferocity. Either side had equal chances, which meant a long 
and bloody war that would strip the lands further of life. 


Is that all there is to these mortal creatures? Are the humans, 
drakes. Seekers, and the rest all doomed to violent ends? 
Darkhorse tried not to think too hard about his own role; it was 
best to believe he had always worked for the quickest and most 
rational solution. 


He wasted no further time. In seconds, his view had changed 
to that of the palace walls. The fragment, only a tiny part itself 
of what he had sacrificed, moved through those walls like a 
specter, entering the rear of the building. He ran it through 
corridor after corridor, room after room. Most of his observations 
were of the ordinary type; servants going about their daily 
duties, guards standing at attention in various hallways, and 
officials running hither and yonder with no evident purpose. 
Melicard was not in any of the rooms Darkhorse searched. 
There was also no trace of either the counselor or the sorcerer. 
So close, he was forced to slow his search. There were many 
risks, including excessive activity near Drayfitt, who might be 
sensitive enough to pick up the magical presence of Darkhorse's 
spy. 


"... and keep them prepared. Commander Fontaine! There's 
been report of activity in the Hell Plains. The remnants of the 
Red clans may be moving." 


Counselor Quorin marched into sight, another man, a soldier, 
keeping pace. If Quorin had the face of a cat, his 
companion was just the opposite. Rough canine features and a 
bald head gave the human an ogreish cast. Like the animals 
they resembled, the two men were bickering. 


"I've not heard a thing about the Hell Plains! Damnation, 
man! It's east and north we have to watch! Drakes of the Silver 
clan have been spotted in the Tybers! He's the one we should 
be moving against!" 


"You can always go back to the city guard, commander, if 
you can't obey a directive!" 


The officer slammed his helm onto his head and marched 
stiffly away, muttering something about merchants and functionaries 
knowing less about wars than conscripted footsoldiers. 


82 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Mal Quorin watched the fuming soldier vanish and smiled. It 



was the same sort of smile he had used on Darkhorse during the 
"punishment." 


The smile quickly soured as some disturbing thought intruded. 
The counselor turned back the way he had come and moved 
on, his pace quick and determined. Darkhorse followed closely 
behind, curious. The path Quorin took led him toward an 
outdoor garden in the center of the palace. The human was 
halfway to an old door partially hidden in one of the vine-
covered walls when another figure entered the garden from the 
opposite side. Both Quorin and Darkhorse stopped, the shadow 
steed quickly backing farther and farther away, hoping he had 
not reacted too slowly. 


"Drayfitt!" The counselor spat out the spellcaster's name as 
he might have spat out a piece of rotten meat. The look on the 
sorcerer's face matched his own. There was no love lost 
between them. 


"What do you want now. Counselor Quorin?" 


As they neared one another, looking all the while like two 
fighting cocks, Darkhorse moved a bit closer again. Quorin 
was speaking quietly now, intending his words for his rival's 
ears alone. The eternal let his fragment drift close to the 
ground. If Drayfitt's mind remained occupied by the presence 
of his adversary, then it was not likely he would notice 
Darkhorse's spy. At least, that was the hope. 


"Why aren't you attending to matters below?" 


"There isn't much that creature can do at the moment— 
thanks to both of us! Melicard didn't even know I'd recaptured 
it, did he? In fact, he seemed quite surprised, counselor!" 


"What of it?" Quorin bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. 
"I act in his name." 


"Melicard would have never ordered such torture! I should 
have known better!" 


"You seemed to be enjoying it somewhat." 


The sorcerer's visage burned crimson. "I allowed my baser 
emotions to rule me that time, but not again! I care very little 
about what is ultimately done with that creature, but I will not 
see it abused!" 


Mal Quorin leaned back and laughed loud. "Drayfitt—defender 
of the weak! That's not a pup down there, you old idiot! That's 
a demon older than time itself! Remember what it cost us—cost 


SHAD 0 W STEED 83 


you—already! You're fortunate it didn't decide to take your 
head off while it was at it!" 


Darkhorse heard the words faintly, his attention partially 
focused on the door Quorin had been heading for. The door, he 
realized, lead down to the chamber where he was being 



held—and both men had been heading toward it. For a brief 
moment, Darkhorse adjusted his senses, returning his full 
vision to the cramped room and his cage. If either man, 
especially Drayfitt, came while he was engaged with observing 
the palace, they would recognize that something was wrong. It 
was proving impossible to keep both positions in perspective 
and there was the danger that he might become so engrossed in 
spying on his adversaries that he might not even notice when 
one or the other visited his prison. 


They were still arguing when the shadow steed reestablished 
contact with the fragment. The images were even more faded, a 
sign that the fragment was dissipating. Darkhorse knew he 
should have sacrificed more, but there was the danger of 
fragmenting himself into two greater yet weaker portions, 
neither of which could survive on its own. Only by utilizing a 
small piece of his "self" had he been able to do what he had. 


"—before long! I expect it to be that way!" Quorin finished 
up. Darkhorse cursed himself for missing what might have 
been of great importance. 


"We shall see. The book was fairly worthless in any case; 


most of it was notes, incomprehensible and, more often than 
not, complete foolishness. What little was useful was also 
insanely dangerous and destructive. I used what I could—and I 
still want to talk to the scoundrel you purchased it from. I want 
to find out where he stole or, more likely, scavenged it from." 


"Why, if it was so useless to you?" 


Drayfitt shook his head, now apparently a bit angry at 
himself for saying too much. "You wouldn't understand, Quorin. 
You could not begin to understand." 


"Pfah! I've no more time for this!" Forgetting that it was he 
who had started the exchange, the counselor departed—in a 
direction that took him away from the door. Darkhorse hesitated, 
not knowing whether he should stay with the sorcerer or 
follow Quorin. 


It was Drayfitt who decided for him. The elderly spellcaster 
started toward the door and then hesitated, as if he were 
noticing- something for the first time. It was evidently not the 


84 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STBED 85 


stallion that had captured his attention, however, for Drayfitt 
also turned from the door and returned the way he had come. 


Darkhorse watched him go, then drifted in the direction that 
the counselor had gone. One wonders how anyone gets things 
done here, what with so many detours along their paths. The 
tension in the palace was astounding. It was evident just from 
the two conversations he had followed that no one in charge 
trusted anyone else. This was a kingdom in danger of collaps



ing. Perhaps not now, but some time in the future. 


They have no lives, just plots. 


Quorin had disappeared somewhere in the cavernous corridors 
of the building, but Darkhorse did not have the power 
available to him to find out where. All the fragment could do 
was observe—and even that ability was faltering. So far, all 
that he had accomplished was to add to his list of questions. In 
his cage, the shadow steed laughed in self-mockery. He had 
outfoxed no one but himself with his trick. The sacrifice of this 
bit of his essence was proving to be worthless. 


Despite the near hopelessness of his search, he endeavored to 
continue. So long as he could see and hear, there was a chance. 
Somewhere in this leviathan of a palace, he might still find 
something of value. Darkhorse regretted that he could not have 
severed a portion of himself strong enough to free him. 


While he pondered his deficiencies, he guided what remained 
of the fragment through the corridors leading to the main hall, 
or at least where he assumed it would be. Most palaces, while 
they reveled in their pomp and majesty, were very much the 
same inside. Unless the builder and the ruler he had designed it 
for were both insane, Darkhorse was fairly certain that things 
would be where he expected them. 


He was not mistaken. Both the main hall and the throne 
room were where they were supposed to be. Regrettably, 
neither the king nor his underlings were present. The shadow 
steed cursed as the images grew dark. His lesser self was in the 
first stages of death—or nonexistence, at least. Something 
within the eternal twisted painfully at the thought. 


"I must insist. He will see me." 


The voice was female and off to the right. Darkhorse forced 
his pain down and drifted toward the voice. It had been raised 
to command, and a female authority in the palace of Melicard I 
was something worth investigating. 


The owner of the voice was a small woman who-seemed 


twice as tall as the sentries she was browbeating. All three 
stood before two massive, wooden doors. By human standards, 
she was beautiful, with a long, golden mane that would have 
put many a mare to shame. The female was not from Talak; her 
mannerisms and a slight accent spoke of the city-state of 
Gordag-Ai, which Darkhorse had visited once or twice in 
earlier centuries. Why she was here was a puzzle. There was 
only one reason that the stallion could think of, but—surely not 
with Melicard\ 


Unable to withstand his inbred training, one of the sentries 
finally stepped aside. The other followed suit immediately. The 
female, a princess if she had the authority to command the 
royal guard, waited until the chagrined soldiers opened 
the doors for her. Only then did she enter, and only after giving 
the two hapless men an imperial nod. It was almost enough to 
make Darkhorse laugh. 



He followed her in, ignoring the doors as they passed 
through the misty form of the fragment. 


The room was dark, making the dim images even harder to 
discern. Fortunately, the princess's first act was to walk 
determinedly over to a set of curtains rising from the floor to 
the ceiling and fling them aside. The room was bathed in a 
flood of sunlight. Darkhorse shifted to a comer less lit, knowing 
that the fragment, while insubstantial, would still make an 
odd shadow. A sudden movement from the other end of the 
room caught his attention. His spirits soared. 


Melicard! 


The split-faced monarch turned away from the female, but 
she would have none of his reluctance. Darkhorse admired her 
strength, though he could not say much for her taste. Evidently, 
here was a woman bent on saving a man from himself. 


A waste of time, my lady, he chided, though he knew she did 
not hear him. Why must mortal women always think they can 
bring out what no longer exists? 


"What's happened, Melicard? You act the way you did the 
first time we met. Have I given you some reason to think that I 
played you for a fool?" 


The king did not respond at first, though he did look up at 
her from the chair he sat in. Darkhorse could not make out his 
face as well as he would have wished, but he thought that 
Melicard was nothing if not confused. Here was a man fighting 
himself. This was not the same man who had originally visited 


86 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the imprisoned shadow steed. Darkhorse studied the female 
with new respect. She had accomplished something. 


"I apologize—Erini. My work has become paramount. I 
cannot say how long it will demand precedence, but I suspect it 
will be some time. Rather than leave you alone for all that.. .time, 
perhaps it might... might be best if you returned to Gordag-
Ai. When I can spare the time, I will summon you back." 


The princess, "Erini," the king had called her, was not to be 
put off. With a bluntness that surprised both the eavesdropping 
specter and the disfigured monarch, she walked up to Melicard, 
put her hands on his face—on both sides of his face!—and 
replied, "Those are Counselor Quorin's words, are they not? I 
recognize the ruthlessness in them, a ruthlessness you could 
never match! Is he blaming me for some error of his? Am I 
accused of something? Do you remember the things we did and 
said the other day? Was that all amusement on your part?" 


Melicard opened his mouth to respond, but the first try 
resulted in a silent swallow. After some effort, he said, "It 



would not be right to make you part of this. Not now. I don't 
dare allow anything to slow progress. I can't. Not after the 
setbacks." 


Throughout all of this, Erini had refused to let go. Now, she 
pulled the king closer, so their faces were only inches apart. 
"Whatever you decide to do, I want to be at your side. Before 
I came here, it was infatuation with a memory and a dream. 
After seeing the real you, the one that men like that mouser you 
made counselor have tried to hide—with your help—it became 
tove." 


Love? In his cage, Darkhorse snorted in disgust. Love for 
this sorry creature? 


Melicard had as much trouble believing it. "After only a few 
days? Love... like that... happens only in the tales spun by 
the minstrels and storymen. How can... you be so certain?" 


Erini smiled. "Because I know that you love me, as well." 


She kissed him before he could even begin thinking of a 
response. Melicard, unprepared, pulled back. His eyes were 
wide in almost childlike disbelief at what had happened. He 
could not have had much experience with the complexities of 
women, not, at least, in the ten years since he had shut himself 
away. 


This is a predatory woman, Darkhorse thought, amused by it 
all. A capable woman. 


r 


SHADOW STEED 87 


The king rose and stepped away from her, but each movement, 
each hesitation, was an indication that Princess Erini had 
dashed any argument Melicard might have brought up. He did 
love her; that was obvious even to Darkhorse, who had never 
quite understood the concept since it did not apply to him. The 
signs were all there, however. 


He whirled on her. "How can you love thisT' The elfwood 
arm came up so that the elfwood hand could touch the elfwood 
face. "This is no epic song. I am no hero. I cannot promise 
that we will live happily ever after, as they say. You will see 
this face and this arm every day of your life if you marry me! 
Do you really want that?" 


"Yes." 


Melicard, intending to say more, faltered at the quick, 
simple response. Erini pressed her advantage. "Even if you 
had neither the arm nor the reconstructed face, I would want 
that." 


A knock interrupted them. The looks on both humans' faces 
said that an intrusion was the last thing either had wanted. A 
guard, visibly tense, announced that Drayfitt needed to speak to 
his majesty. Melicard looked at his betrothed and then at the 



sentry. "Have him wait just a moment." 


"My liege." The sentry closed the door. 


Turning, Melicard walked over to Erini and put his hands on 
her shoulders. She was forced to look up to see his face. "We 
will talk again before the day is over, I promise you that, Erini. 
I do." 


She wanted to kiss him again and Darkhorse, though the 
images had become so black as to resemble night, could sense 
that Melicard wanted to kiss her back. Fear held him back, 
though. The princess smiled nonetheless. "I look forward to it, 
Melicard. Perhaps, dinner?" 


"Dinner." He called out for the guard, who opened the door 
just in time to let the princess through. Darkhorse slowly 
followed her. Despite the gravity of his predicament and the 
definite possibility that the king and the sorcerer would be 
including him in their conversation, the eternal found himself 
with an overwhelming desire to know more about this woman 
who could turn Melicard around so. He wished he could 
contact her, speak to her, for he suspected she might be his key. 
Her sympathy might do what his powers could not: make the 
king forget his idiotic dream of harnessing a demon to his 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


service and cause him to release the shadow steed. It was a 
Futile wish, however, for Darkhorse could only see and hear, 
lot speak, not with so weak a fragment, and what remained of 
his portion of his essence was no longer enough to even gain 
ler attention. 


The princess walked the corridors as one half-dreaming. 
Darkhorse, who recalled moments of similar reactions from 
past mortal acquaintances, knew she was picturing me days to 
wme. The stallion wished her best, for here was a true queen 
who would rule wisely, but he suspected her path still had 
barriers, chief among them Mal Quorin. The counselor would 
never accept a role of lesser influence. Already, he had evidently 
tried to break up the two. Darkhorse wished again that he 
sould speak to her. 


She was barely visible now, a darkened figure wandering in 
the abyss. His sacrificed "self" was in the last stages of dying. 
With no other option remaining, he drifted as close as he could, 
hoping to pick up some last words, some last expression. It was 
foolish and highly useless, but, for reasons he could not 
understand, he felt drawn to her. 


Erini stumbled as if pushed. She came to a sudden halt and 
looked around, her hands twitching nervously. The shadow 
steed, his perceptions less than perfect, tried to see what 
worried her so. He was not long in discovering what, for the 
princess finally turned in his direction. 


"Who is that? Drayfitt? Is that you?" She reached up a hand 
toward the fading place. Darkhorse, stunned, could only watch 
as her hand went through. 



"No, not Drayfitt, it can't be. Did—did I summon you?" 
She looked down at her hands in growing horror. "Rheena! Not 
now!" 


Summon? In his prison, Darkhorse's ice-blue eyes glittered 
as the answer struck him. Small wonder he had been drawn to 
her! A sorceress! A spellcaster untrained! 


She had the potential to release him! She had the power! 


The last vestiges of strength burned away. The fragment 
slowly faded, the last of its essence sacrificed. Darkhorse 
wanted to scream. If she were truly a magic-user... 


Listen to me! he called out. If she did have a natural ability, 
it might be enough to establish a link! Listen to me! 


She looked up—and her image vanished even as the shadow 
steed sent one last message. Below! Go below! 


SHADOW STEED 89 


The walls of the underground chamber greeted his eyes once 
more. The single torch flickered in seeming mockery at his 
attempt. Exhausted by more than his failed efforts, the shadow 
steed drew within himself. He had little hope that his final 
words had gotten through—and without that hope, there was 
nothing else he could do. 


Darkhorse settled down, yearning for the dreamless unconsciousness 
that was the closest thing to true sleep he could ever 
know. He hoped his strength, sorely used by this poor attempt, 
would return long... 


... before the true demon, Mal Quorin, paid him yet another 
instructional visit. 


In one of the many unused chambers of the vast palace, 
Shade returned to Talak. 


This particular room had been closed down after the death of 
Rennek IV's young bride, Melicard's mother, though Shade 
neither knew that nor would have cared if he had known. It was 
a room where he would not be disturbed and that was all that 
mattered. Cloths, long buried under thick layers of dust, 
covered the furniture, blocked sunlight from entering through 
the windows, and hid the painful memories from the old king, 
who had come here once a year on the anniversary of his 
marriage. Melicard, while he did not follow his father's example 
and pay homage here, did leave a standing order that no one 
was allowed to enter this room unless on his command. As it 
was, more than four years had passed since a single soul had 
stepped in here for even a moment. Ironically, Melicard, 
wrapped up in his campaign, had forgotten about his mother's 
chamber completely. 


"Light," the warlock whispered, as if reminding himself. A 



tiny pinprick of light, all that he needed for now, glimmered in 
the center of the room. 


90 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Shade studied his surroundings but briefly. In a time long 
removed from the present rulers of this city-state and during 
one of his more benevolent incarnations, he had stayed in one 
of these rooms, the guest of a thankful prince whose life he had 
saved. The warlock smiled thinly. There had been a man who 
knew how to treat his betters. 


Lowering himself down on one knee, the cloaked figure 
stretched his arms forward, as if reaching for an invisible 
object. He whispered words of a language long forgotten, the 
language of Vraad sorcery. Like the spells of the present-day 
sorcerers, the words were more a memory trick, a way of 
reminding him how the powers had to be bent by his will so 
that he could achieve the results he desired. He knew he had 
succeeded when he felt something squirm within his sleeves. 


They say the walls have eyes and ears in most palaces, 
he thought in growing amusement. Now they will have noses 
as well. 


A tiny, wormlike thing poked out of his sleeve. Shade felt a 
number of miniature legs and hands on his wrist; on both 
wrists. The wormlike thing proved to be a long and narrow 
proboscis that twisted and turned as its owner cautiously made 
its way out from the safety of the warlock's sleeve. From the 
other sleeve, an identical trunk extended itself. 


Shade said nothing, but he shook both arms lightly, stirring 
the creatures to renewed speed. Drones of his own making, 
they were prone to be lethargic at first. Given their own way, 
the simple creatures would remain on his arms for days, trying 
to draw strength from what they had once been part of. He had 
no inclination to let them do so. They were nothing to him, 
who had given them life of a sort. They were tools and nothing 


A head popped out after the long trunk, a head that was little 
more than a single, wide orb that was nearly all pupil. Beneath 
the great eye, a pair each of pencil-thin legs and arms made up 
the rest of the tiny monstrosity that was the warlock's spy. It 
scuttled onto the dust-thick floor, crouching, where it was 
joined by the first from the other arm. 


The eye-creatures began tumbling out in astonishing numbers, 
many, many more than could have been hidden by 
Shade's garments. As their numbers grew, the creatures began 
to wander about, inspecting their surroundings with great care, 
now eager to perform their function. 


SHADOW STEED 91 


When he was at last satisfied with the quantity, Shade shook 
his arms once more, dislodging a final pair of the horrors. He 
rose and gazed down at his tiny servants. 


"Find it," he whispered harshly. "Do not let yourself be 



seen. Sacrifice yourself, if necessary. When you have located 
it, I will know. Now go!" 


Shade watched them scuttle away in every direction, each 
creature quickly disappearing into the first crack or hole it 
could find, whether that opening had been initially large enough 
or not. There were other ways he could have gone about this, 
but anonymity was his desire for now. Let the destruction of 
Talak fall to his erstwhile ally, the Silver Dragon. The ensuing 
chaos and bloodshed would decoy those few who might be able 
to delay the achieving of his goal and might even rid him of a 
few annoyances. 


The warlock thought briefly about trying to explain to Darkhorse 
what it was he had to do, but he doubted his onetime companion 
would understand. There were lives that would be sacrificed 
in order to correct the error that had twisted him so, and 
Shade was now fully prepared to sacrifice those lives when 
necessary. What was the loss of a few transitory souls if it 
would gain him his proper immortality and the power that 
should have gone along with it? He was Vraad and the Vraad 
were absolute. All else was there to do his bidding—even if 
that meant forcing that obedience by punishing a few. Once he 
had reclaimed this land... 


Something glittered. Shade increased the intensity of the 
light a bit. The thing that had caught his attention increased by 
the same intensity. A reflection, which meant a mirrored 
surface. He walked over to the reflection and tore away the 
decrepit cloth, unveiling a full-length mirror embossed in 
silver. With the light floating behind and a little above him, the 
warlock stared intently at himself in the mirror. 


A face stared back at him. The eyes and nostrils were dark 
spots and the mouth was a thin line, but it was still a face. A 
face that had been growing more distinct since his return to this 
world. 


Shade put a hand to his reflection and drew a pattern across 
his face with his index finger. 


The mirror cracked... and cracked... and cracked. Jagged 
lines crisscrossed the full length of the mirror. Pieces began to 


92 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


93 


fall to the floor as the warlock stepped away, his face once 
again buried beneath his cowl; 


Though the shattered mirror rained bits and pieces over the 
chamber floor, they made no sound as they hit. Odder still, the 
damage to the mirror did not stop there. Instead, those fragments 
that had fallen continued to crack, creating smaller and 
smaller parts which cracked furtherstill. Shade watched silently, 



shaking, as a pile of dust formed beneath the rapidly disappearing 
mirror. 


When nothing remained but a pile of fine ash, the warlock 
wrapped his cloak about him, twisted his body within himself, 
and vanished. 


Whatever had stalked her was no more. Erini felt its passing, 
felt that something had disappeared that would never return. 
Yet, she was also positive that the force behind the misty 
apparition was still very much alive. 


Her first thought was that this was some spy of Drayfitt's, 
but the feel was not right. He was no more responsible for this 
than he had been responsible for the visitation in her chambers. 
Neither was this briefly lived specter the product of that other 
intruder. This was another presence, one that was somehow not 
quite human. 


What sort of place have I come to? Magic flies left and right 
and, though there are high walls and armed guards, intruders 
go in and out with ease! 


Erini had not spoken to anyone about the stranger in the 
mirror and she was not all that certain it would be wise to bring 
this encounter up, either. Again, she had no proof save her 
growing sensitivities—which would, of course, reveal her powers 
to Melicard. 


Drayfitt? He knew already what she was. If his present 
conversation with her betrothed did not include exposing her 
secret, then she might be able to trust him. He had offered to 
help her leam to control herself... an idea with greater merit 
than she had originally supposed. Her initial reaction at discovering 
the sorcerous onlooker was to reach out with those powers and 
discover what it was. Only her own fear had held her back. 
Next time... 


The princess stirred, abruptly realizing that she had been 
staring at the same area on the wall for several minutes. So far, 
no one had come by, but it would not be good to be found 


acting so strangely. Inhaling deeply, Erini turned and walked in 
the direction of her chambers. Until she came to a definite 
decision, it was the safest place for her to be. 


As she walked, she could not help feeling that the tiny 
intruder had wanted something from her, something of importance. 
The apparition was a sacrifice on its part. Erini had felt 
the bond, though the fact of that was only just becoming 
apparent to her. Whatever its cause, the unknown presence was 
willing to give of itself, if necessary. That was more than most 
humans would have done. 


So engrossed was the princess in her thoughts, she almost 
walked into two guards patrolling the halls. She succeeded in 
stepping out of the way at the last moment while they, being 
only soldiers, were the ones who immediately apologized. 
Embarrassed with herself, Erini hurried away without responding. 



The chance encounter with the guards had steered her to the 
side of the corridor where windows overlooking the inner 
garden dotted the wall. Out of pure reflex, she glanced out at 
this one colorful place as she passed each window. At the fifth 
one, she froze and moved closer. The door in the far wall 
beckoned to her with a stronger pull than ever. In her mind, 
Erini felt the link between the door and the thing following her 
and found it amazing that she, who had wondered what might 
be down there, below the palace, had never stopped to think 
that the what might instead be a who. 


Erini would have gone down into the garden then, using the 
very abilities she had always cursed if that was what it would 
take to open the door. It was a foolhardy notion, though, for 
the princess had no idea where the counselor was at this time 
and, even with sorcery at her command, she did not warm to 
the thought of confronting as dangerous a monster as Mal 
Quorin. Even Drayfitt, with much more skill, was cowed by 
the man. 


Her fingers twitched of their own accord as she continued to 
stare intently at the door. Annoyed, Erini formed fists in an 
attempt to stifle this latest urge. This was twice now in the 
space of minutes. At this rate, she would soon be unable to 
suppress herself. 


It's like breathing, Erini thought in defeat, and I've been 
holding my breath all this time, building it up into something 
worse. 


The door still beckoned. Biting her lip, the princess took one 


94 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


last, lingering look—a grave mistake. Her curiosity overwhelmed 
her caution. She had to see what secret the palace held, 
regardless of the counselor or Melicard's desires. This would 
be the true test to determine whether she was to be Talak's 
queen. If Melicard intended on keeping her in the dark as to his 
plans, then their marriage would be little more than a charade 
and something she would never be consonant to regardless of 
repercussions. 


Having convinced herself of this, Erini sought out the nearest 
stairway leading down to the garden. All thoughts of sorcery 
were temporarily put aside as the anxiety of discovery replaced 
them. A tiny portion of her mind, buried deep within, warned 
her again and again about taking part in such foolishness, but 
Erini paid no attention to it. 


The garden itself was beautiful, more so this close up. Any 
other time, she would have stopped to admire the lush, fragrant 
flowers and the thick, green bushes. Now, though, she had eyes 
only for the door. Erini took a quick glance around her, but 
there was no one else in sight. It disturbed her briefly that there 
were no guards in sight, but then she realized that the last thing 
anyone would want to do is draw more attention to the door by 



placing sentries near it. Unattended, it was just one more 
seldom-used passage not worth even a second look. 


Erini felt a slight tingle pass through, but, unaware of the 
many abilities just developing within her, she thought it nothing 
more than nervousness. That delusion was quickly dispelled 
when a voice quietly but distinctly whispered in her ear. 


"Enter there, your majesty, and I cannot promise to save 
you." 


She whirled, saw no one, and whirled around again. Her 
hands came up in an instinctive offensive gesture. 


"Peace, milady, peace! If you continue twirling like a child's 
top, someone is apt to wonder about your sanity—as I already 
do!" 


The voice was Drayfitt's, but the elderly sorcerer was nowhere 
to be seen. In what was more a hiss than a whisper, the 
princess asked, "Where are you? Can you throw your voice a 
distance or is invisibility a trick you've learned?" 


"Alas, invisibility has always been beyond me... but the 
secret of the chameleon is not. Turn slowly, as if admiring the 
flowers, and look at the wall behind you." 


Following his odd instructions, Erini studied the vine-covered 


SHADOW STEED 95 


wall. At first, there was nothing new to see, but, as she studied 
it closely—a difficult task since she was also supposed to be 
admiring the garden flowers—Erini began to make out the 
shape of a cloaked figure standing at ease among the ivy and 
brick. His clothing and even his skin were colored and streaked 
in the same way as the wall, including the vines. The princess 
knew that if she ever hoped to see him clearly, she would have 
to walk straight up to him and touch his face. 


"How do you do that?" Erini asked quietly. Unspoken was 
the second question: Why did Drayfitt feel it necessary to 
disguise himself if only to reveal his presence to her? Because 
of Quorin? 


"Your majesty, if you would do an old man a great favor, I 
would ask of you that the two of us retire to a quieter 
place—such as my workroom." 


"Why?" She was not entirely certain she was safe in 
trusting him after this peculiar display of his magical talents. 


"Because I felt your struggle to control yourself even while I 
conversed with the king and I know you will not be able to 
hide your secret much longer. That was why I came, feigning 
weakness from some research." 


Erini glanced wistfully at the door. "Very well." 


"Excellent. We've been fortunate so far in that none of the 



guards have happened by here, but I assure you that our luck 
will not hold—and some of them are more loyal to Counselor 
Quorin than they are to King Melicard." 


With that warning hanging over her head, Erini carefully 
made her way to the nearest exit. Her visible attitude was that 
of someone who has enjoyed the peace ai a short walk but who 
now has become bored with matters. It was a look she had 
cultivated well over her short life. 


Departing the garden, Erini continued to feign her disinterest 
in all things until she was well away. Certain that she was at 
last safe from prying eyes, she turned, expecting to see Drayfitt 
with her. The princess instead found herself to be utterly alone. 
Erini was about to call out his name when the sound of footfalls 
echoed from down the hall. 


The ancient spellcaster stood before her, all smiles. "My 
dear princess, how nice to run into you!" 


Confusion reigned supreme. "Why—?" 


Her question went unasked as marching feet warned her that 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the two of them were no longer alone. Erini caught a glance 
from the sorcerer. Play along! 


"I've just finished an interesting walk in the garden. Master 
Drayfitt. A pity you weren't able to join me; we could have 
walked while you told me more about Talak. There is so much 
[ still have to learn and you must know more than anyone about 
he city." 


Pour well-armed guards turned the comer, marching with the 
same exacting precision that all Melicard's soldiers seemed to 
narch with. The apparent squad leader, a stout man with a 
hin, graying beard, called his men to a halt. He stepped toward 
he anxious princess and bowed. 


"Guard leader Sen Ostlich at your command, your majesty! 
May I say it's an honor then to meet with you! May we be of 
service to you?" He pointedly ignored Drayfitt. 


This was something that Erini could handle with ease. Her 
ace became a mask as she imperiously replied, "Nothing at 
his time, guard leader, but your attention is noted. Is there 
lomething you wanted of me? Has the king requested my 
presence?'' 


"Not to my knowledge, your majesty. We're merely making 
iur rounds. It wouldn't have been proper to pass without 
icknowledging our queen-to-be. The captain would've had us 
dl on double duty." Ostlich allowed himself a rueful smile. 


Erini granted him a royal smile. "Then, I shall not keep you 
rom your duties. Carry on." 


"Your majesty." 



Bowing, the guard leader returned to his squad and gave the 
arder to resume the patrol. The princess and Drayfitt watched 
hem go, a sardonic smile creeping across the lined visage of 
he elderly sorcerer. 


"How gracious of them. How curious that they purposely 
;hanged their route to march by here while you were nearby." 


"Isn't this their regular route?" 


"By no means. Oh, they'll claim that it was changed only 
today—if you ask them, that is—but I've the distinct advantage 
af having seen them turn from their normal patrol because one 
af the other guards reported seeing you in the garden. The 
chameleon trick has its advantages. I saw the sentry just as you 
were leaving. He didn't see me." Drayfitt smiled, pleased with 
his own success. 


"I wondered why you vanished." 


SHADOW STEED 97 


"Enough of that. Now that we've officially met in this hall 
and you've expressed your interest in Talak—an excellent 
request and good, quick thinking on your part—I think no one 
will suspect, anymore than usual, that is, that we have anything 
else in mind. If you will accompany me to my workroom..." 


"You are my guide," Erini answered gracefully. As Drayfitt 
led her down the hall, already into the beginnings of a lesson 
on the history of Talak, the princess looked back in the 
direction of the garden and the door. While she was grateful to 
Drayfitt for his concern for her well-being, the sorcerer's 
actions had not deterred Erini but rather fueled her determination. 
One way or another, she would return to the garden before 
long and discover the truth. 


Drayfitt's workroom was not what Erini had expected of a 
sorcerer. She had pictured a dark, moody place of vials and 
parchments, bones and the various parts of rare and magical 
creatures. There should have been ancient tomes on subjects 
such as necromancy and magical artifacts from civilizations 
long dead. 


"Looks rather like the office of a minor bureaucrat, doesn't 
it?" 


It was true. A high desk stood in the center of the tidy room, 
a set of candles and several sheets of parchment on top. There 
were books, countless books on shelves that ringed the room, 
but they were neatly stacked and fairly new. Some of them 
sounded fairly mysterious, but others were on classical plays or 
theories on government. Erini had not known that so many 
books on so many subjects even existed. 


"Do you like them?" the sorcerer asked a bit wistfully. "I 
wrote most of them over the years. It's a shame that most 
city-states are not like Penacles, where writing and education 
are paramount. I understand that a few of the copies I made are 



now a part of the collection gathered first by the Lord Gryphon 
and now by Toos the Regent. I've made certain that at my 
death, accidental, natural, or otherwise, the Regent will get this 
collection." 


Erini could not help smiling. "You do not remind me of 
what I was always told a spellcaster was like." 


"Head bowed over a cauldron, arms waving in insane 
motions, and sinister, inhuman things waiting at my feet for 
some command? Some of those things are true, and, if you 


98 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


know the tales of foul Azran Bedlam, those images pale in 
comparison to what he was like. I was never^ happy with 
sorcery. I was quite happy to find myself a little niche in the 
controlling of Talak and stay there." The spellcaster's face 
darkened. "Counselor Quorin insured that I would never be 
able to return to that and so I've made a special point of 
making him regret that action ever since." 


A twinge in Erini's right hand reminded her of why they 
were here. If Drayfitt could help her or, better yet, find her a 
way to rid herself of this curse, then she would take advantage 
of it. As if reading her thoughts, the sorcerer took her hands in 
his and looked them over. 


"Tell me, when you observe the powers around us, do you 
see the lines and fields?" 


She shook her head. "No, I see a rainbow, bright on one end 
and changing to black at the other." 


"A spectrum. Pity. I see the former, myself. Well, at least 
you see the powers as something understandable. There are 
those who see them in radically different ways than we do, 
though such folk seem to be rare. The lines and the spectrum 
seem to dominate the minds of most—and before you ask, I 
have no idea why we see them at all. Some people discover 
them naturally; some, like myself, need training." Drayfitt 
released her hands. "You are a natural adept. With some 
assistance on my part, you could become very skilled." 


Erini shook her head violently. "No! I want you to help me 
get rid of this curse, not enhance it!" 


"Your majesty, the abilities you have are a part of you, a gift 
from—from whoever watches over us. It's the spellcaster who 
makes those abilities work for good or ill. How else could one 
family produce both a fiend like Azran Bedlam and good, 
strong men like his father, Nathan, or his son, Cabe. I understand 
your feelings. For years, I lived with the memory of my 
brother, Ishmir the Bird Master—Aaah! I see by your face that 
you know of him. Ishmir perished in the Turning War with 
most of the other Dragon Masters and it took me years to 
forgive him for that." 


"Forgive him? For dying?" 



The sorcerer looked chagrined. "He left me, a young man, 
then, half-trained, uncertain of what I was. I had your qualms, 
too, but Ishmir saw I had the potential, though it was buried 
deep. I forgave him eventually, but I kept my powers hidden, 


SHADOW STEED 99 


utilizing only those that would help me secure a place in 
Talak's government and keep me alive—I'm a coward when it 
comes to death. Since my forced re-education in the world of 
sorcery—only a short time ago—I've learned much about its 
benefits. If not for my efforts. Counselor Quorin's influence 
with the king would be much stronger. That alone I count as a 
reason to hone my skills." 


Erini turned away, walking over to a shelf and running her 
fingers along the spines of some of Drayfitt's books. "It might 
be different if I were not a member of royalty, Master Drayfitt. 
Such things are not for us. In the eyes of my people, I would 
be considered tainted, a demon in human form." 


"I think the only demon is in your own mind, if you'll 
pardon me for saying so, your majesty. There have been rulers 
aplenty who command in part through sorcery. The Lord 
Gryphon of Penacles is the best example. During his reign, it 
was his skill more than anything else that kept the Black 
Dragon at bay. He was even instrumental in the Turning War." 


"The Gryphon was a magical creature. Master Drayfitt. The 
powers were a part of him." 


The elderly spellcaster chuckled. "He may not like all this 
talk in past tense; he still lives, they say, but fights some war 
across the Eastern Seas—hence the title of Penacles's present 
ruler, Toos the Regent. That is neither here nor there, however; 


what I am trying to tell you is that the skill to manipulate the 
powers is as much a natural part of humanity as it is of the 
elves, the drakes, and the Seekers. We merely have a greater 
tendencyto stifle those skills. / ought to know." 


Erini slowly turned back to him, an idea forming. "Then, if 
you cannot help me rid myself of it, teach me how to control it 
so that I will never find myself 'accidentally' unleashing some 
spell at a courtier who has happened to annoy me. That is what 
I fear-r the powers taking control instead of the other way." 


A relieved sigh. "Thank you, your majesty, for making my 
task easier. Had you demanded I help you rid yourself of your 
growing abilities, I would have endeavored to do so, despite 
the impossibility. After all, you are to be my queen." 


"That still remains questionable. Master Drayfitt." 


"I doubt it One reason it was so easy for me to leave the 
king abruptly was because he seemed distant himself, and the 
look on his face I have only seen when he thinks of you— 
favorably, that is." 


100 RICHARD A. KSAAK 



The information earned the spellcaster one of Erini's few 
true smiles. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that." 


"I do and it makes me happy to say it. The two of you are 
well matched. Though it's only been a few days since you met 
as adults, I'm not above believing that a bond of love has 
already developed. There are those who are meant to be 
together. I—" Drayfitt suddenly paused, his eyes darting about 
the room. 


"What is it?" Erini asked in hushed tones. To her horror, the 
sorcerer raised a hand toward her. She felt both the pull as he 
unleashed some powerful spell and her own instinctive response 
as she prepared to defend herself. 


"Not you!" Drayfitt muttered at her. "Remain where you 
are!" 


She froze in place. Behind her, the princess heard the thump 
of books falling from the shelves and—the patter of tiny feet? 
Something quick was running along the shelves, seeking a 
place it could hide from the spellcaster's attack. It might as 
well have been running from time itself. 


Erini heard a tiny squeak, then Drayfitt's curse as something 
the old man had evidently not expected happened. A moment 
later, he lowered his arm, a look of disgust and worry on his 
face. He rose from the table toward the spot where the intruder 
had evidently met its fate. 


Standing, the princess joined him. There was a strange odor 
emanating from the shelves and she sensed the remnants of 
some odd, disturbing sort of magic, something she had sensed 
briefly before. There was no sign of any creature. 


"What was it? Did you destroy it?" 


Abandoning his brief search, Drayfitt began picking up and 
reshelving his books. "As to what it was, I can only describe it 
as a little monstrosity obviously created to spy on others." He 
looked at Erini. "It's head and body were no more than an eye 
and a snout. A creature of magic. As to destroying it, that was 
not my intention. The creature destroyed itself. I wanted it 
alive—if it truly was—so that I could track it to its source, 
which is probably Quorin." 


"He has no magic." 


"Yes, you can tell that, can't you? Probably better than I. 
The only reason I noticed our spy was because this workroom 
is laced with spells sensitive to unwanted visitors. Here, of all 
places, I am most secure." 


SHADOW STEED 101 


Erini hesitated before finally admitting, "I've felt something 
similar to that creature. The same sort of magic, different from 
you or me." 



"What? When?" 


"In my—my chambers. I was looking in the mirror when I 
saw him. When I turned around, there was nobody there. I 
thought I'd imagined him, but there was dirt on the floor where 
he had stood and—and when I touched it, the strangeness of it 
startled me so much I fell back." 


Drayfitt's eyes narrowed and he scratched his head in thought. 
"Can you describe him, milady?" 


"Not well. He wore a cloak and hood like you do, only they 
seemed older, out of style." The princess closed her eyes and 
tried to picture the dark figure. "All his clothing seemed a bit 
archaic." 


"We are not always known for our sense of style. Forget his 
clothing, then. What did he look like? I may know his face if 
you describe it well." 


She looked flustered. "I cannot help you there. Master 
Drayfitt. I was not able to get a good look at his face. My eyes 
must have been watery, because, no matter how I looked, it 
remained shadowy or blurry." 


"His face was unclear but you could see that his clothing 
was old, archaic?" 


"Yes, strange, isn't it? I remember them clearly enough, but 
not his visage. I think he had dark hair, perhaps brown, with a 
streak of silver." 


"But his face you can't remember." The sorcerer pursed 
his lips in mounting frustration. "I wish—I truly wish, milady— 
that you could have given me a face to go by." 


Erini could sense his worry, "Why? Who was it? Is it 
whoever you hide down below? Did he escape?" 


Drayfitt gave her a dumbfounded look. "Soooo... you know 
about that, too. This gets worse and worse." He looked up at 
the ceiling, staring at something beyond it with eyes filled with 
dismay. "Aaaah, Ishmir! Would that you were here instead of 
me!" 


"What is wrong, sorcerer?" 


He went to the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a 
bottle caked in the dust of ages. Without asking whether the 
princess desired any, Drayfitt poured himself a goblet of what 
must have been wine and practically swallowed it in one gulp. 


102 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Eyeing the shelves of books, he finally replied, "The one you 
described can only be the warlock Shade, who can only be here 
for two reasons; the first of which is caged deep below in a 
chamber forgotten until recently. Another creature of legend, a 
shadowy steed called Darkhorse." 



"Darkhorse?" While everyone knew one tale or another 
concerning the tragic existence of Shade, forever cursed to live 
alternating incarnations of good or evil, it was the demon 
known as Darkhorse that had fascinated the princess more. 
Here was a magical creature from elsewhere, immortal, and 
the terror of drakes. Some stories made him as tragic as the 
warlock and there were many who feared him as much, but the 
image of a great stallion, blacker than a starless night, had 
captivated her. She had even dreamed, now and then, of riding 
through the darkness on its back. 


A legend and a reality were two different things. The thought 
of riding whatever Drayfitt had imprisoned down below made 
her shiver—and not in anticipation. 


"Darkhorse." The sorcerer nodded. "They have been friends 
and enemies for millennia. Yet, if he wanted the stallion, he 
could find him easily. There'd be no reason to materialize 
haphazardly in the palace unless he was searching for something 
better hidden, something like the book." 


"What book?" Erini was becoming more and more confused. 


Drayfitt sighed. "The book I used, half in ignorance, to 
summon a demon, or rather Darkhorse, to our world. A book 
he tricked me into destroying when he thought I wouldn't be 
able to recapture him again." The elderly spellcaster smiled a 
bit proudly at that; it had been a coup in ways, defeating the 
eternal twice. Then, he frowned. "I hope it's not the book he's 
after, though I can't think what else it might be." 


All thought of her own problems had long ago vanished as 
Erini tried to make sense of everything. She had wanted 
answers for so long, but now that she had them, the princess 
was more at a loss than before. "Why do you say that? Is it 
something he should not have?" 


"Probably not. That's academic, I'm afraid, your majesty. 
As I said, I destroyed it. He'll find nothing but ashes now." 


In a darkened comer of the ceiling, a small form scurried 
deep into a crack that should have been too tight for it. The 
sacrifice of its brother had proven worth the cost, for it had 


SHADOW STEED 103 


discovered what its master had wanted to know. Soon, it would 
be able to return to the warm nothingness he had summoned it 
from. Perhaps even as soon as it relayed the news to him. 


Shade's eye-creature did not understand how its master 
would react to this particular bit of news. It would not be able 
to comprehend the fury nor would it comprehend that the 
warlock would destroy it, not because it had served him well, 
but because of a need to strike out at someone or something. 


Least of all, it would not understand the danger the success 
of its mission had placed the sorcerer and the princess in. Nor 
would it have cared. 



The Silver Dragon watched from the throne he had usurped 
from his dead counterpart as his loyal subjects began the long 
process of clearing the central chamber of rubble. Under the 
light of many torches, warriors watched over the servitors, who 
seemed uneasy at invading the caverns of their cousins. The 
Dragon King shifted to a more imperious posture, the better to 
build the confidence of his people. It mattered not that the clans 
of Gold—those that still lived—were outraged at his actions. 
They had three choices: become part of the clans of Silver as 
the survivors of the clans of Bronze and Iron had, flee to their 
other cousins, or face execution. So far, none of the three 
choices had become a clear-cut victor, which was the best 
choice in the Silver Dragon's mind, for it meant that the 
remnants of Gold's people would never band together in 
sufficient strength to fight his rightful rule. 


/ should have taken this place after Gold's defeat. So many 
years wasted—but now the throne is mine. The days of the 
Thirteen Kingdoms are at an end. Eventually, the Dragonrealm 
will bow to one monarch alone with no council to voice their 
dissent..., 


So far, none of his counterparts had raised more than an 


104 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


angry voice against him; proof, he believed, of their gradual 
willingness to accept him as emperor of all. Only Green openly 
denounced him, but that was to be expected from a traitor 
whose domain housed his race's greatest enemies, the Bedlams. 


Ssssoon, he thought with a smile. Soon we shall begin the 
cleansing process, sweeping down and bringing the upstart 
warm-bloods to their knees, where they will learn once again 
to give obeisance in the proper manner. 


One of his younger hatchlings, an unmarked male who 
served well in the hopes of securing a dukedom in the new 
regime of his sire, knelt before him. His false crest was less 
elaborate than some of his elders, a choice that the Dragon 
King approved of. He gestured for the warrior to speak. 


"My sire, I give thanks to the Dragon of the Depths for your 
ascent to the throne of emperor." 


Silver hissed as the flattery made him swell with pride. 
"What word of our chaotic ally?" 


"None. Our spies search for him—cautiously, as you 
commanded. There is word on the book, however," 


"And that is?" 


"That the book is ash," a voice from behind the throne 
announced. 



The Dragon King leaped from the throne and whirled around. 
The other drakes looked up from their tasks, but a chill glance 
from their monarch, who realized he had lost face by this 
cowardly action, sent them scurrying back to their duties with 
greater effort than before. 


"How?" 


"The sorcerer Drayfitt. Why would you give such an artifact 
to a human sorcerer?" Shade cocked his head, his voice soft 
and smooth, companionable even. 


The Dragon King was not fooled for a moment. He knew 
that he was facing yet another variation of the warlock, one that 
he suspected was closer to the original than any of the rest. 
"He was to translate it. All others failed. It was said he had the 
skill and knowledge." 


Shade walked slowly around the throne. The two drakes 
stepped back. "So the creature Mal Quorin is yours." 


His draconian ally did not argue the point. "Only after the 
book wasss brought to him did we discover the truth. The 
human king was quickly made to believe that a ssspell had been 
found that would give him a demon servant and all he had to do 


SHADOW STEED 105 


was find a sorcerer—which proved sssurprisingly easssy. The 
one called Drayfitt would continue the translation—at the 
command of his king, of course—and also test the validity of 
his resultsss." Silver forced himself to stare into the two dark 
spots that passed for the warlock's eyes. "He would either fail 
and disssgrace himself or succeed, at which point, sssome 
accident would overtake him and the book would be returned to 
me. Any demon he had sssummoned would then be mine to 
control!" 


"You are quite a gambler, evidently. I doubt if/would have 
done the same as you." With great deliberation, the warlock sat 
casually down on the throne. The drake who had reported to 
the would-be emperor hissed and bared his claws. Shade 
looked him over. 


"One of your get?" 


"What of it, human?" the defiant warrior hissed. 


"He bears no markings," the hooded figure commented to 
his ally, ignoring the growing anger of the younger drake. 


"What if I do not?" 


The warlock finally seemed to notice him again. "Just so I 
know that I've eliminated nothing of importance." 


The furious drake reached for him, then hissed in consternation 
as a great, black hole materialized in his stomach. While 
the rest of the drakes—unable to keep from looking despite 



their master's earlier glare—watched in horror, the hole expanded. 
The hapless victim, in a state of insane calm, put one 
hand into the gaping maw, unable to believe his eyes. 


The hand and the arm were sucked in. 


In less than a breath, the shoulders, head, and remaining arm 
followed after and, when they, too, were gone, the torso and 
legs vanished into the hole. A single black spot remained 
floating in the air for a second or two, then vanished, seeming 
to swallow itself. 


Shade glanced in the direction of the Dragon King. "You've 
desired the power of the Vraad; that was a taste of what we 
could do." 


"Am I next?" 


"I was under the impression we had an alliance of sorts." 
The warlock leaned forward. "Don't we?" 


"You recalled the book. That wasss why you returned to me. 
The book—your book—was destroyed. I assumed you had no 


106 RICHARD A. KNAA'K 


further need to pursue our alliance and so I have moved on with 
my plansss." 


"Subjugation and/or destruction of Talak. I remember. I 
would think it simple with the king's counselor at your beck 
and call." 


"Nothing is simple except the belief in simplicity." 


Rising, Shade straightened his cloak. "Continue with your 
plans. They coincide with my needs. There is only one thing 
you must remember." 


"That is?" 


"The sorcerer Drayfitt must not be harmed. I've need of 
him." 


A wary look passed across the drake lord's half-hidden face. 
"Quorin's followers are to assassinate him—soon—while he 
travels with the army. What need do you have for a human 
spellcaster with little more than adequate ability?" 


"It's not his abilities as a sorcerer that I want. It's his mind. 
You did say he set out to translate the entire book, didn't you?" 


"So?" 


Shade sighed, wondering how this creature could miss the 
obvious. "Never mind. Return to your plans." 


"But your part of the bargain—" 


"That?" The warlock smiled, a shadowy line slightly bent 



upward on each end. There was something dreadfully cold 
about his smiles, Silver thought. 


"Neither Darkhorse nor the Bedlams will interfere. You may 
rest assured on that. They will be too busy with other, weightier 
matters." That said, the warlock curled within himself and 
vanished. 


Almost the Dragon King felt sympathy for the warlock's 
adversaries—almost. 


Another day had passed and Darkhorse once more studied 
the cracks of the chamber walls. Studied them while his mind 
sank deeper into a bottomless abyss. 


Failure. Utter failure. 


Darkhorse looked again at the chamber that was his world 
and would be his world for some time to come, apparently. His 
one hope had been crushed—and at the moment of greatest 
potential. 


The human female called Erini, Melicard's betrothed—now 
there was irony—was a natural spellcaster of high potential, 


SHADOW STEED 107 


possibly as high as Cabe Bedlam or the Lady Gwen. She had 
noticed the fragment of self although even Drayfitt had not. In 
the last moment of vision, he had seen how her hands itched to 
reach out to the powers, manipulate them. The female was 
stifling those powers, though; that much he had seen as well. If 
that were the case, he would receive little aid from her. Likely, 
she had not even told Melicard her secret. 


His thoughts were interrupted by the unlocking of the door. 
That made him chuckle in sour humor; who would want to 
come in and what would they do once they were here? If it was 
not to keep someone out, what other reason was there for 
locking the door? Darkhorse would have been as secure if the 
entire palace had been leveled. Even then, the barrier enclosing 
him would have stood. 


The door swung open and Melicard himself, accompanied by 
his foul shadow, Quorin, and the pitiful mage, Drayfitt, entered. 
There was something different about the king, a humanity that 
had blossomed almost overnight. It was not complete humanity, 
not by far, but a great touch more than the split-faced monarch 
had had during his first visit. 


Given time, this princess would make him a whole man 
again. The shadow steed studied Melicard's visage closer, 
especially the living eye and the set of his mouth. 


Apparently, there will not be time after all. 


The king was here with an ultimatum. Darkhorse could read 
that even before Melicard spoke. 


"My army marches against the clans of Red in the Hell 



Plains at tomorrow's dawn. Men will die so that their children 
will live free. The Plains will drink their blood as it drinks the 
blood of drakes." 


"A pretty speech... and very old." 


"You have been told not to be disrespectful to his majesty, 
demon! Perhaps you need another lesson—" 


Melicard curtly signalled for silence. "Quiet! I want this 
creature, this legendary Darkhorse who fought alongside the 
Dragon Masters, Cabe Bedlam, and other humans throughout 
the centuries, to tell me why he will not save the lives of men 
by ending those of drakes!" 


The ebony stallion sighed. "You who would make history, 
have you not studied it? Are not the lessons of the Quel, the 
Seekers, and those who preceded even them evident? This land 
we now call the Dragonrealm is a harsh mother. It has watched 


108 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


109 


the glory of many races and it has watched the downfall of 
each—all through bloodshed. Even the Quel, who succeeded 
where others failed and held onto a bit of their power when the 
Seekers took control, even they did not learn from their mistake 
and eventually lost what little they had in trying to destroy the 
new avian masters! As for the Seekers, in putting down the last 
gasp of the Quel, they planted the seeds of their own destruction!" 


Melicard was silent, but Darkhorse could see his words had 
had no effect. And I scoffed at his tired speech! 


The king's eventual response was what he had expected. 
"Though you are our prisoner, for some reason we cannot 
make you obey. Drayfitt has tried to explain, but that means 
nothing. Tomorrow, I will send the army out—without your 
magical aid. It will take them a week to ten days to reach the 
northern part of the Hell Plains, where the Red Dragon's 
revitalized clans prepare for their own assault. We shall catch 
them unprepared, however; and, where Azran Bedlam failed, 
we shall wipe them out to the last egg. One less clan. The other 
twelve will follow." 


"All hail the conquering heroes!" scoffed the shadow steed. 


"Your majesty—" the counselor began to protest. 


"You were overzealous before, Quorin. We will not punish 
this one, not this time. Perhaps he will reconsider before the 
deaths have grown too many." 


Darkhorse refused to look at the king any longer, instead 
choosing to alternate his piercing gaze between Drayfitt, the 



weakest link, and Mal Quorin, the treacherous one. The elderly 
spellcaster looked pale, worn, as if he had just suffered a great 
disaster. If so, the malevolent cat who counseled the king had 
something to do with it because there was now a slight hint of 
satisfaction on Quorin's face that, under the circumstances, 
should not have been there. The counselor almost seemed 
pleased by events. 


Something is not right where this tabby is concerned, Darkhorse 
decided. What can I do about it now, though? 


"Come," Melicard commanded his two advisors. "There 
are more fruitful endeavors to pursue at the moment." 


"The only fruitful endeavors will be those of the Lords of 
the Dead—after the battle." 


The door shut behind them with a sinister note of finality. 
Darkhorse kicked at his invisible cage, frustrated more than 
before. 


"Fools!" he cried, though he doubted they could hear him, 
sound-absorbing as this room was. "This will be far worse than 
the Turning War!" 


He brooded after that, unheedful of the hours that soon 
passed by and wondering again and again if they now intended 
on abandoning him down here indefinitely. Perhaps, as the 
years fall, some scavenger searching through the ruins of this 
once-proud city-state will find his way down here and pass on a 
word or two before leaving me alone again. 


The door jostled. Someone was trying to open it—but with 
little success. Darkhorse gathered himself together, his interest 
in things revived by this sudden and possibly trivial incident. /( 
may only be a guard testing the lock.... 


Nothing else happened for more than two minutes. The 
shadow steed's hopes sagged again. 


A sudden groan of twisting metal informed him that the first 
time had not been an illusion. The area of the door where the 
handle and lock were situated had been torn asunder, rendering 
the whole thing useless. Someone standing on the other side of 
the door pushed it forward. 


The eyes of the Princess Erini stared at him in awe and 
growing recognition. 


"You. You were the shadow in the hall. The one that—that 
followed me and then vanished." While she talked, her hands 
continued to twitch, as if they were eager to perform yet more 
sorcery. 


Darkhorse dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Princess 
Erini, I would assume." He indicated the door. "A trifle 
overdone, I'd think." 


She looked embarrassed. "I was only trying to open it. 
Drayfitt said that if you concentrate, you can manipulate the 



spectrum and unlock it with little more than a look." 


"Can you try that with my accursed cage here? Have you 
come to set me free?" 


"Are you—are you Darkhorse?" 


That made him laugh loudly. "Of course. Who else could I 
be? Who else would dare to be Darkhorse—or want to be, for 
that matter?" 


"Not so loud, please!" 


His manner became subdued. The shadow steed knew that 
this human held his freedom in her anxious hands. "Why did 


no 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


you come down here? Won't Melicard become wroth when he 
discovers his future bride has uncovered one of his secrets?" 


"Melicard is busy. Quorin—" the look of disgust on her 
young face was evidence enough of her hatred for the man. The 
shadow steed's opinion of the princess rose further. "—has 
convinced him that the time to move is now. Melicard is 
completing final preparations." 


"He was here earlier. This is madness, you know." The 
ebony stallion shifted impatiently in the confined space of his 
prison. Free me! he wanted to shout at the human. 


Erini looked up sharply. "I don't know if I should. I don't 
know if I can." 


"Your powers are very formidable, gentle lady. I think you 
could undo the spell the elderly human wrought. The key is in 
the symbols on the floor. Look closely at them." 


She started to, but then shook her head. "I can't! If I do, 
Melicard will never forgive me! If I betray him, he'll find out 
about these!" 


"Your hands? They seem lovely, though I'm no judge of 
human standards...." 


"You know what I mean. These powers. I do not want them. 
They are a curse. If I thought that cutting off my hands would 
rid me of them, I'd be tempted to do it." 


"It will not, so do not think about it again." Madness! Am I 
to be tormented by the key to my freedom? 


If Erini caught that thought, she did not respond to it. 
Instead, the princess said, "Drayfitt told me the same thing. I 
know that." 



"Is that why you came to me? To tell me you don't like your 
gifts and you won't use them to release me? Are you a greater 
sadist than the 'lovely' Counselor Quorin, then? He has only 
assaulted my physical form; you've torn at my hopes!" 


"No! I—" 


"Princess!" Drayfitt stood at the doorway. He had become 
even more worn and pale since the shadow steed had seen him 
hours before. Caught up in their own thoughts, neither Erini 
nor the eternal had noticed his nearby presence. He, on the 
other hand, had felt them all the way in the main hall, where he 
had just left the king after an unsuccessful attempt to, if not call 
off the march, postpone it until events became clearer. The 
intensity of the two had been enough to pierce the cloud of 


r 


SHADOW STEED 111 


worry smothering his mind—and probably would have been 
enough had he been outside the walls of Talak itself. 


The elderly mage inspected the damaged door and grew even 
more dismayed. "This will never do!" He touched the torn 
handle and lock. Before the eyes of Darkhorse and the princess, 
the metal reshaped itself, returned to what it had been like 
before Erini's impetuous entrance. Drayfitt glanced up again. 
"Your majesty! What do you hope to gain by coming here? I 
warned you to stay away!" 


"I could not help it. Master Drayfitt!" She stepped back 
from both of them. "I saw the three of you come down here 
hours ago, then leave a few minutes later. When I saw the 
guards depart as well, I knew something had happened. I—I 
was not thinking properly. It took me this long to build up my 
determination, but eventually I had to come down here—I do 
not know why. Perhaps to see... to understand..." Erini 
trailed off, at a loss. 


"She came to see a curiosity, sorcerer!" Darkhorse bellowed 
arrogantly. "She came to see the demon her love had chained 
to this world! Rest assured, she would not want to hurt his 
feelings by granting me my rightful freedom, oh no! I pleaded 
with her long enough to know that!" 


Erini looked as if the shadow steed had kicked her violently— 
which was just what Darkhorse wanted. It was a terrible thing, 
he knew, that he was forced to resort to shaming her, but if the 
stallion had read her correctly, the princess would turn that 
shame around and come back to him—this time to free him. 


/ will make amends to her after Shade has been dealt with 
Darkhorse swore, shielding the thought from her already impressive 
abilities. He tried not think that by forcing her to look 
at her own conscience and free him, that she might lose the 
man she loved. 


There were times when he did not envy humans the ability to 



love. It seemed to have more to do with pain than any other 
emotion. 


Ignoring his outburst, Drayfitt confronted his queen-to-be. 
"Your majesty, tomorrow, thanks to the slippery words of the 
loyal Master Quorin, I will be enroute with the army. I must 
ask that you watch yourself while I'm gone, stay with the king 
at all times. The more Quorin has him alone, the more he can 
poison his mind—and diminish your hopes of a true relationship. 
I shall return when I can." 


112 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"If you can, spellcaster. Your kind has a limited lifespan in 
war. What happens to the city, then?" 


"I will see to it that nothing happens. I've a stake in my life, 
Darkhorse." The elderly man took hold of one of Erini's arms 
in a gentle but determined manner. "Come, milady. Judging by 
your mishap with the door, there are things I need to show you 
before 1 leave come the mom." 


"Wait, Drayfitt!" The shadow steed shifted as close to the 
door as the barrier would let him. "What about Shade? I've felt 
him here! You cannot deny his existence, I think." 


The two humans looked at one another in a manner that 
answered one part of Darkhorse's question. The warlock had 
returned to Talak at least once and both of them knew about it. 
It was Erini who finally responded, much to the evident 
consternation of the sorcerer. 


"He's been here at least twice. Lord Darkhorse. Once, for a 
brief moment, in my chambers; the second time, to release 
some foul creatures to spy on the palace." 


"He wanted the book, apparently," her companion interrupted. 
"It was his, you know, but thanks to you, demon, / destroyed 
it." 


"Then, you are in danger, human!" 


"He's your foe. You were the one truly responsible. He has 
no further argument with me." The tone of Drayfitt's voice 
suggested he had worked hard to convince himself of that. 


"Don't be a fool, mortal!" 


Drayfitt turned from him. "Come, your majesty." 


She accompanied him, but slowed long enough to study him 
in detail. Darkhorse returned her frank stare. This was a female 
who did not give in easily. There was hope after all. 


As the door closed, the shadow steed laughed quietly. Now, 
if only it was not too late. 


The climb up was long and especially slow, despite Drayfitt's 
continual urging. Erini only partially heard him, her mind on 
the confrontation below. 



Living darkness. An abyss that threatened to swallow all that 
stood too near it. More than a shadow, yet also less. 


All these were apt descriptions of the astonishing being she 
had met. All were apt but greatly insufficient descriptions of 
the jet-black stallion calling itself Darkhorse. Majestic and 
terrible at the same time, he was far more than the legends had 


SHADOW STEED 113 


even hinted at. Small wonder he was held in both awe and fear 
by those who knew of him. There was a sense of time beyond 
eternity in his very presence. His chilling blue eyes, crystalline 
and lacking pupils, seemed capable of capturing her very soul. 


His words came back to Erini and the shame burned brightly 
within her once more. For the sake of her relationship with 
Melicard, she had been willing to leave him a prisoner. It went 
against everything she believed in, and the fact that she had not 
done anything about it cut her deeply. She had once dreamed of 
a marriage based on love and trust; could she be satisfied with 
one that was also built on the sufferings of others? 


Erini realized that Drayfitt had asked her something. "I'm 
sorry; what was it you asked. Master Drayfitt?" 


The elderly man sighed. Somehow, he seemed even more 
drawn than when he had first discovered Erini. "I asked your 
majesty if she trusts her personal guard and her ladies-in-waiting." 


"Completely. Why?" 


Drayfitt's face revealed nothing. "No reason, milady. Only 
pleased to hear that there are those who can be trusted." 


Neither spoke again, more to save breath than because of any 
other reason. The journey downward had seemed so much 
easier. At last, though, the door finally came into view. 


/ cannot leave him! the princess suddenly thought in a 
swelling panic, the sight of the door resurrecting her shame 
concerning her ill treatment of Darkhorse. / have to do something 
for him even if—even if— 


"I've been wondering," Drayfitt began, "wondering why 
Quorin removed the guards from in here. They weren't necessary, 
but he seemed to think them so important before. If they'd 
been here, you wouldn't have gotten this far." 


Erini neither knew nor cared what reason the counselor 
might have had to send the sentries away. Only one thing 
concerned her. The princess was not even certain it would 
work, but, based on what little she had learned from the 
sorcerer, it should at least be possible. 


On the next step, she fell forward. 


"Princess!" Drayfitt reached for her, almost losing his own 
balance in the process. He was unable to stop Erini, who turned 



so that her back was facing her would-be rescuer. 


While her face and hands were not visible to Drayfitt and his 
mind was concerned solely with her safety, Erini unleashed a 
crude spell formulated only from half-formed thoughts and 


r 


114 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


115 


wishful thinking. The elderly spellcaster had explained that 
hand gestures were not necessary and mostly acted as a guide, 
but the princess did not trust her skills well enough to do 
without them. Her fingers wiggled in a maneuver that was pure 
instinct. Unfamiliar with the world of sorcery, she could not say 
whether she had accomplished her task or not. Whatever the 
case, Drayfitt was now standing over her and Erini knew that 
trying any longer would only give her away. As it was, she 
remained uncertain as to whether he knew or not. He had 
shown her how to shield her thoughts during their one session, 
but theory and practice were never the same, that held true in 
sorcery and governing. 


"Are you all right. Princess Erini?" 


She nodded slowly, trying to act dazed. "Yes—I missed my 
footing. Thank you." 


The sorcerer helped her to her feet. "A fall here could prove 
fatal, milady. You would not stop for thirty or forty feet at 
least. Come, the sooner we leave here the better, as far as all is 
concerned." 


Drayfitt opened the door, guiding Erini up to the surface with 
his other hand. The sun was going down and the garden was 
full of deep shadows, though none as deep as that which was 
Darkhorse, the princess thought. 


Closing the door quietly, Drayfitt quietly said, "We will 
forget this happened, your majesty. Best for both of us, I'd say. 
Now go before someone asks why we were here." 


"This is ridiculous! I am a princess! Am I not to be queen of 
Talak? Should I go skulking about? I won't be like you, 
Drayfitt! Not even for the love of Melicard!" 


He frantically waved her quiet. In the distance, Erini heard 
the sounds of men in armor. "I only recommend it from past 
experience, your majesty. What you do is up to you, of 
course." 


"Princess Erini." 


Erini started and Drayfitt cursed under his breath. The 



princess calmed down, however, when she realized who it was. 
"Captain Iston!" 


The Gordag-Ai officer bowed to her and, after a moment's 
hesitation, nodded briefly to the sorcerer. "Princess, you are 
making it extremely difficult for my men and I to perform our 
duties. So far, you've succeeded in evading every one of 
them." 


"The princess is skilled at such things," Drayfitt interjected. 
To Erini, he said, "Think on what I said, milady, and, by all 
means, make use of such loyal men as your captain here." 


"What's that supposed to mean, then?" Iston asked, his 
suspicion roused. 


"Only that I hope her majesty will allow you to perform 
your function. It's sometimes hard to find a person you can 
trust so much. Good evening." 


His eyes on the departing sorcerer, Iston frowned. "That 
sounds like a warning of sorts." 


"It's nothing." 


"As you command." Nevertheless, the captain continued to 
look thoughtful. "Might I be permitted to escort you back to 
your chambers, your majesty? I have a handful of anxious 
bodyguards waiting for the two of us." 


"Why did you not bring them with you?" 


Iston smiled enigmatically. "Some things are better handled 
by one man." 


They walked quietly through the garden, the officer falling in 
place just behind his mistress. Erini allowed her thoughts to 
turn back to the events below and the question as to whether 
her spontaneous actions had freed Darkhorse or not. She also 
wondered what Melicard would say if it turned out the shadow 
steed was free. Drayfitt would be unable to say anything; come 
the morning, he would be gone with the army. Both the king 
and Quorin might assume that Darkhorse had either escaped on 
his own or that Shade had taken him away somewhere. 


Her secret would remain safe... unless she chose to tell 
Melicard. He had to leam some time... but when? 


As before, her questions went unanswered. She exited the 
garden, followed by Iston, of course, with the knowledge that 
sooner or later the truth would come out and that it might 
benefit her if it was her admission, not Quorin's, that Melicard 
heard first. 


Guard leader Ostlich abandoned his hiding place overlooking 
the garden the moment the would-be queen and her lackey 
vanished back into the palace. His mind was aglow with the 
thought of the gold Counselor Quorin would pay him. What the 
princess from Gordag-Ai had been doing mattered as little to 
him as why Quorin had ordered the guards away from the area 



in the first place. He only knew that the counselor would pay 


116 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


for the knowledge that she had been down there and reward 
him further once the reins of rulership changed hands. 
What happened to the princess was none of his concern. 


With the grand crusade now ready to commence, no one had 
time to inspect the chamber where the King's reluctant demon 
had been locked away. Caught in the midst of final details that 
would keep them secluded all night, the king and his advisors 
saw no one except those who came to deliver information 
specifically on the march. Thus it was the Counselor Quorin 
remained ignorant of a fact that would have been of great 
import to both him and the king... for the barrier, the magical 
cage, and its sole occupant were no longer there. Had he 
received a message from one of the guard leaders to the 
Counselor Quorin, the advisor might have excused himself and 
investigated for himself, venturing down to the shadow steed's 
prison, and discovering something of such importance that even 
the king would have taken interest... because the barrier, the 
magical cage, and its sole occupant were no longer there. 


The bulk of Talak's great army moved in swift and orderly 
fashion despite its impressive size. By dawn, more than half 
the column was outside the city gates. Around them, the 
citizens cheered their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. 
Cohorts four hundred strong marched by, most of them veterans 
eager to teach the monstrous drakes that humans of this 
particular city-state would never bow to the Dragon Kings 
again. 


Lost in the cheers and commotion was one pessimistic 
sorcerer and several irritated commanders, all of whom felt 
they were moving in the wrong direction; but it was their duty 
to obey, and obey they would. The city was not undefended. 
There were garrisons posted all around the countryside, espe-


SHADOW STEED 117 


cially the northern and western borders. The city guard would 
keep order in Talak itself and the palace would be well-
protected by the royal guard. 


Unbeknownst to these forces, the northern garrisons, in 
response to orders received that very dawn, were preparing to 
move westward to meet with their counterparts there. For 
the next week, they were to face off in a series of war games 
designed to test their effectiveness in guerrilla fighting, much 
like the sort of war waged by Melicard in the early days of his 
crusade. While the commanders silently questioned the need 
for this, it was not the first time that some functionary in the 
government had decided to play up his own reputation by 
cracking down on the common soldier; and besides, the war 



was to be in the east for now, so no one would miss them for a 
few days, anyway. 


No one argued the validity of the orders themselves; after all, 
they bore the king's seal, didn't they? Nobody but Melicard 
and his closest advisors used the seal. 


The king saluted those riding out to do battle in his name, his 
visage somehow more regal than frightening this day. He had 
planned to lead them, as he had done in the past, but some of 
his advisors had recommended that he remain in the city. It 
would not do to have the crusade's driving force accidently 
struck down in the heat of combat. At the palace, Melicard 
could coordinate all of his activities. There was also continued 
talk of the eventual marriage of Melicard and the princess from 
neighboring Gordag-Ai, an event most everyone was looking 
forward to with eagerness. Those near enough to see the king 
were able to get a glimpse of the Princess Erini standing at his 
side. Counselor Mal Quorin, Melicard's chief advisor, stood on 
his other side. 


In the shadow of a building near the city gate, a lone figure 
watched the ongoing procession with growing impatience. The 
shadows draped his visage, but even if they had not, it would 
have taken a long, close look to make out his patrician features 
and his arresting eyes—eyes with great, wide pupils not of any 
color, but instead glittering like fine crystal and seeming to see 
much more than the view before them. It was the face of one 
bom to his place in the world, one who knew that all within his 
grasp was his. Azran Bedlam had worn such a look, but it paled 
in comparison with this one. This was the face of a Vraad sorcerer. 


The true face of Shade. 


RICHARD KNAAK 


Food. Eat. Eat. The others in the herd kept urging him. 
They had been doing so all day. 


Provider. Walks-on-hind-hooves-and-smells-of-herd. Brings more 
food. Eat. The herd tried to watch out for one another, but the 
dark one kept refusing to be part of the herd, though he had 
said he was. 


Not hungry. The dark one allowed the strange creature with 
the odd, loose skin to guide him. Drink? Walks-on-hindhooves-
and-smells-of-herd leads to water. Smells puzzled. Not 
thirsty, provider. Provider smells of fear. Why fear of self? Self 
not harm provider. 


Self... not right. 


Before him. the orovider called to another of his own herd. a 
smaller waJks-on-hind-hooves who often came to this herd and 
smoothed and washed their coats. The dark one could not recall 
. ever having this done to him, but the others, who seemed very 
stupid to the dark one, had told him this. It was one of the 
happy times they had. The dark one did not care for their happy 
times. Their happy times were for stupid ones. 



"Andru! When did they bring in this one?" 


The boy—boy?—shook his head, his mane flying back and 
forth as he did. The dark one realized the boy could not 
speak. 


The man—yes, man!—looked at the dark one. "He's magnificent, 
but he spooks me for sure! More like a demon than a 
horse!" 


Horse? Demon? The dark one's mind stirred. He did not 
question for a moment that he understood the man so well, 
even though the rest of the herd seemed to only hear the tone of 
his voice. He was different. Far different. Memories began to 
stir, memories of confinement, of evil men and shadowed 
figures. Memories of a need to escape. 


"Here! What's wrong with you?" The man—for the first 
time, the dark one saw that the man was tall, well-muscled, 
and graying—sought to bring his skittish charge under control. 
The dark one—there was another name!—easily fought him 
off. 


"Andru! Boy! Get the others! We've gotta rogue on our 
hands!" 


The young one ran off. The older man tried to get a grip on 
the bit that someone had dared put on the dark one, but failed. 


SHADOW STEED 119 


Not dark one. Dark.. . horse. Darkhorse! 


The shadow steed's memories returned in a torrent of mixed 
images and scraps of thought. Darkhorse froze as he tried to 
assimilate everything, and the handler chose that moment to 
grab the bit. 


"I don't know which mule-headed lord or lady left you in 
the royal stables, but you're goin' to have to learn who's 
master 'round here!" He tugged hard on the bit, trying to force 
Darkhorse's head down. The horses around the ebony stallion 
shied away, already familiar with the strength and tactics of a 
man who had not yet met an animal he could not break. 


Of course, the jet-black steed before him was far more than 


an animal. 


Darkhorse, at last himself again, finally took notice of his 
would-be master. Soul-snaring blue orbs met the narrow eyes 
of the human—causing the iatter to scream and release his 
hold. Stumbling backward, the man made a sign against evil. 


Darkhorse laughed. Laughed, not only because of the futile 
gesture, but because he was free! 


"Hela and Styx!" The horseman fell to his knees. "Spare 
me, demon! I couldn't have known!" 



"Not known me7 Not known Darkhorse? I am no demon, 
horseman, though neither am I one of your charges! Tell me 
quickly now and I will leave you be! What place is this and 


what day?" 


The answers both amused and angered the phantom steed. 
This was Gordag-Ai, the Princess Erini's homeland! He could 
see what she had done. In haste, perhaps because she was still 
with the sorcerer, she had wanted him to be safe and secure. 
Her mind, however sharp, had thought of him in terms of a true 
animal—and why not? Very few people truly understood what 
he was. Therefore, when she had attempted to free him, her 
crude spell had sent him to a place her memories recalled as 
safe—the kingdom where she had been bom and raised. Since 
he was a horse, her rescue attempt had sent him to the royal 
stables, surely the most secure place for one of his kind! 
Unfortunately, the side effect of so haphazard a spell had nearly 
made him just such a creature; and as much as he admired their 
forms and their loyalty, he had no desire to become one. 


What frustrated him were the results of that side effect. 
Almost a full day had passed while he slowly reverted to 
himself. The massive army of Talak must already be far beyond 


120 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the city, heading toward the Hell Plains; and though he had no 
proof to back up his fears, Darkhorse suspected that something 
terrible, something that Shade would have a hand in, was going 
to happen. Not just in Talak, either. 


He realized that the human was still kneeling before him and 
that several others were standing at the entrance to the royal 
stables looking quite dumbfounded. Darkhorse laughed bitterly 
and said, "You have nothing to fear from me, little ones! 
Darkhorse has always been the friend of humanity, though there 
are those for whom my love has been tried! Fear not, for my 
time here with you is over!" 


Rearing, the shadow steed summoned a portal. It flickered 
uncertainly for a moment, but the stallion, impatient to move 
against his adversaries after so long, paid it no mind. After his 
confinement and the stifling power of Drayfitt's magical cell, 
he expected his own abilities to be less than they should be. 
That was why it was time to include others in his battle with his 
friend/foe. It was time to seek the help of Cabe Bedlam. 


The gate he opened flickered again—then vanished. 


Cursing loudly—much to the panic of the few humans who 
had not run off already—Darkhorse tried to resummon the 
portal. It blinked into and out of existence almost too fast to be 
seen, enraging the frustrated eternal even more. 


"I am Darkhorse!" he shouted at the disobedient hole. "A 
gate is less than nothing to me! Materialize!" 


He was greeted by a complete lack of reaction. There was 
not even a flicker this time. His confinement had sapped his 



abilities far worse than he could have believed possible. 


This was a spell with Vraad origins, the shadow steed finally 
concluded. A treacherous, destructive thing like its creator! 


"Very well," he rumbled. "If, for the nonce, the paths 
beyond are forbidden to me, than I shall travel through the 
world of humanity!" Darkhorse looked down at the humans. 
"Be vigilant, mortals! The clans of Silver are awake and, 
though I suspect they look toward Talak, it would be safe in. 
assuming that Gordag-Ai is also among their desires!" 


When it appeared that his message had sunk in, the huge 
stallion reared and charged east. At first, the men in the stables 
grew panicked again, for there was no eastern entrance, only a 
solid wall. Then, before -the unbelieving eyes of people who 
had thought they had already seen all there was to see, 
Darkhorse melted into the obstruction, like a ghost. 


SHADOW STEED 


* * * 


Darkhorse had no time for patience with the failings of 
humanity. If the fiery presence of a huge, jet-black stallion 
charging over their heads was enough to set them running in a 
hundred different directions, then that was their misfortune. 
What the shadow steed fought to stop was far worse than a 
little fear left in his wake. Shade, a Vraad sorcerer, would not 
settle for a little fear. As a Vraad, he would expect to control 
everything. It was not because he was necessarily evil; if 
anything, the Vraad had been, in Darkhorse's limited knowledge, 
amoral. They could not comprehend that something 
might be out of their reach unless another, stronger representative 
of their race had already claimed it. Even then, it was a 
matter of who had the upper hand. 


The warlock would be working to divide and eliminate 


rivals, even potential rivals. 


Darkhorse quickened his pace as Gordag-Ai fell quickly 
behind him. Princess Erini's homeland had been given a 
warning about the drake menace near them. What concerned 
the phantom steed now was the very person he had looked to 
for aid. Cabe Bedlam and his family were in danger. A Vraad 
sorcerer would not let a spellcaster of young Bedlam's potential 
go unchecked; if he could not enlist their servitude, then he 
would destroy them the way one would destroy a pest. 


Darkhorse pushed himself harder, only now realizing how 
accustomed he was to his magical abilities. Though he raced 
more swiftly than any common horse, the pace was infinitely 
slower than travelling the path beyond. Seconds, even minutes, 
had now become hours. 


Hours he might not have. 



What was occurring in Talak worried him also, but there was 
nothing he could do, and speaking to Cabe Bedlam and the 
Lady of the Amber was paramount. The city-state of mad 
Melicard would have to wait, despite the debt he owed its 
future queen—future queen only if Talak had a future. Darkhorse 


needed the mortal's aid. 


Time continued to be his enemy, passing with a swiftness he 
could never match at his best. Night came, grew old, and 
began to dissolve. The lands of Esedi, where the Bronze 
Dragon had once ruled and where Gordag-Ai was situated, had 
given way to the southwest edge of cursed Silver's domain. As 
the sun began to climb, relief touched him. He was now in a 


722 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


region on fair terms with humanity and the Bedlams, the forest 
lands of the Green Dragon. Through the hateful words of 
Melicard and the confusing ones of Drayfitt, the stallion had 
learned how this one drake lord had done the unthinkable, 
worked it so that there might be a place for both races, so that 
his own would survive and not give way, which was inevitable 
to all save the other Dragon Kings. 


His hooves grazed the tops of the tallest trees. Something 
large stirred and fluttered away into the depths of the woods 
below. Darkhorse thought it at first a small drake, but the 
glimpse he had of it showed it to be birdlike, yet with the shape 
and form of a man as well. 


Seeker. 


There were very few of them now. The brief, horrible winter 
that had taken place a year after the shadow steed's exile had 
apparently claimed many of these once-mighty rulers, predecessors 
to the Dragon Kings themselves. Confidentially, Drayfitt 
had indicated that the hordes of hungry, gigantic, digging 
creatures from the Northern Wastes, monstrosities who had 
followed the soul-numbing chill southward, had been responsible 
for the depletion of their numbers more than anything else. 


Darkhorse suddenly hesitated, almost landing on top of a 
tree. Of all creatures, the Seekers would surely know the 
Vraad. The avians had controlled this land before the coming 
of that race of men—and had fallen afterward to the might of 
the upstart drakes. Perhaps the Vraad had had something to do 
with that, though it was also possible they had no longer 
existed as a race by then. Something had changed their descendants 
into the humans of today. It was a time period that 
the eternal knew little about, having only known it through 
encounters with one Vraad, a good man. The shadow steed had 
not returned to this reality until long after the Dragon Kings 
had established their rule, long enough for all to have died who 
might have answered him. 


Turning, Darkhorse dove into the forest. If he could only 
catch the Seeker... 


The foliage whipped about the stallion as he entered the 



forest. The change in his form from phantasm to solid flesh 
startled him, as it had not been his desire. Darkhorse slowed 
and landed hooves-first on the ground, leaving deep imprints. 


Thanks to the thick vegetation, it was impossible to locate 
the avian by normal sight. Those other senses that should have 


r 


SHADOW STEED 123 


been able to aid him in his search failed just as miserably. The 
Seeker was nowhere to be found. Darkhorse trotted cautiously 
through the forest in the direction of his original goal, the 
Manor, while probing the visible world and those beyond for 
some sign of the Seeker or of any other creature out of the 
ordinary. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that the Green 
Dragon might not see him as the ally and friend of the warlock 
Bedlam. As peace-minded as this particular Dragon King had 
seemed, he might still consider Darkhorse as the enemy of all 
drakes. 


He came upon a path that showed signs of regular use and 
chose to follow it, trying to indicate to any hidden sentinels of 
the Green Dragon that he was friendly. In times past he had 
travelled this region unharmed, but one could never completely 
trust what had once been. Perhaps the monarch of the Dagora 
Forest had not sought his death simply because of his strength. 
A struggle between titans would have destroyed this wooded 
land that the drake loved so much. Now, though, he was 
dealing with a much weakened stallion, a much more tempting 
target to those who believed they had a legitimate reason for 
vengeance. 


Still the Seeker evaded his senses. It had either been able to 
shield itself or had fled long before. He knew the power of the 
avians could be formidable and that they might find him a 
useful tool in their efforts to regain the Dragonrealm, but if this 
was a trap, it was an odd one. Darkhorse cursed his present 
state; he was no longer certain if he could trust what his senses 
told him. 


Darkhorse moved through the woods. The hours continued to 
become new memories, most of those concerning traipsing 
through endless forest and all thought of the Seeker was 
gradually abandoned as the shadow steed passed by tree after 
identical tree. As much as Darkhorse enjoyed nature, he soon 
lost all admiration for the color green. There was just too much 
of it. He was tempted to take to the sky again, but, with his 
abilities questionable, he preferred to be where he had the best 
chance of spotting hidden watchers, as futile as that seemed at 
the moment. The lush treetops made it virtually impossible to 
see anyone, either in the branches or on the ground. Here, at 
least, he could study both areas more thoroughly. His eyes and 
ears were now his foremost senses; they were far sharper than 


124 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


those of his animal counterparts' and thus afforded him a fairly 
accurate picture of what lurked nearby. 



Though he appeared to be alone, he soon discovered that 
there were others. Those nearby, insofar as his limited skills 
could tell him, included small animals, a variety of birds and 
insects, and three creatures of vague shape and identity who 
could only be servants of the forest's master. It was possible, 
then, that there was presently a welcoming party of some sort 
on their way. Whether they would merely follow and shadow 
him was debatable. They would be there, however. 


The land before him began to take on a familiar appearance. 
Darkhorse slowed to a more cautious pace, knowing that, like 
his cage, what he sought would be invisible to the eye. A 
decade was long enough in the mortal plane for an entire world 
to rearrange itself and, though he was not completely certain he 
had arrived at the outer grounds of young Bedlam's sanctum, it 
was best to approach things with the thought of traps in mind. 


Darkhorse neared a copse of trees that had grown so close to 
one another as to be one. The shadow steed knew with little 
more than a glance that magic had been at work, for the trees 
wrapped around one another as loved ones might. The sight 
was a marker of sorts, for it told him that he was indeed close 
to his destination. The Manor grounds could be no more than— 


He felt a great desire to go no farther. It was as if something 
pungent had been left under his nose. Darkhorse throttled back 
several steps, trying to recover. He snorted and glared at the 
location of the aromatic assault. 


"Come now. Amber Lady," he jeered, certain that the horrid 
scent was a product of the Lady Gwen, Cabe's mate. "A little 
smell will not repel your enemies—nor those you insist of 
thinking as your enemies!" 


The jet-black stallion reared and charged swiftly forward. 


He found himself running the way he had come from. 


"What?!" Darkhorse came to a dust-filled halt. He turned 
and stared at the direction he had originally charged. There was 
nothing to indicate when and how he had been turned. The 
spell was one of the smoothest he could recall seeing in 
centuries. Unlike many, there had been no sense of reversal, no 
noticeable tingling. 


"Perhaps I've underestimated you. Lady Gwen!" He backed 
up and charged again, building his own defenses as he ran. No 
mere reversal spell would stop him this time. 


SHADOWSTEED 125 


It did not—but the sudden panic that he must have been mad 
to have even come this close to such a deadly, horrifying place 
sent him reeling back out of control. 


Some distance from the stunning attack of nerves, he gathered 
himself. Darkhorse eyed his destination, then reared back his 
head and laughed. "My compliments. Lady of the Amber! This 
is far more an annoyance and far more creative than the 



original spell!" 


She had placed at least three spells over the magical barrier 
that protected the Bedlams and their people from outsiders, and 
Darkhorse was not yet ready to see if there was a fourth. Each 
had been progressively better, and he suspected that any deeper 
level would stop being a deterrent and start becoming very, 
very painful. That left the eternal very few options. Once, 
when he had first met the confused young mortal name Cabe 
Bedlam, a Cabe who did not understand who he was and why 
the concerted efforts of more than one Dragon King had been 
focused on him, the shadow steed had called out in his mind to 
the untrained warlock. Had not Cabe responded, the sorcerer 
would have fallen victim to the wiles of three temptresses, 
drakes in human disguise. Now, with his powers failing, 
Darkhorse would have to try again. Out of sheer pride, the 
shadow steed hesitated, but, in the end, there was not better 
way. 


Slowly, his concentration on the mind of his human ally, 
Darkhorse made his way around the edges of the barrier. It was 
ironic, he realized, that he who had spent so much time 
fighting to free himself from one cage was now desperately 
seeking entry to another, possibly deadlier one. 


Minutes passed. There was no response. He could not even 
feel the presence of another mind, though that did not necessarily 
mean anything. It was possible that this new series of spells, 
so intricate compared to the old one placed on it by one of the 
Manor's former tenants, also shielded those within from his 
silent plea. If so, he might find himself circling the grounds 
hour upon hour until either of the spellcasters or one of their 
servants happened to step without. Darkhorse's eyes narrowed 
to slits as he thought of the time wasted. 


When he had circled the warlock's domain once, he paused, 
trying to assess the situation in the hopes that he had missed 
something earlier. The sun was almost gone and, standing in 
the midst of the deepest, darkest forest, Darkhorse was already 


126 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


127 


in deep shadow. In a fit of unleashed fury, he gave up all 
thought of appearance and caution and, backing just a bit away 
from the edge of the barrier, called out in his loudest voice. 


"Cabe Bedlam! Come! Give me entrance! I am Darkhorse, 
your friend and ally! Hurry, before the hand of Shade tears at 
the foundation of the Dragonrealm and lays waste to all!" A bit 
flowery, he decided once he had finished, but it will bring him 
to me! It must! 


Several seconds later, something began to rustle through the 
brush. It kept itself well hidden behind the trees and bushes, 



but Darkhorse soon saw that it was too small for a human of 
Cabe's size. 


"Darkhorse." It was a statement, a child's statement, but 
with something Odd about its tone. 


"I will not harm you, youngling! I am indeed Darkhorse, 
friend and ally to the master of this place!" He tried to talk 
soothingly. 


The boy moved closer, though he still kept himself fairly 
obscured. There was something a bit odd about his gait and his 
breathing was fast, as if he had been running. Perhaps he had. 
He might have been far from this place when he heard Darkhorse. 


"Come closer to me, youngling! I mean no harm! If you will 
take a message to the warlock Cabe Bedlam, I'll be forever in 
your debt!" 


"I don't like you. Go away." 


Darkhorse kicked at the ground. He had little experience in 
dealing with young. Better a trial of combat with a Dragon 
King than to have to try to placate a child. It was a wonder 
humans survived to adulthood. "Your sire would do well to 
teach you manners, youngling!" 


The boy straightened and hissed. Darkhorse, about to add 
further in the hopes that what humans termed a scolding would 
make the child obey him, hesitated. The boy's reaction was too 
violent, too— 


"My sssire is dead." 


The words were far too chilling for a human. The ebony 
stallion voiced his next words quietly and calmly. "You have 
my sorrow. Who was your sire, young one?" 


He knew it would not be Cabe Bedlam, not after hearing the 
sibilant tones. It seemed impossible that the child before him 
could be what he believed it was. 


As if emboldened by the question of his heritage, the boy 


stepped out of hiding. From his height, he was likely a decade 
old, maybe a year or two more. His height was the least of his 
characteristics. Darkhorse, who had once again come to believe 
that he had seen everything, found that the child left him 
speechless. 


He had dark hair that flashed a hint of gold. His eyes were 
narrow, red ovals that burned bright in the darkness. His nose 
was tiny, almost imperceptible, and his mouth had a cruel yet 
majestic cut to it, thin-lipped and knowing. He was a child with 
a mind beyond his years. 


The boy was handsome, but in an inhuman way. 


The layer of scale that covered his face told the shadow steed 
what he was even before the boy opened his mouth and 



revealed sharp teeth and a tongue slightly forked. This close, 
Darkhorse could see the hatred in his eyes, an overwhelming 
hatred that no young one should have been allowed to grow up 
with. It had already twisted him. 


"My sire'sss color wasss gold. My sire wasss an emperor." 
The drake child stared resolutely into the eyes of Darkhorse— 
and it was the eternal who looked away first. 


The hatchling of the Dragon King Gold triumphantly added, 
"/ will be emperor, too." 


XII 


128 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


129 


Kyl, his visage now a mask hiding his earlier savagery, 
stepped aside as he watched the lean human clad in dark blue 
robes approach, accompanied by another child. Ten years had 
and had not changed Cabe Bedlam. With his masterful abilities, 
he could extend his lifespan and keep himself young for 
three hundred years or so, possibly longer if violent death, a 
common problem among spellcasters, did not claim him. He 
seemed taller, though that might be because of the confidence 
with which he walked. Cabe looked exactly as he had years 
before, like a youth in his twenties, but only until one studied 
his roughly handsome features. The basic face had not changed— 
attentive eyes that kept track of the disobedient hatchling while 
still maintaining a focus on Darkhorse, a nose slightly turned, 
and a strong chin reminiscent of his grandfather, Nathan. Yet, 
put together, they had an age and experience to them that had 
not been there before. 


He will be greater than his father and his grandfather, the 
stallion decided. May he live a more peaceful, fruitful life than 
they. 


"Darkhorse!" With a bit of wonder recalled from their time 
together, Cabe reached out to touch the shadow steed. However, 
just before he reached the limits of the protective barrier, he 
paused. His eyes narrowed and literally blazed with built-up 
power. The great silver streak in his otherwise dark hair seemed 
to glitter. "You are Darkhorse, aren't you? I'd hate to think 
what I might do if I found you were some drake from 
the Storm Lands or from Lochivar who thought he could sneak 
in here in the guise of an old and trusted friend. I might do 
something very, very damaging to you—say, turn you inside 
out." 


Darkhorse laughed. "Friend Cabe, you have picked up a 
wicked streak in the years since we met! Of course, I am 



Darkhorse! Who would dare or want to be me, I ask you?" 


To the side, Kyl, whose face had become animated at the 
talk of damage, lost interest again. The other boy—now the 
shadow steed saw that this, too, was a drake, but one more 
human, more gentle—looked relieved. 


Cabe's grin returned. "Enter freely, then, old friend." 


It was as if a portal had opened up in the protective barrier 
that had for so long frustrated, him. Darkhorse stepped through 
as the others backed up to give him space. Gram, the other 
hatchling, wanted to touch him, but Kyl suddenly shook his 


head and hissed, "He'll suck you in and sssend you to the dark 
places!" 


"That'll be enough of that\" Cabe reprimanded. He looked 
up at his former companion and apologized. "He hears the 
tales from other drakes—and humans, too. Stories, but what 
can I do? They've been around longer than me." 


"Perhaps it might be best if I altered my appearance a 
little." Darkhorse became a true stallion, even altering the 
appearance of his eyes. "Is that better?" 


"Much." 


"I should speak to you as soon as we have some privacy, 
young Cabe! It concerns my—return—to your land." 


As the four of them started out for the Manor, the warlock 
nodded. "I thought so. I didn't think you were ever coming 
back. The Gryphon said you'd sacrificed yourself to keep 
Sh—" 


"Of that we shall talk—when we have more privacy, if you 
don't mind." He indicated the hatchlings, both of whom were 
openly curious about what the two were saying. 


"Sorry." 


Darkhorse shook his head. "There is no reason to be sorry! 
Come! While we have a few moments, tell me of yourself and 
what has become of the Gryphon. I only know tales that have 
been told to me by untrustworthy sources." 


Cabe informed him first of the Gryphon's journey across the 
Eastern Seas to the land of his birth. The Gryphon had 
discovered his people, the denizens of some place called the 
Dream Lands, under siege by the black-armored wolf raiders, 
the Aramites. D'Shay, a particular wolf raider who had dealt 
with various Dragon Kings over a period of time, had evidently 
survived an encounter in Penacles that once supposedly had 
climaxed with his death. The missives, delivered to the 
Dragonrealm by drake ships of the neutral city of Irillian, did 
not go into detail on the subject of D'Shay. For the past few 
years, though, the lionbird had been aiding the revolt of many 
of the Aramites' conquered enemies. The wolf raiders' empire 
was crumbling,, but it was a slow, bloody conflict. The ebony



armored soldiers had not conquered most of their continent by 
luck. 


"Toos runs Penacles in his absence," Cabe concluded. "The 
general refuses to be named ruler, despite the pressure on him. 


130 B.ICHARDA.KNAAK 


He and I both wanted to go and aid the Gryphon, but that 
would have left no one to keep an eye on certain troublemakers." 


"A wise decision, Cabe! Now, what of you? The Lady of the 
Amber is your mate, yes?" 


It was informative to the shadow steed the way the mention 
of his wife made the otherwise confident warlock turn red. 
Darkhorse recognized the deep love the mortal had for his 
enchantress. 


"She's my... mate. Yes. We have—we have two children." 


"But this is wonderful news!" Darkhorse roared, unmindful 
at the moment of how his voice carried. After so many dismal 
events, the progression of life, something that both fascinated 
and puzzled him, cheered the stallion, especially as it dealt 
with one of the few mortals who fully trusted him. "You must 
introduce them to me—if that is acceptable to the Lady of the 
Amber!" 


Cabe smiled in wry humor. "She doesn't like to be called 
that. It's either 'Lady Gwen' or 'the Lady Bedlam.' She's very 
much into the control of this place and our children... but 
then, so am I." 


Darkhorse quieted as the four exited from the forest and 
entered the clearing where the unique structure called simply 
the "Manor" stood. Seeing the place reminded him again of 
that time when he had come to Cabe's rescue. The Manor was 
a perfect complement of nature and planned design. It was 
difficult to tell where the building ended and the natural 
contours of the great tree that made up at least half of the 
structure began. Some walls had been completely shaped by the 
tree; others had been built. It was at least three stories high, 
with windows everywhere. The grounds had been carefully 
shaped to match the land. There were other buildings as well; 


and, though they had not been designed with the efficiency and 
beauty of the ancient citadel, someone had taken great care to 
ensure that they did not detract from the splendor of the 
forest. 


People looked up from their tasks—people and drakes, 
Darkhorse amended, trying to cope with the idea of such 
cooperation—and stared at the horse beside their lord. It was 
the stare of the mildly curious, not the panicked, which 
evidently meant that his disguise had succeeded. Both hatchlings 
suddenly ran off in the direction of the Manor itself, 



perhaps to give warning. The shadow steed wondered what sort 


SHADOW STEED 131 


of reception he could expect from the Manor's mistress. A cool 
one at best. Better that than open warfare. 


There had to be several families of both races living here 
side-by-side, but everyone seemed to be taking it with stride. A 
man and a drake dealing with the horses broke off from their 
discussion to first acknowledge the warlock, then to admire the 
magnificent black animal trotting beside him. Darkhorse watched 
them in turn, amazed at such cooperation, such friendship. 
Even the humans of Irillian or Zuu, cities in which humans and 
drakes had lived together for centuries, were more polite and 
respectful to one another than they were friendly. 


"She was in the garden when I went out to search for Kyl," 
Cabe whispered, nodding in turn to those who paid him 
homage as he passed. The embarrassed look on his face was a 
humorous sight to Darkhorse. "Hopefully, we should find her 
there." 


With a brief nod of his head, Darkhorse signalled his 
understanding. Certain questions were beginning to eat at his 
patience, however, and he hoped that he and the two human 
spellcasters would be able to converse before long. As enjoyable 
as this reunion had been. Shade was a problem that could 
not be cut off. 


They did find Gwen in the garden. Kyl and Grath stood 
patiently off to the side. With the witch were two strikingly 
beautiful women. Though no judge of human tastes, Darkhorse 
knew that they were capable of tempting many a man. He also 
knew that these women were not human. They were female 
drakes, far more adept at shapeshifting into such forms but less 
talented at sorcery. 


Despite their beauty, however, the two drakes paled in 
comparison to the woman kneeling before them, who was bent 
on adjusting the clothing of a small human male perhaps two 
years younger than the hatchlings. Long, thick tresses crimson 
in color fell well below her shoulders and a silver streak, 
smaller and narrower than the one in Cabe's hair, added to the 
intensity of the fiery image. A form-fining gown the color of 
emeralds revealed curves that were, by the standards of most 
human males Darkhorse had known through the ages, quite 
arresting. The Lady Bedlam rose and glanced their way, her 
perfect face with its glittering eyes—eyes that matched the 
gown absolutely—tiny nose, and full red lips marred only by 
the anxiety in her expression. Anxiety and distrust. 


132 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


As they neared her, Darkhorse could not help feeling both 
relieved and disappointed that he was unique, that there was no 
female counterpart to him. Had there been, she surely would 
have resembled Cabe's mate in thought and action. 


Even the multiverse is not ready for that! he thought with 



much humor and some passing regret. 


"S'sseresa," Gwen called. The nearer of the two drake 
dams stepped closer. Her eyes still on the black steed, the witch 
said, "Take Aurim and the others to their rooms and please 
check on Valea. She should be waking from her nap soon." 


"As you wish. Lady Bedlam." The two female drakes 
seemed to have no difficulty dealing with taking orders from a 
human, and Darkhorse slowly realized that they had probably 
had several years to get used to it. One dam took the two 
hatchlings; the other reached down and, whispering a few 
words to the golden-haired boy, took him by the hand. They 
followed after the others at a slower pace. 


"Now, then." Owen's expression was cold. "Kyl told me 
that you have somehow come back, but I was hoping he'd been 
imagining things. I see he wasn't." 


"You were a bit wanner when last we parted company. Lady 
Bedlam—may I extend my congratulations?—and I see no 
reason for your continued distrust of me. I hardly came back by 
choice, much as I enjoy this world. I was forced back here by 
one of your kind." 


The ice melted. Barely. 


"Things have been fairly peaceful here the last few years. I 
have children now, Darkhorse. Children who should grow up in 
peace." 


Darkhorse laughed, ignoring the fury on his hostess's visage. 
"I am so sorry that I have to awaken you from your dream, 
witch! If you have eyes at all, you should know that, despite 
their unwillingness to band together, the Dragon Kings are far 
from harmless! Even now, the clans of Silver prepare to 
strike—and with Shade loose—" 


"Wait! What's that you said?" Cabe stepped between the 
two, his original intention being to keep one or both from 
striking out. Now, however, he was interested only in Darkhorse's 
words. "Is that what you came to tell us?" 


Backing away for the sake of his friend, the shadow steed 
nodded. Even the Lady Gwen was now listening in rapt 


SHADOWSTEED 133 


attention. The anger had vanished, replaced by concern—concern 
for her husband and children. 


"Now I have your attention! Good! It should have been 
obvious to you. Lady of the Amber, that if I've returned, then 
so has Shade! Our faceless comrade is worse than I can ever 
recall seeing him! Something in the spell that tore us from our 
exile has caused a reversion! Shade has been as a man gone 
truly mad, with personalities vying each time I've met him! I 
fear he is returning to his original mind-set—and I fear it may 
be the worst of all!" 



Gwen sat down, her hands rubbing together tightly. "I owe 
you an apology, then. If what you say is true—" 


"There is worse! I have sorely underestimated the age of my 
onetime comrade! If I am correct, a Vraad sorcerer walks 
among us again!" 


The name meant nothing to Cabe, though he carried within 
him some of the memories of his grandfather, who had studied 
the ancient races thoroughly. Gwen, on the other hand, turned 
pale and spat out an epithet concerning the shadowy warlock 
that made her husband look at her in mild shock. 


"What's a Vraad sorcerer? Is he different from us?" 


Lady Bedlam nodded slowly. Her jaw set tight as she looked 
at Darkhorse. "We've heard nothing out of the ordinary from 
the northern lands. The only reports that reach us concern the 
fact that Melicard is supposed to marry some princess from the 
west. I pity the woman." 


"They are a fair match, witch. She may be his salvation. 
She is also a latent sorceress." 


Cabe put a hand on his wife's shoulder. She reached up and 
placed her own on his. The warlock smiled sadly, as if 
acknowledging the end of a beautiful time. "You seem to know 
quite a bit, Darkhorse. Maybe you could tell us how you know 
so much." 


He did. Drayfitt's abilities came as no surprise to Cabe, 
though the elder's actions in the name of his king did. Cabe 
had only met the man briefly, but he had come to respect him. 
Both spellcasters knew of Melicard's crusade and his overzealous 
advisor, Mal Quorin, but spies had reported nothing except the 
usual raids, though those had become fewer in the last couple 
years. 


Of Shade and the plots of the Silver Dragon, they knew 
nothing, and what Darkhorse conveyed to them stunned both 


134 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 235 


Bedlams. To Lady Gwen, it was the culmination of fears she 
had always harbored about the hooded warlock; to Cabe, it was 
a tragic conclusion to someone he had both befriended and 
pitied. That the true Shade might be a less than savory being 
saddened him further. 


"I'd always assumed he was a basically decent man behind 
that curse." 


"A fairy tale! This is true life! Shade is a Vraad and, with 
few exceptions, they were arrogant and amoral! The world did 
not weep at their passing, so I'm given to understand! It 
amazes me that you and yours could be descendents of their 
kind." 



"Cabe." Gwen squeezed his hand tight. "If all he says is 
true—" 


"I would not—" 


She cut him off. "As all he says must be true, then we have 
been purposely led astray. Someone has been lulling us into a 
false sense of security." 


The warlock nodded. "The Silver Dragon or Melicard; more 
likely it's his counselor, Quorin. I wonder if the lord of Dagora 
knows anything. He's been extremely quiet himself." 


Growing unsettled, Darkhorse stamped the ground with his 
hoof. The words that fled his mouth had almost become a an 
automatic ritual. "I was a fool! I should have come to you the 
moment freedom was mine! It may already be too late!" 


Cabe grimaced. "It doesn't do any good to continually 
condemn yourself; I did that enough to know. What we have to 
do now is contact the Green Dragon and, with his aid, discover 
why there seems to be a curtain of silence between us and the 
north. You said that there may be a pact between the Dragon 
King Silver and Shade. Do you have any idea what that pact 
might entail?" 


"I suspect part of it might have to do with a book—Shade's 
notes on his vile spells—but that book is dust, thanks to me. 
Without it. Shade will have to plan from scratch. At one point, 
he seemed to recall everything, but I think that roust have 
proved a temporary state, else why his search?" 


"Then you think he plans to recreate the original spell—but 
why if the curse is lifted?" 


"It may not be lifted. Even if it has been, where would that 
leave him? Friend Bedlam, if Shade sought immortality long 
ago, why would he not seek it again?" 


The warlock's mate, who had remained silent during this 
part of the exchange, turned to Darkhorse. "I worry about 
Talak. It sounds like a volatile situation. Do we dare let it 
continue that way?" 


Darkhorse saw what she feared. Now would be a perfect 
time for the drakes to strike at Talak. "I would go back there 
now, since I owe the Princess Erini for my freedom, but I lack 
the strength and will to form a proper portal." 


"Let me see." Gwen reached out with her hands, standing 
as if she were trying to ward off the stallion. Darkhorse could 
feel her probe as it danced over his essence, stopping here and 
there as she sought the cause of his weakness. When she was 
through with her examination, the Lady Bedlam lowered her 
arms and nodded to herself. 



"There is a thin link between you and... someone else." 


Incredulous, he searched for himself. His own probe was 
less efficient than hers, suffering as it did the way all of his 
abilities suffered, but he eventually found what she had located. 
Darkhorse laughed at the thin, magical strand, invisible and 
insubstantial, but virtually impossible to sever. 


"Drayfitt's link! That's twice! Curse the mage! Am I never 
to be free of him?" 


"Is it the same?" Lady Gwen asked. "Most links are forged 
in the same manner, but not this one." 


Darkhorse inspected it again. 'Wo... and it explains my 
weakness. I have become—a source—of strength for Drayfitt. 
The link is draining me slowly, but... this is too haphazard. I 
think the Princess Erini did this to me unintentionally." 


"Sever it now," Cabe suggested. 


"He cannot. If he does, he loses what Drayfitt has already." 
Gwen made a face. "You might say that the old sorcerer is 
stealing Darkhorse's essence, his being." 


"I am being devoured- alive, is what you're saying!" 


"Essentially." 


Cabe looked disgusted. "How can we stop it?" 


"Killing Drayfitt is one way. With the link, all that he stole 
will return to its original place. Darkhorse might even gain 
something." 


"I want nothing of Drayfitt's! I am not a ghoul—or a 
murderer!" 


Lady Bedlam paced. "Nathan never taught me anything like 


136 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


this; I think he was as disgusted with the concept as you are, 
Cabe.Yet..." 


"Yet what?" Darkhorse grew anxious. He enjoyed existence 
and planned to continue to enjoy it, despite the increasing odds 
against doing so. 


"If you can persuade him to break the link from his end—" 


"Why should he be able to do that when I cannot?" 


"He forged the original." She looked at Darkhorse as he 
thought she must look at her children when they asked an 
obvious question. 


"Forgive me, Lady of the Amber! I have not suffered so 
many calamities in centuries! I fear I am not taking them well! 
The frustration of being kept in check while Shade—" 



Owen cut him off. "Forget your apologies, eternal. Perhaps 
you're not quite the demon I cannot help thinking you are, but 
you always seem to be the harbinger of disaster. For the sake of 
my family and the peace of the lands, I want Shade stopped— 
even if that means dealing with you. I don't say that I'm right, 
but I'd feel the children especially safer with you far from 
here." 


Darkhorse tilted his head to one side and looked at the two 
spellcasters, finishing up with Gwen. "Humans are a strange, 
convoluted people, and you. Lady Bedlam, are a prime example. 
There is a part of you that would accept friendship with 
me, but there is a part of you... I need not go on. When this is 
over—if it ever is—we must talk again." 


More to turn the conversation to a safer course than because 
it was necessary to say, Cabe interjected, "If you need Drayfitt 
to break the link, then that means you'll have to go to him." 


"I am aware of that. The thought does not stir joy within 
me. Drayfitt is not in Talak, I believe. That leaves the city 
virtually under Mal Quorin's control." 


"We'll take care of that. It might be time for the master 
warlock Cabe Bedlam and his lovely bride, the powerful 
enchantress—enchantress of my heart\—Lady Gwen, to visit 
the city-state in typical sorcerous style." 


His wife gave him a coy look. "Materialize on the steps of 
the palace?" 


"Probably not a good idea. If it was that easy, the Dragon 
Kings would have done it long ago. I was thinking more at the 
city gates with a great fanfare and fireworks—all illusion, of 
course." 


SHADOW STEED 137 


"What reason do we give, husband?" 


"An offer of peace. Melicard was always good enough to 
hear such things out. There is still a good man beneath that 
horrible face." 


"Princess Erini has brought much of that man out to the 
surface," Darkhorse added. "She would make a good ally, 
providing they do marry. Very well. I will leave now, then, 
since you seem to have things in hand! My relief is beyond 
measure—but what of the children while you two are gone?" 


"Even Shade needed permission to enter this place. The 
children will be safe here." 


Darkhorse did not ask the other question. But can you trust 
the children? he had wondered, thinking of the taller of the two 
hatchlings. What would this Kyl be like when he was mature? 
Already, he seemed too much a reflection of his sire. 


There will be time to worry about that only if we succeed in 



solving the present crisis! Through habit, Darkhorse reared, 
intending to summon a portal for his journey to the north. Only 
when nothing materialized did he remember the extent of his 
plight. 


Cabe was the first to understand what was wrong. "You 
don't have the strength or the will to summon a gate, do you?" 


"I fear not." 
The warlock thought about it, then, with some hesitation, 
said, "Neither of us have been in that region for years; most of 
our portals would depend upon blind luck, except..." 


"Except?" 


Cabe looked at Gwen. "I think there's one place I could 
never forget. Azran's citadel." 
"There is little more than wreckage there. The spell protect


ing it from the violence of the Hell Plains and the ravages of 
time has long fled from it." 


"You've been there?" 
"Yes." Darkhorse decided it was better not to go into his 
encounter with the emissary from the Lords of the Dead. 


"Still, I think I remember well enough to get you there 


safely. What do you say?" 
"Since I have little to fear even if you should land me in 
molten earth or during some great tremor, I suppose so." 


Cabe gave him a sour grin. "Thanks for your confidence." 
The gate was there even as Cabe finished speaking, a sign of 
how accustomed he had become to his abilities since they had 
RICHARD A. KNAAK 
last met. Darkhorse inspected it briefly, more because of his 


own recent lack of success than because he did not trust the 
warlock's skill. When he was satisfied, he turned to bid the two 
farewell. 
"Thank you for your aid, Cabe Bedlam—and yours, too, 
Lady of the Amber." 
"Please don't call me that." 
"My apologies! I was warned and I forgot." 
She slowly shook her head. "/ apologize. This is not the 
time for trivialities." 
"Good luck, Darkhorse." Cabe waved a hand. "We'll leavel 



on our journey as soon as possible." 


"Do that. Things may be calm, but best not to take chances, 
eh?" The ebony stallion reared. "Beware, dear friends! Shade 
may strike at any time and in any way! Be vigilant!" 


He heard Cabe call, "We will!" and then the world shifted 
as he crossed through the portal. Ahead of him, the fury of the 
Hell Plains exploded in a mocking salute to his return. The gate 
vanished as the shadow steed emerged. Darkhorse, wasting no 
time, immediately reached out through the link itself and noted 


that his quarry was somewhere south of him. 


Darkhorse prayed that he would have some idea of how to 
convince the sorcerer to break the link before the two of them 
came face-to-face again. He was uncomfortably aware that he 
stood a good chance of becoming, for the third time, Drayfitt's 


prisoner. 
The last thought might have been humorous... if not for the 


fact that he knew there would be no escape this time. Drayfitt 
would surely see to that. 


In the garden of the Manor, Cabe stood with one arm around 
his wife. The two of them stood staring at the spot where, 
moments before, the portal that Darkhorse had used had stood. 
Cabe blinked and smiled. "We should do this more often." 
"I keep telling you that. Why do you think that I bring the 
children out here? There's something about a walk around this 


place that puts one at ease." 
The two walked slowly to one of the benches. The Lady 


Bedlam sat down, looking briefly confused. 


"What's wrong?" Cabe asked, sitting down beside her. 
"I keep thinking that Aurim was out here—but that's silly. 


He's not." 


SHADOW STEED 139 


"You sent Aurim, Kyl, and Grath to their rooms, remember? 
We wanted privacy." 


"Privacy." She kissed him. "We don't get enough of that, 
do we?" 


"No. Still, we can't complain. Things have been pretty 
peaceful over the last few years. Even Talak's been quiet for 
months." 


Gwen settled into his arms. "Let's hope it stays that way. I'd 
hate for something to ruin as lovely a day as this." 


They kissed and then sat quietly on the bench, listening to 
the birds and enjoying the day. Neither of them spoke of the 



return of Darkhorse, Talak's army marching, or Shade's plot. 
What point was there in talking about such things? 


None of them had happened. 


A day had passed since the departure of the column, and it 
had been a day of change. It was not something that Erini 
found she could put her finger on at first. A glance from one of 
the palace guards, the curt words of one servant to another, and 
the politeness of Counselor Quorin. The last worried her most, 
for if the advisor had reason to be polite to her, it probably 
meant trouble. 


Melicard's manner seemed to be the only positive result of 
yesterday's events. He was actually jubilant. 


One final change confused more than worried her. After 
insisting that she allow him to protect her better, Iston had 
found reason after reason to summon his men away. From 
Galea, she had been told that the captain was out somewhere, 
honing his troops to battle-fitness as every good commander 
should; while from Magda, she received only an amused smile, 
a response to Galea's simplistic explanation. Erini suspected 
that neither of them really knew what Iston was actually doing. 


Breakfast with Melicard went "swimmingly, as her father 


140 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


would have put it. The princess was astounded at how pleasant 
he could be. More and more, his talk turned to peaceful times, 
times without the Dragon Kings and what he would then hope 
to accomplish. He even began talking about bridging the chasm 
that he had set up between himself and his neighbors, especially 
Penacles and Irillian. It would have been an idyllic world, 
the one he built up over the course of the meal, if it had not had 


one major flaw. 


There was no mention of the drake race in his new world. ; 


From the way the king spoke, Erini knew that there would be ; 


no room for the drakes. It marred an otherwise wonderful ' 
morning. Finally, she put the thought aside, assuring herself 
that she would press him on it once they were married. 
For the first time, Melicard broached the subject of marriage. 
The two of them had walked outside onto one of the marble I 
terraces that seemed to have been a preoccupation with one of I 
the palace's designers. Two sentries stood stiffly at attention 
as the royal couple glided by. At home, Erini would have 
expected to see at least a dozen guards nearby—just for her 
protection. Melicard, however, seemed confident of his own 


safety. Erini was not so certain. 


"You've made a change here, my princess. You know that, 


do you not?" 



"What could I have done? I've only been here a short time." 


The king closed his one eye (though the light made it seem 
as if both eyes closed) and appeared to make a rapid calculation. 
He opened his eye and smiled with the good half of his 


mouth. 


"It has been only a short time, hasn't it? I've begun to feel 


as if you have been here always. Quorin says the same thing." 


With a very different meaning behind it, the princess thought 
in grim satisfaction. "This is my home. I feel that way, too." 


Melicard turned his gaze away from her, embarrassed. This 
was not the sort of thing he understood well. Battles and 
vengeance were his forte. "I told you something to the effect 
that love at first sight exists only in tales. I think I was wrong." 
"You were. 1 know from personal experience." 
Without thinking, he brought up the elfwood arm and took 
her hand. The arm was pleasantly cool to the touch, smooth 
without feeling lifeless. Erini noticed how its feel seemed to be 


dependent upon her betrothed's mood. 


"I cannot say how long this crusade will last, or if it will 


SHADOW STEED 


even end during our lifetimes, for that matter. Regardless, if 
you are willing, I think it's time that we put an end to the 
'royal courtship' and began planning for—the future." 


She laughed lightly, positively delighted with the way he had 
put it. "Marriage? Is that the word you sought, your majesty?" 
Melicard nodded with mock severity. "Yes, I think so." 


Her kiss proved to be the proper response. As with the false 
arm, she hardly noticed that a part of the lips that touched her 
own was not real. The elfwood was wood only if the two of 


them saw it so. Now, their belief made it flesh. 


"Your—majesties." Quorin's voice threw a deep chill on the 
day, dousing even the fires of happiness that had enveloped 
Erini during Melicard's proposal. Still, there was some pleasure 
in seeing the look on the counselor's face. He was confused 
and livid, and both those emotions were barely being kept in 


check. Erini gave him a polite but false smile. 


"What is it, Quorin?" Melicard, unlike his future bride, 


bared his teeth in something that could never be termed a 
smile. Its ferocity surprised the advisor, who had probably 
never had it turned on him before. "I left orders that no one 



was to disturb us. That included you, I believe." 
"Forgive me, my lord.. .1 was under the impression..." 
He stared at the princess, who had the feeling that the man had 


not expected to find the two of them in so intimate a moment. 
"Since you are here, Quorin, I have something for you to 
do." 


"My lord?" Feral eyes drifted to Erini. 
"Announce that, with the campaign underway and a new era 
beginning in which Talak will be at the forefront, the Princess 
Erini of Gordag-Ai has consented to be my queen. We will be 
married in a citywide ceremony in—how long would you say, 


my princess?" 
She gave Melicard a smile. At last! "Since this marriage was 
arranged before I could walk, there is little preparation needed 


on my part. I would prefer it as soon as possible." 
By now, the counselor had recovered somewhat. With a 
slight gleam in his eyes, he quickly said, "It would be remiss 
to have a less-than-regal wedding ceremony, your majesty. The 


princess's family will wish to attend and all of the nobles from 
both city-states will demand their rights, too. Such an event 
calls for extravagance." 


RICHARDA.KNAAK 


Erini grew cold. "I've never been one for extravagance. If 
there is someone who can marry us now, so much the better." 
Melicard patted her hand. "My sentiments exactly, but 


Quorin is, unfortunately, correct. We owe your family and the 
people a ceremony—a festival even." 
"One month, your majesty! If I can help organize several 


thousand soldiers, a wedding will seem simple in comparison! 
One month!" 
"That long?" The king seemed more reluctant now. "I was 
hoping two or three weeks at most. Make it a smaller ceremo


ny. The nobles and the royal family of Gordag-Ai. Announce 
that a festival for the people will commence two weeks after 


that. They'll understand." 
Quorin sighed in evident defeat. "Two weeks, then. May I 
be the first to extend my congratulations to both of you." 


Melicard thanked him, but Erini could only nod her head. As 
the advisor turned to leave—supposedly to begin those prepara



tions, especially the announcements that would have to be 
carried by courier to Gordag-Ai—the princess could not help 
thinking that he had given in too easily. In fact, it seemed that 
his main purpose had only been to assure that the wedding did 
not take place immediately. A month or two weeks; a delay was 


a delay. 


"Is something wrong?" 
"No. I just wish we could be married now." 
"That would be pleasant, but we're already ignoring protocol. 
By rights, the courtship was to last a full month and the 
wedding date should have been set from four to six months 


later." 


"Months in which anything could happen. Our fathers actually 
decided that?" 


"It was how they were married to our mothers. Royalty 


sometimes requires setting odd examples. Enough of that. Now 
that Quorin has succeeded in interjecting his presence into my 
day, I am reminded of work that must be taken care of. The 
campaign has begun, but I have people to govern, too." 
"If I am to be queen, should I not leam how you govern 


your people?" 


Melicard smiled. "You have a point, though I fear that you 


will only distract me from my duties. Very well. Come with me 
and see how I protect my children. Perhaps you will even have 
a few suggestions on ways I can improve." 


SHADOW STEED 


She refrained from commenting, wondering how he would 
react to her opinions. 


As they left the terrace, Erini noted how the guards appeared 
to have been rotated. These were two new soldiers, men the 
princess vaguely recalled seeing in the patrol that had stopped 
her when she had been leaving the garden with Drayfitt. 


Ostlich's patrol. 


"You're leaving me again," Melicard whispered from her 
side. "You have a mind that certainly loves to travel." 


Erini suddenly tightened her grip on the king's arm. Had it 
not been the one made of elfwood, it was likely she would have 
cut off blood to the limb. Melicard's final words had struck her 
hard, for, as if having a premonition, she had seen herself 
leaving her betrothed—but only because both of them were 
dead. 


Shade watched the column come to a halt from what little 



remained of the tower he had usurped. 


The tower had been built long ago as a sister city to Talak, 
but, as Talak was flexing its muscle, so apparently had this one. 
At some point in recent times—recent time to the hooded 
spellcaster being anything in the past few centuries—it had 
been destroyed. The expedition steered clear of it, possibly 
because they felt that the ghosts of the dead would put a curse 
on their crusade. 


It is not the ethereal phantoms of your minds that you must 
fear, the warlock thought with something almost approaching 
indifference. What became of Talak's great army did not 
interest him; what became of Drayfitt did. The elderly sorcerer 
was the only link he had to the spell. There were things he 
needed to know, things that had again escaped his mind after 
his brief fling with omniscience. He cursed the personality that 
had been dominant then. Instead of working with that knowledge, 
it had chosen to relax, to taunt, and to play the fool. 
There was little to redeem in any of his past incarnations. 
Madmen and fools all of them. To Shade, they were different 
people, not worthy of the Vraad race. 


It had taken an accident to change things. To his regret, 
however, Drayfitt's misuse of the one spell offered Shade both 
immortality and final death. All that mattered was time. 


/ am Vraad. Tezerenee. The dragon banner rests in my hands 
now. Which tent would be the gaunt mortal's tent? Shade 


144 
RICHARD A. KNAAK 
SHADOW STEED 
145 

blinked and his view changed to a closeup of the massive 
camp, despite the fact that they were more than an hour to the 
south. He had no qualms about altering his body to suit his 
needs. Shapeshifting, however, was a costly and difficult spell 
for most sorcerers, and actual physical change was only a last 
resort because it required the most delicate of manipulations. 
They feared disrupting the natural forces of this world, something 
that had never stopped the Vraad. It was so very hard to 
believe that these people were descendents of his kind—except 
that there had been those, like the Bedlams, who had proved 
that magic was still the ultimate tool. 


"Cabe," he muttered, recalling the first time they had met. 
The young boy had been frightened out of his senses, not 
understanding what he was. 


A movement in the camp disturbed his reverie. Shade frowned, 
wondering why he should spend time reminiscing about something 
so inconsequential. This was not the first time, either. 
Everything he had done in the last few days had stirred some 
memory—and with the memories came emotions. The Vraad 
had never been immune to emotion; they had, in fact, been 



slaves to their passions at times. Yet, the memories he found he 
could not purge concerned these lesser creatures or those who 
could now only be called his enemies. It made no sense. They 
were transitory lives for the most part; thralls for his will as had 
been the way before the journey to this place. 


He was saved further introspection by the appearance of his 
quarry. 


Drayfitt looked worn out, unaccustomed, it seemed, to riding 
long distances. Shade clucked his disapproval; a competent 
spellcaster would have created his own, more comfortable 
transport and, since his companions were apparently mundane 
in nature, travelled at the head of the column as its supreme 
commander. Any idiotic officer who tried to argue otherwise 
would find himself without a mouth to curse with. 


Shade watched as Drayfitt spoke briefly with two officers. 
Their words were of unimportant matters—the coming battle, 
what they possibly faced, and the continuing agreement that 
this was folly and the expedition should have actually been sent 
north or northwest to deal with the suddenly active clans of 
Silver. The warlock smiled; Talak would get to fight the Silver 
Dragon Sooner than they expected. 


The night would soon be upon them. Then he would go to 


the elderly sorcerer and relieve him of the burdensome knowledge 
locked in his subconscious. After that, the wrong that had 
been done to Shade could finally be corrected. He would be 
immortal, have control of the powers of this world, and have 
no rivals to argue his claim. There were good points to being 
the last of his kind. The Dragonrealm would be his to mold into 
a proper domain, and its inhabitants would adore him—because 
he would will it so. 


A harsh voice, an old memory, thrust through his mind like a 
well-sharpened sword. Do not dream! Act! 


The comers of his mouth curled downward as he observed 
Drayfitt departing for one of the larger tents. 


"Yes. father," he muttered coldly to the ghosts in his head. 


As the last vestiges of an ignoble day departed beneath the 
horizon, Drayfitt discovered an odd thing about himself. The 
first few minutes on his feet—after a whole day's journey on 
the back of the monster some fool of a soldier had chosen for 
him—he had been totally exhausted and sore to the point of 
numbness. Now, only minutes after sitting down on the cot in 
his tent, he felt refreshed and actually stronger than ever. His 
abilities, too, seemed sharper. Drayfitt stared thoughtfully into 
space for several minutes, then looked up at a lantern someone 
had lit for his use. Pursing his lips, he whistled to the flame. To 
his delight, a tiny red figure immediately leaped out of the fire 
and down to the ground. Miniature plumes of smoke trailed 
after him. The figure was little more than a doll, lacking even a 
face. It walked up to the spellcaster and bowed gracefully. 


Drayfitt whirled his finger once. The flame-creature did a 



flip, landing on its feet again. It repeated its bow. 


Laughing quietly, the sorcerer whistled for another figure. 
The one that leaped out this time was female in shape. She 
joined her counterpart and executed a curtsy. At a silent 
command from their creator, the two fiery dolls stepped together 
and began to dance, Around and around they spun. Drayfitt 
watched them with a child's glee; Ishmir had performed a trick 
like this when Drayfitt had been little more than a baby. It was 
one of the reasons he had later tried to follow in his famous 
brother's footsteps. It was one of the first tricks he discovered 
he did not have the aptitude for. The potential was there, but 
the powers, for some reason, refused to respond properly. 
Ishmir had claimed on several occasions that the only differ


146 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 147 


ence between a Dragon Master and a simple street showman 
was strength of will. 


Finally tiring of his little dancers, he dismissed them back to 
the flame. It was silly, he decided, to waste his newfound 
strength on so childish a spell. With his present level of 
competency, the aged spellcaster realized that an entire world 
had opened up to him. Up until now, his skills had served him 
adequately at best—lengthening his lifespan and blurring the 
memories of those around him when necessary. Now, he could 
take his place as a true sorcerer, one who did not have to worry 
about the Seeker talismans that Counselor Quorin wore upon 
his person to keep him safe from magical assault by outside 
foes. He, Drayfitt, would guide the king to a more reasonable 
course of action, make Talak truly a city guiding the Dragonrealm 
to peace. 


"I hope you will excuse the intrusion," a mockingly polite 
voice asked quietly. 


Drayfitt spun around, all his newfound strength at the forefront 
for this sudden attack. He knew whom he faced—even 
though he had not expected to actually see the other's visage. 


"Yes, I am Shade." The hooded warlock bowed in what 
seemed a perfect imitation of the fire elemental's bow. He had 
something unidentifiable in each hand. For some reason, Drayfitt's 
stomach churned uneasily. 


"I bring you—offerings." Shade threw the two objects to the 
ground. As they landed, legs and tails formed. Two very large 
and very nasty scorpions trundled toward one another, preparing 
to lock with one another in battle. 


"They were partners in crime once. Sent by someone 
who would see you dead. Poison was to be their weapon, 
poison in your food this very night. Enough to kill a dragon." 


Drayfitt turned pale. The scorpions sparred with their claws, 
their wicked tails waiting for some opening. 



"I thought it only appropriate that they suffer justice akin to 
their crime. Don't you agree?" The expression on Shade's 
face—Drayfitt still marvelled over the fact that there was a 
face—was one of indifference. He might have been watching a 
leaf blown along by a gust of wind. 


As if released from some spell, the two scorpions attacked in 
earnest now. Claws tore at legs. The tails darted forward and 
snapped back as if some mad puppeteer were controlling them. 
One creature succeeded in tearing a leg from his adversary. 


Overconfident, he was almost struck in the head by the wounded 
one's stinger. As it was, the near disaster put him off guard and 
his opponent, dripping ichor where the leg had been lost, 
forced him back. 


Drayfitt looked from the scorpions to the warlock. Shade 
noted his emotions and snapped his fingers at the two duelists. 
Both backed away just far enough to separate themselves from 
one another, their stingers tensed. 


Shade lowered his hand. The scorpions struck one another on 
the head again and again, piercing each other's brain. They 
continued to strike one another long after each should have 
been dead from the physical damage alone. 


"Enough," the hooded figure commanded. 


Two lifeless husks dropped to the ground. They decayed 
rapidly and within seconds there was no trace of either. 


Summoning his courage, Drayfitt glared at the intruder. 
"Why have you come here? What was that damnable display 
supposed to prove?" 


"Prove? They were going to kill you on Counselor Quorin's 
command." 


"What?" Even having expected the answer to his second 
question, it was unsettling to actually hear it. "You could have 
left them alive rather than torture them so! This would've been 
what I needed to rid the king of that feline's poisonous words!" 


"I wouldn't worry about your king. I think he's due to be 
toppled tomorrow." Shade scratched his chin. "Yes, tomorrow 
is correct." 


"What sort of mad game are you playing?" Drayfitt readied 
himself. How his newfound strength would hold against the 
power of the eldest, most skilled spellcaster alive was difficult 
to say. Not very well, he supposed after a moment's consideration. 
"If you planned on killing me, why not simply have those 
two poor souls do the work for you?" 


"Kill you?" The warlock looked openly startled. "I have no 
desire to kill you. Just give me what I want and I'll erase your 
memories of this night. Simple as that." 


"Erase my memories? After you tell me my king is in 



danger?" 


"He'll be toppled whether you know or not. Besides, I made 
a pact and I will abide by it. Be reasonable. I just want a piece 
of your mind." The ends of Shade's mouth tilted upward and 


148 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 149 


he stretched out a hand toward the elderly sorcerer. Drayfitt 
found that Shade's sense of humor escaped him. 


Where are the sentries? he suddenly wondered. Shade was 
talking loud enough for anyone within the general area to hear 
him, yet no one had come to investigate. And I didn't even 
notice the spell—whatever it was, Drayfitt concluded. What 
chance do I have? What choice do I have? 


"You will not take memories that are not yours!" 


"Ohhh, but they are\ My memories, I mean! You studied 
that book from end to end; I know. Even if you cannot recall its 
contents consciously, it remains trapped within you. I merely 
plan to sift through until I find them. You should be reasonable 
about this." 


As Shade spoke, Drayfitt felt his arms and legs grow heavy. 
He took a step toward the warlock, thinking ruefully how much 
this resembled his failure during Darkhorse's temporary escape. 
That reminder seemed to give him the impetus he needed. 
Summoning his strength, he broke the spell the warlock had 
wound around him with such ease that it left him startled. 


Shade did not look too pleased, either. "Do not resist me. 
You only play the role of mage; I am magic! Give me what is 
mine and I will leave you be." 


Drayfitt made a circular motion with his left arm. "Anything 
of such value to you should be kept from you at all costs. I 
know what you are. I know the destructive effects of Vraad 
sorcery." 


The sand began to creep up Shade's legs at a rate that caught 
the warlock unaware until it was up to his waist. He stopped it 
there with little more than a frown and sent the granules flying, 
creating a man-sized dust devil that swarmed over Drayfitt. 


The elderly spellcaster dispersed it, "but the motion cost him. 
Shade reached out with one hand and touched Drayfitt on the 
temple. Drayfitt let out a gurgle and fell to his knees. The 
warlock cradled his quarry's head in both hands. 


Though physical resistance had failed the old man. Shade 
found his path no easier now. Drayfitt's will was stronger than 
Shade would have imagined it could be. It was almost as if the 
sorcerer were drawing from some secret reserve. He was 
actually succeeding in repelling the invasion of his mind. 



Stepping up the intensity of his mental assault, the warlock 
began picking up random, insignificant memories. At first, he 
was pleased, thinking he had broken through. Then, he realized 


that Drayfitt had turned him toward a blind alley of sorts and 
that the other's resistance was still keeping him out. 


Annoyed, Shade ceased holding back his full power. 


Drayfitt's eyes widened and his mouth opened in silent 
agony. His hands clutched at his attacker's, but the will behind 
them was failing. 


The memories began flowing like a river newly released from 
the winter ice. It did not take Shade long to find the ones he 
had wanted, for, being recent memories, they were clearer, 
more obvious. There were memories of Darkhorse mixed 
among them, but the warlock let them dwindle away, seeing no 
use in them. What could they tell him about the shadow steed 
that he did not know already? 


When at last he had absorbed all he had desired. Shade 
released Drayfitt's head. The king's sorcerer crumpled to the 
ground, eyes staring sightlessly ahead. Drayfitt breathed, but 
that was nearly all he could do. 


Shade knelt down beside him, putting one hand on the 
stricken figure's forehead. There was a mind there, but it was 
slowly ebbing away. He would be dead within the hour. The 
warlock generously closed Drayfitt's eyes. There was no remorse; 
had Drayfitt not resisted. Shade would not have been 
forced to take stricter measures. It was as simple as that. 


Lying in the dirt, though, seemed an ignoble end for a mage 
who had, however briefly, had the strength to check him. Shade 
stared at the cot and slowly smiled. 


It took him one breath to complete the scene... and then the 
warlock was gone. 


Just beyond sight of the sprawling encampment, Darkhorse 
stumbled backward as what he had lost to the King's spellcaster 
returned to him in a heady rush. His initial thrill at becoming 
whole again was quickly smothered by the echoes of pain and 
suffering that accompanied the return. He knew instantly what 
had been wrought and by whom. Despite regaining everything, 
Darkhorse chose to continue on toward the camp and the tent of 
the sorcerer. There were things that Drayfitt might still be able 
to tell him—if the shadow steed could only reach him before 
the elderly mage expired. 


He hoped desperately that one of those things might be 


•where Shade would strike next. 
SHADOW STEED 151 


XIV



From the midst of the somber Tyber Mountains, another 
army set out on a crusade. A larger force coming from the west , 
would join with them before dawn. Together, the combined | 
legions of the new, self-proclaimed Emperor of Dragons would 
sweep down on the kingdom of the upstart human monarch and 
claim it for their lord. So as to seal his authority, the Dragon King 
Silver rode at the front of the horde, the huge riding drake beneath 
him the largest and deadliest of its kind, as befit an emperor. 


The Silver Dragon's eyes burned hungrily as he stared south, 
where, if one used imagination, the gates of Talak already 
stood open to greet him. ; 


Someone else sensed the shock of Drayfitt's passing. 


Erini had retired early and had just fallen asleep. The 
princess did not wake at that moment, but rather began to 
dream. She dreamed of the elderly sorcerer collapsing, his life I 
ebbing away. She dreamed of a fearsome, hooded face made all 
the more terrible because the emotions that it displayed were 
not even evil; there was annoyance, irritation, and a cold 
indifference to the fate of the king's spellcaster. It was asjf the : 


life was next to nothing to this face. j 


The princess knew somehow that it was the face of the ! 
warlock Shade. 


She dreamed of another, as well: the ebony stallion Darkhorse. 
He stood poised above a fairly stable hill, staring down at the i 
camp. Though he had not yet entered, he also knew of the 
death and the bitter knowledge that he was too late. 


Drayfitt had had his faults, but Erini, mourned his passing. 
There had been a bond between them, the sharing of her secret, 
her curse. In a sense, she felt that Darkhorse had a similar bond 
with her, and her dream-self drew some relief from that. At that 


ISO 


point, her subconscious turned to the one time she had truly 
met the shadow steed. The chamber beneath the palace. The 
meeting was fixed in her mind, as was the fact that she had 
succeeded in freeing him. 


"Princess?" Darkhorse turned, as if realizing for the first 
time that she was there. 


Erini woke—and found herself on a cold, stone floor in total 
darkness. 


Fear struck, but it passed quickly. She seemed in no immediate 
danger, and hysteria might only lead her into something 
worse. Pulling her nightclothes tight, Erini wished for something 
warmer to wear, then almost panicked again when the 
fabric covering her form tingled and altered. For a moment, she 
thought something was trying to swallow her feet; only after 
touching them did she realize that she now wore boots. 



With her growing skills, Erini had succeeded in reclothing 
herself. She so marvelled at the feat that it was some time before 
the princess returned to the problem of her present accommodations, 
and when she did, Erini decided that the first thing needed 
was light. Only then could she get an idea of where she was. 


How? was something the novice sorceress already knew. Her 
abilities had brought her to this place, wherever it was, and 
those selfsame abilities would, the princess hoped, return her to 
her room. First, though, came the light. 


Not knowing exactly how she was to do it, Erini tried 
picturing a candlestick in a holder standing no more than three 
feet away from her. According to Drayfitt, a spell as simple as 
this would be almost automatic. She would not have to visibly 
reach out to the spectrum and touch the powers. Her natural 
skill would do that—hopefully. 


When her first attempt yielded nothing but a slight throbbing 
in her temple, Erini shut her eyes tight and pictured the candle 
over and over, hoping that through constant repetition, she 
would achieve her goal. 


The smell of melting wax informed her that she had succeeded. 
Then, the smell became a stench and brightness suddenly 
sought entrance through the lids of her eyes. Erini opened them 
wide and stared in disbelief as over a hundred candles, all 
burning like miniature suns, flickered and melted before her, an 
army come in response to her summons. The scene brought a 
brief smile to her lips—a smile that died when she recognized 
the room she had teleported herself to with her magic. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


It was the chamber where Darkhorse had been held prisoner 


by Melicard. 
There was no sign of the diagram that had made up the 


boundaries of the magical cage. Even the marks Drayfitt had 


etched into the stone floor were gone. 


With the discovery that she was still within the palace and 
not that far from her chambers, Erini decided it might be best 
to walk back. Her success with sorcery had, thus far, been fair 
at best. Erini had altered her clothing—evidently to the type of 
brown leather and cloth riding suit, including pants, that was 
famous in Gordag-Ai—but the other spells had had wild results. 
Instead of one candle she had called up a hundred. In her 
sleep, she had teleported herself to another location. If she tried 
to send herself back to her bed, the princess knew that she 
might materialize there; however, it was just as likely she might 
appear back in her bedroom in her father's palace. Explaining 
that to the king and queen of Gordag-Ai, even despite the fact 



that Erini was their daughter, might prove scandalous. At the 
very least, her secret would be out before she had control of her 


abilities. 


She picked up one of the candlesticks and, after a minor 


internal debate, snuffed out the rest as quickly as she could. 
Erini wondered what Quorin or Melicard would say when they 
came down here and found Darkhorse free and dozens of 
half-melted, unlit candles standing in the middle of the floor. 
While it had its amusing aspects, Erini knew that she wanted to 
be far away when it happened.,If there was one thing that might 
still shatter her hopes with Melicard, it was her implication in 


the shadow steed's escape. 


Erini stepped to the door, found it unlocked, and opened it. 
Two bored guards turned in sudden shock and stared at her, 


openmouthed. 


She tried to close the door, but one of the guards, quicker to 


react than his fellow, kept it open by thrusting one meaty arm 
against it. He was already pulling out his sword when the 
princess acted without thinking and thrust the candle toward his 
face, wishing desperately for something more effective to 
combat the two soldiers with than the tiny flame. 


A ball of fire swelled out from the candlewick, engulfed the 
two hapless sentries, and dwindled back to a tiny, flickering 
flame... all before Erini had a chance to understand what she 
had wrought this time. 


SHADOW STEED 153 


There was no trace of the two men. The flames had swallowed 
them completely, not even giving them time to recognize thenfate—
a minor blessing, the princess thought, her hand shaking. 
The candlestick and what remained of the candle itself, most of 
it having melted from the great burst of heat, fell from her 
untrustworthy grip and clattered to the floor. The stunning 
truth, that she had just killed two men with her unpredictable 
abilities, horrified her. Two men. Erini understood that they 
had been trying to kill or capture her, but that made it no better. 
She had not even been trying to hurt them; her desire for 
something deadlier had merely been in the hopes of stalling 
them long enough for her to think of something—anything. 


Sleep! I could have put them to sleep! I know it! Instead, I 
murdered them! There's not even anything left for their families 
to mourn! 


She knew then that she must not marry Melicard. She should 
not even be around people. Any passing thought might be the 
death of someone close to her—as if the death of some stranger 
was any better. Tears gave of themselves in great numbers as 
the princess stared at her hands. Even knowing that the magic 
was a part of her, hands or not, Erini could not help thinking of 



them as the hands that have killed. • 


Tonight, she decided abruptly. / have to leave! She refused to 
even consider utilizing her growing abilities to send herself far, 
far away by that method. There would be no sorcery. Everything 
would be done by physical means. 


Torchlight illuminated the long, winding stairway. Erini, 
recalling the last trek up the maddening steps, took a deep 
breath and started up as fast as possible. She was able to keep 
her pace for the first fifty or so steps and then slowed continuously 
from there. Perhaps it was only because of her anxiety concerning 
her situation, but Erini felt as if the stairway had grown to 
twice its normal height, so long did it seem to take to reach the 
door to the garden. The princess was so happy to have finally 
arrived that she swung the door open carelessly. Only after it 
was out of her reach did she curse herself for forgetting that 
there might be sentries here, too. 


There were none. The garden was dark and empty. Abandoning 
everyone was a bitter thought and, deep inside, she would have 
welcomed Melicard's sudden presence, even if his love turned 
to hate when he discovered what she was and how her lack of 
control had killed two men. The unfortunate guards had proba


154 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


biy merely been performing their duties. They certainly could 
not have expected to see a royal princess step out of a chamber 
that supposedly housed only a magically ensnared creature 
from beyond. Their actions had made sense; an intruder had 
been emerging from a secured place. For their obedient performance, 
she had rewarded them with instant incineration. 


Pushed forward by a new wave of guilt-ridden thoughts of 
the guards who had just been doing their duty, Erini started out 
in the direction of the royal stables. There, she would be able 
to find a proper steed, perhaps the bright devil Iston had 
ridden. She despised the thought of stealing another's horse, 
but her requirements included speed and stamina. Iston's horse 
more than measured up in both categories. 


"A strange time of the night for walking the garden, don't 
you think. Princess Erini?" 


Erini did not jump, though the voice floating from the 
darkness had actually shaken her already taut nerves badly. She 
stood her ground, putting on a frosty look and acting as if 
anything she did was not the business of a mere noble, even the 
king's special counselor. 


"You weren't in your chambers, princess, and I became 
worried about you." Quorin stepped out from an entranceway 
to her right, looking unruffled. Behind him, Erini could barely 
make out the hulking shapes of at least two guards, one of 
whom was holding a torch. 



"Of what concern is it to you whether I am in my chambers 
or out taking a walk in the garden? I find the night air and the 
life in the garden to be soothing." 


"If you find walking so suits you, then I insist you join me. 
There's something fascinating you should see." 


Mal Quorin took her arm. There was no pretense now, for his 
hand squeezed painfully tight. His men, four of them, formed 
an escort around the duo. Even though the counselor had not 
yet said what it was he wanted her to see, the princess knew 
already. She struggled briefly in what proved to be a futile 
attempt. Quorin was even stronger than his appearance indicated. 


"Counselor Quorin," she grated angrily, trying a new tactic, 
"I have no desire to walk anymore, especially with you! If you 
do not cease this disrespectful manner, I shall be forced to 
mention it to my betrothed, your king\" 


"Do so," the advisor responded indifferently. Without warning, 
he began walking, practically dragging Erini for the first 


SHADOW STEBD 255 


few steps before she matched his pace. Two guards moved in 
front and the other two fell back to the rear, creating a square 
of sorts with the princess and her captor in the center. A glance 
from Quorin convinced Erini that it was not in her best interest 
to shout or make noise of any sort. She doubted he intended her 
any physical harm, but that might change at any moment, 
especially once they reached their destination. 


There was only one way she could extricate herself, but it 
meant trusting in the very curse that had placed her in jeopardy 
initially. Erini could not bring herself to trust her abilities, not 
after the wasted death of two men. Even the slightest error in 
judgment might add five more lives to her burden of guilt, and 
as much as she despised and distrusted the counselor, Erini did 
not want his death on her conscience. 


One of the men opened the door in the wall. Quorin pulled 
his reluctant guest bodily to the stairway and led her down. 
Whereas the journey upward had lasted an eternity, this one 
seemed to pass in little or even no time at all. Erini was down 
at the base of the steps, staring at the door through which she 
had released death, before her thoughts could even organize 
themselves. 


"No," she gasped so quietly that her smiling escort did not 
hear her. 


"These aren't your new quarters, your majesty," the advisor 
said wryly, mistaking the reason for her hesitation. "I thought 
you might like to see again what your beloved has wrought 
here. You do want to know what the true Melicard is like, don't 
you? I find it hard to believe that you could still stomach him 
after seeing his 'guest.' " 


"Have you lost your mind, counselor? Do you think Melicard 
will let this pass? Even if I do not tell him, he will discover it 



for himself!" 


"Undoubtedly. Given the opportunity, he might even be 
tempted to hand me my head—as he has done to so many!" 


Erini had no time to ask for a clarification to the enigmatic 
statement, for Mal Quorin shoved her roughly against a wall 
and reached for the handle to the chamber door, evidently 
desiring to give the moment his personal touch. 


In desperation, the princess gave in to temptation. Her 
muddled thoughts came up with a solution she believed would 
not result in death and, focusing her will, she struck out at her 
captors. 


156 
RICHARD A. KNAAK 
SHADOW STEED 
157 

Nothing happened. 


The princess tried again, gritting her teeth in frustrated 
concentration. Her original idea became murky; a solution of 
some sort was all she desired now. 


Again nothing... nothing save that Mal Quorin, who had 
looked inside the chamber, was now stumbling back, his face 
red with rage and his anger focusing on the most likely 


target—her. 


"What happened here? Where is he? Answer me!" Quorin 
slapped her hard, forgetting who it was he was assaulting and 
why he had dragged her down here in the first place. "This was 
Drayfitt's doing, wasn't it? He's the only one who could've 
done it!" Quorin the animal had resurfaced. His feral visage 
was filed with the need for blood. 


It was that which strengthened Erini in the face of terrible 
danger. If she had so frustrated the counselor by freeing 
Darkhorse, then she had struck a heavy blow against his plans, 


whatever they were. 


The soldiers had backed away from their master, obviously 
more familiar with his violent temper. He eyed them ferociously, 
knowing that someone had discovered the escape earlier but 
had been afraid to alert him, then sneered at his captive. One 
hand darted toward Erini's face, causing her to flinch. It 
stopped short of striking, instead seeming to caress her bruised 
chin. When his hand came away, there were drops of red on 
two of the fingers. For the first time, the princess tasted the 


blood on her lower lip. 


Quorin took a deep breath. "You were an unexpected imped



iment! Melicard to have a queen? What sane creature would 
want that pathetic fool? You should've been well on your way 
back to Gordag-Ai within a day of meeting him, but no, you 
chose to play the heroine in one of your fainthearted ladies' 
tales, the woman who would rescue the enchanted king! This is 
what it gets you!" He held up the hand with the blood on it so 
that the stained fingers were directly before her eyes. "Even 
knowing that he would dare to summon up a demon, a fiend 
that might have killed hundreds of innocents if it got out of 
control, you convinced yourself that you loved him!" 


Erini simply stared back. She knew Quorin's words for the 
twisted lies they were, however, and finally could no longer 
hold back. "And who was it who first suggested he seek out 


demons? Drayfitt would have never suggested such a dangerous, 
mad spell!" 


"Drayfitt." Mal Quorin took hold of Erini's arm again and 
wiped the blood onto her sleeve. She did not give him the 
satisfaction of struggling, no matter how disgusted she had 
become with his true manner. Her abilities had failed her for 
reasons she could not fathom, but the princess had survived 
without them all of her life and would continue to do so, 
despite the odds. "What did he tell you? It doesn't matter now, 
princess, because that old charlatan is dead. Poisoned, I'd 
think." 


Erini did not respond, and simply clamped her mouth shut, 
continuing to glare. 


"Perhaps later," Quorin continued. He was slowly growing 
calm again, as if the discovery of Darkhorse's escape and 
Erini's questionable involvement did not really matter. "Perhaps 
later, when the last few items have been taken care of, we'll 
speak again. Your presence initially threw everything into 
chaos, but you may prove to be the key to adding Gordag-Ai to 
our winnings without so much as a struggle." 


Responding to some silent signal, two of the guards took 
hold of Erini by her arms. She finally gave up all sense of 
caution. "You've overstepped yourself! Melicard will not stand 
for this! Your influence over him is nothing now! He'll—" 


He gave her a genuinely puzzled look. "Princess Erini! Do 
you mean to tell me that you, an intelligent if somewhat 
troublesome female, can't understand what's happening? Do I 
sound as if I care what your crippled lover does to me?" 
Quorin smiled as he watched Erini's belated reaction. "This is 
a coup, your majesty. Tonight, Talak will be without a king for 
the first time in centuries. Fortunately, the rightful one is on his 
way even now... and the gates will be open in greeting. 
Remove her from my sight but try not to damage her." 


As she was dragged past him, Erini struck out at the 
counselor with the full force of her will, not caring what the 
results might do to her or even the palace, if it came down to it. 
The sole response to her efforts was a sudden movement of one 
of Quorin's hands to his chest, where he seemed to be reassuring 
himself that something still hung around his neck. • He 



stared at the princess intently, his expression a mixed one of 
doubt and curiosity, until the twisting stairway took her out of 


158 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


sight. Erini wondered if he knew now what she was—and what 
that would mean to her eventual fate. 


Melicard! Even though the evidence was all there, she could 
not bring herself to fully believe that the counselor's minions 
had taken over the palace so swiftly and silently. She had 
retired for the night only a few hours ago! Yet, Mal Quorin had 
had years to plan for this, slowly insinuating himself into the 
hierarchy of Talak, becoming the fellow crusader obsessed with 
the same goals as his master. The longer she dwelled upon it, 
the more the truth of those final words became evident. 
Probably more than three-quarters of the palace guard obeyed 
the advisor's commands. Melicard—Melicard had likely been 
cut down while he slept, a victim of the very men he had 
thought were protecting him. 


Drained, Erini made no effort to free herself as she and her 
two companions reached the top of the stairway again and 
exited into the garden. The nearly starless night seemed a 
fitting symbol of the twilight of Melicard's rule. He had not 
needed her worthless curse to tear him down; his own obsession 
had done that. 


Why her skills had suddenly abandoned her, she could not 
say, but, even if it had cost her his love, Erini would have 
utilized those abilities however possible to save his kingdom 
and his throne. 


Her mind was numb and so she did not struggle as they 
passed through the garden and into one of the adjoining halls. 
Erini had never been through this area, but that made little 
difference to her now. All she wanted was to find some quiet 
place where she could bury herself in the darkness and not 
come out again. 


Evidence of the coup mounted as they marched through the 
palace. Armed figures prodding men wearing the same uniforms, 
that of the palace guard, walked past them in the 
opposite direction. Erini rose from her stupor long enough to 
watch the unfortunates as they were herded away, wondering in 
the back of her mind where she was being taken, since it was 
safe to assume that the other prisoners were going to cells. 
Perhaps, Quorin had a separate area for prisoners of royal 
blood. Perhaps, Melicard's body would even be there. 


They had gone through a number of unlit corridors, left 
darkened apparently because there were far more important 
things to attend to than lighting torches, and so neither Erini 


SHADOW STEED 259 


nor her captors paid any attention to the latest one. The two 



soldiers muttered to one another, but not loud enough for her to 
understand. By this time, they were leading her more or less as 
a puppet master might lead a marionette. Thus it was that she 
was totally caught unaware—as were her guides—when hands 
reached out from the walls and caught the soldiers by the 
necks. 


Erini fell to the ground, bruising her shoulder but succeeding 
in preventing her head from striking the hard surface. She 
looked up and tried to make out more clearly what was 
happening. What little she could see left her completely baffled 
and even more frightened. 


The hands had been joined by partial bodies. A darkly clad 
figure, consisting of the upper half of a man's form and one 
lone foot that seemed to hop by itself, had one victim down on 
his knees. The other attacker, no more than a head and two 
arms, was slowly dragging the other hapless soldier backwards. 
Both newcomers were using something akin to wire or string to 
choke their victims. With their windpipes expertly cut off, 
neither guard could even gasp loudly, much less summon help. 


It was over in less than a minute. When both victims lay 
limply on the floor, one of the dark figures moved toward the 
princess. The other began removing evidence of the attack— 
that is, the bodies. 


"Your majesty! I give thanks that we found you!" The 
man's voice was only a faint whisper, but Erini still recognized 
the tones of one of her own people. Were there sorcerers 
among her own subjects? 


As if reading her thoughts, her rescuer pulled off the hood 
obscuring his features. In the darkness, she could only make 
out a soldier perhaps ten years older than she was with a face 
that only now, as her savior, could possibly have been termed 
handsome. "Don't be frightened. Princess Erini, of either what 
we did—or what I look like without a mask." The attempt at 
levity failed. "If you could please see to rising, my lady, we'd 
like very much to lead you to somewhere safer." 


"Safer?" 


He nodded. "Captain Iston holds a portion of the palace; 


he's been planning for this for days, ever since the rumors were 
first reported by our network here." 


"Network? Days?" Reality was returning with less than 
savory surprises. "What do you m—?" 


160 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


161 


"Please!" he hissed. "When you're safe, your majesty, the 



captain will answer all your questions!" 


The other man joined them. He was younger, almost as 
young as Erini and only a little taller. It amazed her to think 
that he had taken on a veteran more than a third again his size. 


"We've gotta move! There's another batch comin' this way!" 


"Please, your majesty?" 


Too many men had died because of her already and the 
princess would not allow these men to become the next ones. 
Rising in one swift motion, she gave her hand to the first man, 
who immediately led them down the corridor in the same 
direction the guards had been taking her. At the first intersection 
between halls, however, they turned left. The sound of 
marching feet echoed for a time, then drifted away as the patrol 
the second man had noticed apparently turned in a different 
direction than the trio had gone. 


As they moved, Erini caught a glimpse of the cloaks the two 
men were wearing. At first, they seemed incongruous, serving 
no apparent purpose, but then she noticed that, depending on 
how the cloaks twisted, her rescuers seemed to fade—no, not 
fade, but blend into their surroundings. The cloaks somehow 
cast some sort of illusion. Erini had heard tales of such things, 
though she had never seen anything like them before. 


Twice, she tried to ask them something and twice they 


signalled for silence. 


The second warning was punctuated by a short cry. The 
younger of her two companions suddenly clutched at his side 
where an arrow protruded. Stealth had required that neither of 
her rescuers wear much in the way of protection and that 
requirement was proving costly now. 


Something thin and sharp appeared in the hand of her 
remaining guardian. He threw it at the archer who had seemed 
to materialize down the corridor. Though Erini could not see 
where it struck its target, the weapon did its work. The archer 
fell, his hands clutching at his chest. 


More soldiers appeared, too many for any one of them to get 
off a safe shot at the escaping duo, but more than enough so 
1 that the odds against the two fugitives were overwhelming. 
Seeing that, Iston's man tore off the cloak of his dead compan' 
ion and shoved it into his mistress's hands. Pushing her down 
) the corridor, he whispered, "The stables! Head toward the 


stables! Down this corridor and then turn right at the third one 
you see! Keep running! It's the only way, my lady!" 


"But you—" 


"I do my duty! Run!" 


Erini did, but there were more soldiers coming down the 
other way, cutting her off. As she slowed, trying to find another 



route, her lone defender went down. Another death on her 
hands. 


Thinking of her hands, Erini suddenly noticed the Subtle, 
familiar tingle in her fingers. How long since that feeling had 
returned, she could not say. Perhaps if she had kept her wits 
about her she would have noticed in time to save the others. 
Perhaps not. In a fatalistic move, Erini turned so that one 
outstretched hand pointed down each end of the corridor. If the 
results killed her as well, so be it. These men she felt no pity 
for. These men must pay. 


She might have been influenced by the cloaks that had 
allowed her two rescuers to fade into their surroundings. The 
concept struck her as perversely appropriate for those who 
would play at loyalty and betray their good lords at first 
chance. They were not men; they were only the shadows of 
men, less than nothing—and Erini would make them so. 


When the first screams rose, she tried to force her eyes shut 
and keep them shut, but failed, drawn somehow to the hideous 
tableau playing itself out on each side of her. From her fingers, 
glittering tendrils slithered forth, like serpents of the purest 
light, hungry avengers of her pain. As each broke free of her 
fingertips, they shot unerringly toward the nearest of her 
enemies. Nothing stopped them. One man put a shield up, but 
the tendril went through it like a ghost, continuing on unimpeded 
until it pierced the unfortunate in the chest and buried itself 
completely within his torso, leaving not the slightest trace of its 
passing. 


As the man scratched desperately at his chest, a light seemed 
to come from within him, filling his eyes and his mouth with 
the same glittering illumination of Erini's creation. While Erini 
stared, unable to believe in what she herself had released, the 
light within intensified, becoming so brilliant that its glow 
shone through the soldier. 


The man tried to take a step forward, but his body only 
rippled, as if lacking substance. For the space of a breath, a 
walking skeleton was outlined within the thinning frame of his 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


body, then the struggling guard's legs collapsed underneath 
him, perhaps because those bones bad finally melted away. He 
fell forward, arms outstretched in an instinctive effort to save 
himself, but, in a final sequence that would return in Erini's 
nightmares, first the hands and then the arms crumbled like ash 
against the hard surface and blew away. Unhindered, what 
remained of his torso struck the floor—and scattered into tiny 


particles that dwindled to nothing. 


Not one man escaped that fate. The tendrils moved with the 


speed and tenacity of a plague, catching them even as they 



turned to run. By the time the first man had perished, the rest 
were infected. Even had she wanted to, Erini would not have 
been able to save them. The young princess, her face a sickly 
white by the glow of her instruments of vengeance, could only 
stand where she was, both fascinated and revolted by the 


results of her spell. 


She had wanted something else, something cleaner. Only 


now did the princess know that there was nothing clean about 
death, especially death bought about by hatred and anger. They 
had killed two of her own and possibly the man she loved, but 
this—this was not what she had wanted. As the last man faded, 
still trying to remove his executioner from within his body, the 


last of her anger faded as well. 


Erini slumped against the wall and slid down to a sitting 
position, her gaze focused on, but not seeing, the now-empty 
corridor where only a few loose weapons and an odd item or 
two were all that remained of probably a dozen men. Had 
anyone come now, she would not have fought them. It was as 
likely the princess would not even have noticed them. Now, she 
only saw darkness—a darkness she quickly welcomed as the 


one friend she could trust. 


Her head tipped to one side as exhaustion and remorse 


finally carried her off to the only place she could now find 
peace. 


Fully restored, Darkhorse nonetheless moved cautiously investigating 
the tent of the sorcerer Drayfitt. He could not feel 
the presence of Shade, but if there were anyone with the talent 
to muddle his senses to the point of uselessness, it was that one 
being who knew him best. 


A careful probing of the areas surrounding the tent revealed 
nothing. There was a trace of strong, violent magic in the air, 
but such was to be expected when two spellcasters met. It said 
something for Shade's abilities that the two men had battled 
freely, yet no one knew even now that the king's sorcerer lay 
dead among them. 


An interesting and devastating surprise awaits you all on the 
morrow, Darkhorse thought, wondering what the loss would 
mean to the crusade. If Shade was indeed working with the 
Silver Dragon, a killing as potentially demoralizing as this 
might send the entire military expedition back to Talak, the last 
place the drakes would want them, if the eternal had read the 
situation correctly. 


Fairly certain he was not about to enter into a trap but 
unwilling to put his complete faith in such a belief, the shadow 
steed trotted quietly down toward the encampment. A portal 
would have been quicker and probably made discovery less 



likely, but materializing in an area that his adversary had just 
departed from was something he did not want to take a chance 
with this time. Besides, with Drayfitt dead, he faced only 
human soldiers, men whose weapons were nothing to him. 


The tent was not quite on the edge of the camp and 
Darkhorse slowed as he entered the region. Whole at last, it 
proved little trouble for him to make a guard's eyes avert or 
cause a passing soldier to turn in another direction. A young 
recruit peeling an apple suddenly dropped his knife and, while 
163 


164 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


he searched the dark ground for it, failed to notice the ebony 
form that flitted silently past. The shadow steed reminded 
himself what he had been through already so that the ease with 
which he now succeeded in his tasks did not create deadly 
overconfidence. It was at times like that when disaster struck— 
and Shade was a master of disaster. 


Around the tent, the grounds were noticeably deserted. 
Though a sorcerer was generally invaluable in terms of combat, 
most of the soldiers, up to and including their officers, preferred, 
whenever possible, to keep a safe distance from those 
such as Drayfitt. One never knew what might crawl out of a 
spellcaster's confines. 


Hmmph! Ice-blue eyes blinked as Darkhorse stared disbelievingly 
at the display only Shade could have wrought. The 
hypocrisy of his longtime friend/foe astounded him. / grow less 
and less enchanted with the true you the more time that passes, 
dear Shade! 


There was no doubt that the warlock had honestly meant this 
as an honor of sorts, else he would not have taken the care with 
both the body and the bier that he had wrought. Darkhorse 
doubted that there had been much remorse; it hardly seemed the 
way of the new—that is, the old and original—Shade. Still, the 
stallion wondered how even his adversary could have not seen 
what he had created. Not a monument, but a mockery. 


Drayfitt lay peacefully—the first time the shadow steed could 
recall seeing him so—with his arms crossed and his worn robes 
replaced by a fascinating, multicolored garment that the sorcerer 
would have never worn in life. A false smile graced his lips, 
obviously the warlock's doing, as Drayfitt had, in the shadow 
steed's limited experience, never been a man to smile freely. 
This was not the elderly sorcerer but some cruel parody. 


The funeral bier was worse. As had been his people's way, 
Shade had created what might have been called a typical Vraad 
monument to opulence. Gilded and decorated freely with what 
were likely actual gemstones, it seemed more like an attraction 
in a city bazaar than the resting place of the unfortunate 
spellcaster. The base, in fact, was composed of four, intricately 
carved figurines designed to seem to be holding the bier level 



and representing the drake, human, Quel, and Seeker races. 
Darkhorse pondered briefly the potential significance of the four, 
but could think of nothing that related to his present situation. 
Desiring a closer look, he probed the immediate area again. 


SHADOW STEED 165 


A thin tendril of life flickered within Drayfitt's body. 


Untrusting, Darkhorse probed again. It was there! Only a 
trace and barely even that. He knew he could not save the aged 
mortal, but there was a chance, then, that Drayfitt might be 
able to tell him something about Shade's plans. Anything. 


The essence of his probe altered. Where in the past few days 
he had twice been forced to part with a portion of his very 
being, Darkhorse now willingly gave of himself, a handful of 
water to a man dying of thirst. It was a slow, careful process. 
Too much and he might finish what Shade had started; too 
little, and he might not revive the sorcerer in time. 


The cracked, gaunt face twisted suddenly as life fought back. 
Drayfitt coughed and choked, his fingers reaching out to claw 
at the air, perhaps in an unconscious attempt to further gather 
life to his thin shell. 


Darkhorse silently cursed those who had given the original 
Shade his own life. 


Eyelids fluttered open, but the eyes within did not see. The 
shadow steed moved closer, hoping that, even if the dying 
mortal could not see, then he could at least hear. 


"Friend Drayfitt, it is I, Darkhorse," he whispered in one 
ear. "Do you hear me?" 


Nothing. 


"Drayfitt, I have done my best for you, but your time is 
short. Talak and your people still depend upon you, as they 
have for more than a century." 


The sorcerer's mouth opened and closed. Darkhorse waited. 
The human's mouth opened again and a hiss escaped as 
Drayfitt sought to speak. Uncertain as to whether he might 
push too far, Darkhorse gave of himself again. 


"Draaa... aaa..." the failing spellcaster managed to say. 


"You are Drayfitt. That is true." Inwardly, the stallion 
wanted to roar. Would this be all his efforts came to? Was there 
nothing left of the human's mind? 


"Draaag.. .King!" 


Dragon King? Which one? The lord of clan Red? 


"Tallll... aaak!" Drayfitt's left hand sought out his own 
chest. "Quorin!" It was the clearest, most precisely spoken 
word so far, an indication of the sorcerer's hatred for the 



counselor. Drayfitt clutched at his chest again, as if seeking 
something that had hung around his neck—or Quorin's. 


While what he had heard had begun to form an ugly picture 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


in Darkhorse's mind, none of it concerned the one the phantom 
steed was hunting. "What of Shade? Tell me of Shade!" 


"Memmm... mrriess. Focus... child?" The eyes turned, 
seeing perhaps, at least shadows of what was around him. 
Drayfitt, with forethought that had kept him alive and secure 
for so long, was trying to economize his words to those that 
would mean the most. He knew that his life was ebbing away 
and that even Darkhorse's gift was failing him. 


"Focus? Child?" What did it mean? 


"Mistake again... again—" 


"Master Drayfitt!" someone shouted from without. Darkhorse 
turned, then realized that the sorcerer was still saying something. 
By the time he turned again, Drayfitt had grown silent. 
His eyes were still open, but the only thing they might be 
seeing now was the final path that all mortals took at the end of 
life. His last words had been lost, 


"Drayfitt!" An officer in his middle years barged through 
the tent flaps. Unlike most humans, who were properly in awe 
of the eternal, the newcomer took one stunned glance at the 
immense steed before him, drew a sword, and charged. 


The image was so incredulous that Darkhorse laughed despite 
all that had happened. Ignoring the laughter, the soldier 
cut expertly at the stallion's legs. A true horse would have been 
too slow and would have fallen to its knees, its front legs 
useless. Darkhorse, though, nimbly stepped aside. Pulled off 
balance by the force of his own swing, the officer left his side 
open. Darkhorse seized the opportunity, sending the man flying 
with the gentlest of taps with his front hooves. 


'Wow," he roared, ignoring the other humans who rushed 
through the entrance, "if you will be so kind as to listen 
instead of trying to kill everything in sight, I will—" 


"You'll do nothing, demon1." A man clad in armor decorated 
intricately enough to designate him as the commander of the 
expedition pushed aside the rest and strode toward the shadow 
steed. He carried no sword, but something in his right hand 
emanated so much stored energy that Darkhorse grew uneasy. 
There had been, throughout the millennia, objects created by 
one race or another with more than enough killing power to 
destroy a hundred Darkhorses. 


"Listen to me, you fools! Talak—" 



"—will not suffer your masters' reign of tyranny ever 
again!" The commander held up a small black cube. 


SHADOW STEED 167 


"My masters? I am no thrall of the Drag—" 


Darkhorse got no further. The tent interior melted into a 
surreal, fog-shrouded picture. Darkhorse shook his head, trying 
to focus on reality. Through the haze, he could still hear the 
voice of the human. 


"Think our king did not imagine your drake masters would 
try to summon such as you? This talisman is proof against your 
kind!" 


The shadow steed tried to argue, but his words were muted 
by whatever trap he had been caught in. 


"Would that I could command you to tear your masters 
apart, but such is not within the power of this object! I can only 
command it to perform its original function—and send you 
back to whatever hellhole spawned such as you! Begone now!" 


"Foooolssss!" was all Darkhorse had time to cry. 


"Utter, abysmal fools!" 


"Once there was a tiny dot," a voice floating in the 
nothingness commented blandly. "A tiny hole in reality, he 
was." 


The shadow steed kicked uselessly at the empty space around 
him. He knew where he was—how could anyone fail to 
recognize a place as barren as the Void? 


Whatever hellhole spawned me! This is the hellhole that 
spawned me, curse all meddling mortals! I should stay here and 
let them suffer their fates! 


"The tiny dot grew over—time doesn't work, does it? I shall 
have to find something else later, when I have the—" the 
owner of the soft-spoken voice giggled insanely—"time!" 


Darkhorse focused on the direction the voice seemed to be 
coming from. "Still composing your tales?" 


"I compose epics; you wear tails." Another giggle. 


"I've no time for your witticisms, gremlin." 


"My name is Yereel, if you do not mind, and even if you 
do!" A tiny figure, like a child's doll, coalesced before him. It 
had no distinct features and was as black as Darkhorse. "And 
here, as you so well know, there is no time all the time! Have I 
said 'welcome home,' by the way?" 


The shadow steed looked around him, noting, as he always 
did, the densely packed regions of empty space. Nothing 
crowded against nothing, which jostled even more nothing. 



Some of the nothing was forced to climb on top of the rest of 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the nothing just so there was room for all. It was astonishing 
that so much nothing could fit into so little space. 


/ begin to sound as bad as this one, Darkhorse thought 
wryly. To his puppetlike companion, he replied, "A welcome is 
hardly on my list of desires; I plan to leave here in a moment! 
You know, too, the mortal who saw you cried out 'You're real!' 
Hardly a masterful way of choosing a name!" 


The puppet did a headstand in the emptiness. "And you 
chose your name so cleverly! You haven't commented on the 
start of my latest epic, dear one! I was thinking of calling it 
something nonsensical, like, Darkhorse, the Hole That Would 
Be Wholel" The tiny figure giggled again, then struck an 
upside-down orator's pose. "The hole, as it grew, matured into 
pretensions and delusions of grandeur...." 


Darkhorse had had enough. He physically turned himself 
from the other. "Goodbye, Yereel." 


"Let me come1" The black figure shifted form, becoming a 
miniature version of the shadow steed. It trotted through space to a 
point within eye-level. "Take me back! You know what it's like 
when we've touched the reality! I can't stand this emptiness!" 


Darkhorse sighed. "I understand—more than you could ever 
imagine—but I cannot and would not even if I could! You were 
ousted and exiled here by those with greater power than 
me—and I cannot blame them!" 


"It was all so glorious, I couldn't help myself!" 
"Mortals die, Yereel," the stallion reminded his tiny twin. 
"You didn't care how many, either." 
"I was living\ I had purposed" 


Moving around his counterpart, Darkhorse began to drift 
away. He knew that Yereel could not follow him. Even the vast 
reaches of the Void were forbidden to him. The puppetlike 
creature could only travel in a small circle again and again. "/ 
journeyed to reality. / learned about life and death. Your failure 
was your own, Yereel." 


"I should never have formed you!" the other cried testily. 
Darkhorse did not look back. "Perhaps, that would have 
been better." 


As he moved faster and faster through the Void, the stallion 
heard the dwindling voice of Yereel. 


"Then the hole, now a vast and mighty sea of false dreams 
and misconceptions...." 


SHADOW STEED 169 



In the Void, a trek could take no time or all time, including 
any interval in between. Had Darkhorse been the demon that 
others proclaimed him—or even one who had played at being a 
demon, like Yereel—it might have been different. He would 
have been condemned to stay here until some other spellcaster 
summoned him back. His self-exile had been such a one-way 
spell, though, in that instance, it was his cooperation that had 
given it the strength. Darkhorse, however, had a tie to the 
world of the Dragonrealm that was now at least as strong as his 
tie to the place that had spawned him. It should have been 
simple to pierce the barrier between here and there. Should 
have been, but was not. 


He could sense the path, but it seemed endless. For a 
moment, he wondered if this were some trick of his counterpart, 
but Yereel's powers were limited to his tiny piece of 
emptiness. Nothing could change that. No, whatever interfered 
now, was the work of some other influence. 


His intended destination had been the Manor, where the 
shadow steed had planned a quick discussion with Cabe and the 
Lady Gwen about all that had transpired in the short time since 
he had left them. Slowly, it occurred to him that the difficulty 
might not be with him. If there was a threat to Shade besides 
Darkhorse, then it was Cabe Bedlam. More and more, it 
seemed to make sense, although Darkhorse had little other than 
a feeling to go on. 


"Well, if I cannot enter near the grounds of the Manor, then 
I shall open a path farther away!" He felt foolish that it had 
taken him that long to think of so simple an answer to his 
quandary. He recalled the area where he had entered the forest 
last time, the place where the Seeker had escaped him. This 
time, he felt the portal form. Pleased with his sudden change of 
luck, he laughed quietly and, when the shimmering gap fully 
materialized, he abandoned the Void without further delay. Had 
it been at all possible, Darkhorse would have wished that he 
would never have to return to this dismal, empty region again. 


It was still dark when he emerged into the Dagora Forest. 
Another stroke of luck. With time only an imaginary concept in 
the ageless Void, it sometimes happened that whole days, even 
weeks, could go by back in the worlds of reality. Darkhorse's 
journey had been, relatively speaking, a brief one and so he 
was fairly positive that this was still the same night that he had 


170 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


r 


SHADOW STEED 


171 



left only a short span earlier. Hopefully, he would not be 
proved incorrect. 


Cautious of a trap, Darkhorse moved silently through the 
forest. Last time, his senses had been at their weakest. Now, 
though, they were at their peak, and he chose to make full use 
of them because of that. Whether those senses would prove 
equal to the task of locating and outwitting Shade was something 
that he would only discover at the worst possible moment. 


The boundaries of the protective barrier were almost upon 
him before familiar landmarks informed him of where he was. 
The shadow steed backed away, not wanting to risk suffering 
through Lady Bedlam's attractive little curses again. He trotted 
back and forth for some time in an attempt to locate someone 
who could relay his messages. After a few minutes, however, 
he gave that idea up. Unlike Darkhorse, the humans—and even 
the drakes, for the most part—were creatures of the daylight only. 
With the spell protecting them, most, if not all, were asleep. 


There was something amiss, but whatever it was, was not 
readily evident. He probed the area surrounding the grounds 
and found no trace of the presence he had felt earlier while still 
adrift in the Void. Something confusing attracted his attention 
and he extended his search. A low, disquieting laugh escaped 
him. He had found the paradox. A spell had been cast to 
prevent detection of another spell—but it had, at the same time, 
made magical detection of the Manor's protective measure 
impossible. Understanding that, Darkhorse adjusted his senses 
to a different level of comprehension, reaching into an area 
well beyond human limits, even Cabe's. 


Well, well, my feathery little fiends! 


The trees around him were aflutter with entranced Seekers. 
There were more than a score of the avian humanoids, all of 
whom seemed part of a pattern focused on the region of Cabe's 
home. 


The threat was not Shade, then, but the former lords of this 
realm once again attempting to assert their power on a land that 
had passed them by so long ago. Darkhorse snorted in derision. 
He had no idea what the ultimate purpose of this pattern was, 
but, since it had been created by the Seekers, it could only be 
trouble. 


Eyes glittering in anticipation, Darkhorse reared high and 
struck the nearest inhabited tree a harsh blow with his hooves. 


Panic broke out above him as Seekers from the tree he had 


assaulted and many from those next to it took to the skies. He 
received confused images of indistinct attackers and realized he 
was picking up the avians' mental projections, the Seekers' 
method of communication. Some of them thought that the 
hordes of the Green Dragon had found them and were even 
now tearing down the trees. Others tried to calm their brethren 
while still maintaining the pattern. The latter, at least, proved 
an impossible task. With almost half their number fully awake, 
the avians lost control, breaking first the spell that had hidden 



them and, with much more of a struggle, the mysterious pattern 
that they had formed over the area. 


Darkhorse laughed loudly, in part to keep his adversaries as 
confused as possible, but also to wake and alert those within 
the Manor confines. 


"Come, oh lords of glories past! Darkhorse invites you to 
join him!" He kicked at another tree. The Seekers flew hither 
and yonder, trying to organize themselves. More images passed 
through the ebony stallion's mind, distorted views of himself as 
some horrendous creature from the netherworlds. There were few 
creatures that the avians feared; Darkhorse was among them. 


"Come, come! I promise only to bite a few wings, pluck a 
few feathers, and stomp a few bony, beaked heads!" 


One foolhardy male accepted the challenge, diving at Darkhorse 
with all four sets of claws ready. The shadow steed reared up 
and caught him in the chest with both hooves, smashing the 
creature's rib cage with that single blow. The Seeker squawked 
and collapsed to the ground. Darkhorse looked up at the others 
and laughed mockingly at them. 


Slowly, the Seekers began to organize. Several older ones 
flew up above the rest and, as Darkhorse watched suspiciously, 
they formed a small circle. The shadow steed smiled grimly. 
Think you that the air is safer? 


Other Seekers tried to form a protective wall in front of the 
circle. Darkhorse allowed them to organize no further, leaping 
into the air and soaring toward the avians at a velocity that sent 
the defenders scattering in sudden panic. One slashed wildly 
with its claws, sinking its hand into the etemal's body. Darkhorse 
absorbed him without noticing. Nothing would keep him from 
the circle. 


He was halfway to them when, as one, they cocked their 
heads to one side and stared. Darkhorse knew then that he had 
underestimated the speed and ingenuity of the avians. That 


172 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


knowledge did him little good, however, as force buffetted him 
aside. He tried to counter it, but was then buffetted from 
another direction. One blow after another threw him back and 
forth across the sky. The constant battering made it impossible 
to think at all. Darkhorse cursed his own overconfidence and 
bravado. While he was struggling just to maintain some sort of 
defense, he knew that other Seekers would be preparing an 
attack of far more lethal measures than this. 


A brilliant flash illuminated the heavens, sending all the 
Seekers into renewed confusion. Darkhorse heard shouts from 
below. Human and drake voices. The assault against him 
dropped abruptly as the members of the circle joined their 
retreating brethren. Darkhorse righted himself and gave chase, 



furious beyond the point of reason and more than ready to 
strike a few blows out of pure frustration. 


He picked out one of the avians who had formed the circle 
and was probably one of the rookery elders. Even as he closed 
in on the creature, an image leaped to life in his head. Shade 
was in it, a tall and ominous monster whom the Seekers feared 
even more than they did the stallion. Darkhorse caught hints of 
a promise made and the results that failure would bring. There 
were random images of renewed glories and a land that the 
avians would have ruled again if they had succeeded. 


/ wonder what his draconian ally would say about such 
promises, Darkhorse thought as his prey continued its desperate, 
but seemingly hopeless escape. 


The shadow steed slowed abruptly, soon letting the Seekers 
fly off into the night without further battle. For their failure to 
the rookery, many of them would pay dearly. For their failure to 
Shade, who had instigated this entire ploy, those who had sent 
this flock would also pay dearly—to the warlock himself. 
Darkhorse could think of no better justice than that. He turned, 
descending to the ground at the same time. 


"Darkhorse!" a familiar and welcome figure cried out. 
Reforming himself into something more earthbound, the shadow 
steed touched earth just in front of the lord of the Manor. 


"I'm glad you're safe!" Cabe wrapped his arms briefly 
around Darkhorse's neck, something that unnerved the eternal 
more than a hundred avenging Seekers would have. So open a 
display of affection for him was a rarity that he could count on 
one hoof. Several humans and drakes, who talked among one 
another like old friends, looked at their lord with renewed awe. 


SHADOW STEED 173 


After a decade they might be used to seeing many startling 
things, but how often did their great and powerful master greet 
a demonic horse with a simple hug? 


Lady Gwen's greeting was cordial, but far less affectionate. 
"You have our gratitude, Darkhorse. When you broke their 
spell and woke us with your voice, we realized what had 
happened to us. My only regret is that we could not capture or 
kill a few more of those arrogant birds! They sometimes make 
the Dragon Kings seem pleasant in comparison!" 


"And make my company acceptable, is that it. Lady Bedlam?" 


She grimaced, then nodded her head slowly. "Sometimes, 
dark one. Sometimes." 


"What happened to you, Cabe Bedlam?" 


The young warlock scratched his head. His open honesty 
was a great contrast to the secrecy and moodiness of Shade. 
After a moment's thought, Cabe smiled sourly and replied, 
"We've been living an idyllic life, thanks to the Seekers. 
They've had us taking walk after walk in the garden, playing 



with the children, relaxing, and," Cabe glanced at his bride 
and reddened, "doing whatever else gave us pleasure and took 
our minds off of the world." 


Darkhorse laughed, but not at that. "What a fool I was! 
Never did it occur to me that the Seeker I pursued briefly might 
have some purpose for being so near! Now I see why I failed to 
find him, too! With my 'self diminished and my impatience 
guiding me, I never noticed what they were about! They must 
have freed you briefly and in a subtle manner so that you would 
not be aware of what games they were playing! Tell me. Do 
you remember everything?" 


Both humans nodded. Gwen added, "I can't help feeling 
that Shade had something to do with all of this." 


"He did." Darkhorse explained what he had picked up from 
the Seeker's mind. There were benefits to the avians' method 
of communication, but there were disadvantages, too. Seekers, 
when in dire straits, often emitted their thoughts so powerfully 
that spellcasters of some ability could pick up the images in 
their own minds. For Darkhorse, it had been even easier. 


"What now?" Cabe wanted to know. "Somehow, I don't 
think our original plan holds." 


Darkhorse nodded. "I would say not. If only I knew where 
Shade was and what he now intends to do! Drayfitt is dead, 
Cabe, and his final words, if they were not another ploy 


774 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


engineered by the hooded warlock, are a mystery that I must 
solve before very long! Shade was never one to be inactive!" 


"One thing," Lady Bedlam interrupted, "that we should 
still do is contact the Green Dragon. He may have some 
information for us or, at the very least, some suggestion." 


"You do that, then," her husband suggested. "I want to 
check the area out. I want to make certain that there are no 
other surprises." 


"That leaves only myself." 


"What do you plan on doing?" Cabe asked the shadow steed. 


"Return to Talak. If I am incorrect, things will be as they 
were when I—departed. If, however, things have gone the way 
I think they have," Darkhorse stared at them and his eyes 
glittered coldly, "it may already be too late to save the city." 


Shade stood staring in open contempt at the putrefying 
column of mixed body parts and dripping ichor that was the 
guardian of this opening to the realms of the Lords of the Dead. 
He was not impressed. Not at all. 


"Shoddy. I would've expected better of your masters. It 



appears that they, too, have fallen from the ranks of pure 
Vraad." He waved his hand and the guardian, with a wailing 
sound, crumbled into its component parts. "Is that the best you 
could do?" he called out to the mire-filled pit. The cavern 
around him echoed his growing annoyance. 


Tendrils of thought reached out to him, some contemptuous, 
some defensive, all of them a bit fearful. What had he accomplished 
in all his existence? What had he accomplished other 
than creating an endless game between the opposing poles of 
his existence? 


The warlock smiled coldly. "Too true. That changes now. 
Your existence changes now. You have a bauble of mine that I 
require." Protesting thoughts bombarded him, but he shook 


SHADOW STEED 275 


them off like droplets of water. "Don't bandy words with me! 
Return to me the tripod. Now." 


Open fears now. Fears of control lost and rifts opened. 


A sigh. "This world has changed you. Like all the rest. You 
are not worthy of the name Vraad. You are especially not, my 
cousins, worthy of the name Tezerenee." 


A breath, perhaps two, passed before a dark and unprepossessing 
object formed at the warlock's feet. He picked it up and 
examined it thoroughly. It was, as he had termed it, a tripod 
perhaps a hand's length high. A black sphere, no bigger than 
one of his pupils, rested securely on the top. Finally satisfied, 
Shade thrust the artifact into the voluminous confines of his cloak. 


"Thank you so very much," he acknowledged with a mocking 
bow. "Having taken such great care of it, I can almost forgive 
you for stealing it from my workshop after my—death just 
doesn't sound right, does it? My temporary displacement." 
He started to fold within himself, then changed his mind. "I 
did say 'almost forgive you,' didn't I?" 


Panicked protests went unheeded as the warlock struck out. 


When Shade at last left what remained of the cavern—and the 
now-ruined island that had once housed it—his thoughts turned 
immediately to the culmination of his millennia-long dream. 
Time was running out for him, he knew that. In two, maybe 
three centuries, his forcibly extended lifespan would reach its 
limit, but not with the normal aging results. The shadowy 
warlock knew what awaited him would be far worse, a last fifty 
or so years as a withered, decaying creature, a consciousness 
trapped alive in a dry husk. Only when the last vestiges of his 
earlier, more desperate spells dissipated would he be freed— 
freed to a death he had no desire to embrace. The others had 
given in to this world, let it master them, but not him. 


He reentered the world in the emperor's cavern, only to find 
it abandoned. The Silver Dragon had moved on with his 
campaign, likely fearing that whatever Shade had in mind for 
Drayfitt would upset his carefully laid plan. He had taken 



everyone with him. The Dragon King's ideas had merit; planting 
a loyal human among his kind's worst enemies and then 
manipulating that man into a position of great authority had 
been a plan worthy of a Vraad—and why not? 


He dropped that line of thinking, deciding it was hardly 
worth his time now that his dreams were nearing fruition. He 
had mapped things out carefully in his mind, seeing where he 


176 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


r 


SHADOW STEED 


277 


had made his mistakes, reassuring himself of those results with 
the memories taken from the sorcerer Drayfitt. It had to work 
this time! 


With the tripod returned to him, there was only one other 
item he needed, but it was the most intregal component of all, 
outweighing even the artifact that he had taken back from the 
Lords of the Dead. The tripod was the means of summoning, 
something Drayfitt could never have known since it had not 
been in the notes, but it could not function as the focus, the 
means by which the powers would be drawn together, bound, 
and turned to his will. His prior mistake had been making 
himself that focus. Forced to both contain and bind them 
simultaneously, even he had failed. No, the only way for the 
enchantment to succeed would be to find something else to 
serve as a focus. 


Something? Someone. It had to be a living entity, one with 
the open gift that made one a spellcaster. As untrained as possible 
and young, for the spell would tear at the lifeforce, eating it 
away. Untrained and young also because those minds were 
more susceptible to the sort of commands he needed to ingrain 
upon them. A child would be perfect. A child was malleable. 


A child with the potential he sought would also be nearly 
impossible to find. Since the days of the Turning War, when the 
human mages had almost defeated the Dragon Kings, the latter 
had tried very thoroughly to assure that there would never be a 
second such war. They had missed Cabe Bedlam because of his 
grandfather's interference. Likely they had missed others as 
well, since their control had slipped harshly after that near 
disaster. A long search might prove fruitful, but Shade knew 
that searching for an infant with latent abilities might very well 
consume more time than even he had. 


There was one possibility, likely more, but he had found 
himself strangely reluctant to consider it. Memories of his 
addled past, the centuries of swinging back and forth between 
one mind or another, invaded again. A curse escaped his lips 
and a fissure suddenly burst into being in one of the cavern 
walls to his right. He paid it no mind. Breathing deeply, the 



warlock buried the alien thoughts and memories. It was not the 
first time he had done so, but he swore silently that it would be 
the last. 


He had sworn so more than a dozen times this one day alone. 
Each time, they had returned stronger than before. Care. Guilt. 


Friendship. Unbecoming memories for one of his stature. 
Feelings for those who were not Vraad. 


That settled it. He would hesitate no more. Not with so 
perfect a focus awaiting him. One whom the family would not 
even notice was missing, if he could help it. The last thought 
gave him a feeling of benevolence, like a master taking good 
care of his pets. For their sacrifice, they deserved that much. It 
would be as if the boy no longer existed. 


Still, a tiny shadow of guilt lingered on. 


Melicard. 


Erini stirred, her eyes slowly focusing on the darkened 
corridor. Her mind, a sluggish mire of self-disgust and defeat, 
refused to clear. She closed her eyes again. Melicard's visage 
was the only thing she could think about with any success. Her 
image of him had a strange quality to it, almost as if he were 
actually before her, propped up against the opposing wall. She 
saw him as unconscious. Dirt and blood streaked his face 
and—Erini choked—someone had torn the elfwood mask from 
his face, revealing the torn and burnt flesh that would never 
heal. She did not have to see his arm to know that the false one 
had been removed as well. It was a wonder he was still alive. 


Still alive? The odd thought brought clarity to her clouded 
mind. Why would she think such a thing about her own 
imaginings? Why would she subscribe reality to delusion? Yet, 
there was something about the images, a continuity that seemed 
too real to be her own doing. 


Could it be? 


Erini tried to concentrate on his face, but that only made it 
less substantial, more that of a phantom than a living person. 
The princess thought quickly, recalling her state of mind. Leave 
her mind open? Let it happen naturally? Melicard's features 
were already almost invisible, little more than a true memory. 
Erini settled back and dreamed of Melicard the man. Where 
was he and what was he doing? She thought about him, but not 
at him. That, she hoped, was the key. If Drayfitt had only had 
the chance to teach her... 


Melicard's face, which had been solidifying, dwindled away 
again. The princess quickly dropped all thought of the dead 
sorcerer. It was all to easy to let one's imagination turn to other 
things, even in times of a crisis. 


Slowly, the picture of her betrothed returned to full clarity. It 



178 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


was almost as if, with her eyes closed, she could actually reach 
out and touch him. She saw the blood from his wounds, the 
bruises on his face and body. Mal Quorin's ogres had not been 
kind to him. Another thing the counselor would be called to 
account for—if Erini survived this terror. 


She had, without thinking, reached out in an effort to ease 
his pain. The Melicard in her mind suddenly stirred, as if 
waking. The princess, startled, lost her concentration. Melicard's 
image faded away, this time permanently. Try as she might, 
Erini could not make it return. 


He was alive! Battered and wounded, but Melicard was 
alive! New life surged through the princess despite all that had 
happened. As long as he was alive, there was reason to hope. 
Erini straightened into a standing position and gazed around 
her, finally realizing that more of Quorin's men might come 
pouring down one end of the hall or the other before very long. 
It was a wonder they had not already—unless there were other 
things on their minds. Like Captain Iston. Possibly loyal guard 
units, too. The suddenness of this coup could not have been 
completely planned. Despite the counselor's attitude earlier, 
there was too much evidence that all was not well in hand. 
Another sign of hope, as far as she was concerned. 


What mattered now, Erini decided grimly, was to find Melicard. 
She could not draw Iston and his men into this. Two of them 
had already died on her behalf when she could have saved 
them. Her powers, the princess was slowly coming to realize, 
were as potentially beneficial as they were detrimental; it was 
her own attitude that determined which way she went. If she 
could turn her abilities to finding the king and overwhelming 
the rebels... The thought of a stunned and grovelling Quorin 
made her smile with dark pleasure. 


How do I find him? came the unbidden thought. What little 
she recalled of the image had revealed a place far from the 
elegant rooms of a mighty king. More likely, he was in the 
lower depths of the palace, a dungeon or something. Unfortunately, 
Erini had a fair idea of how immense that network of underground 
passages and chambers was. She did not have the time 
to search everywhere and her attempts to recall Melicard's 
presence had, thus far, failed miserably. 


There remained one option, then, that promised hope. It was 
the only possibility her mind could dream up. Given rest and 
some peace, the princess might have been able to devise 


SHADOW STEED 179 


something less daring, less risky. Time, however, was something 
she had already used up too much of. No, her only choice 
was to follow through with her decision. 


She would simply ask someone where the king was held. 


Drawing herself together, Erini stepped quietly down the 



corridor in the direction opposite that of where her loyal 
defenders had wanted her to run. Iston's stronghold—she 
wanted to know more about how that had come about—was 
probably watched by too many of Quorin's men. What -she 
wanted was a lone sentry or two left to guard some secured 
hall. She would probably find such a place deeper in the 
sections of the palace that the treacherous advisor had under his 
control. Erini also suspected that, given Quorin's way of doing 
things, it was where she would be nearest to Melicard. 


The nagging fear that her plots were all askew never left her 
during the entire nerve-wracking journey. 


In the dark, Talak's royal palace proved to be quite a maze. 
Matters were not helped by her own lack of familiarity. Erini 
only hoped that by trying to keep a parallel course as much as 
possible, she would not lose herself in the vastness of the 
ancient structure. The palace of the king and queen of Gordag-
Ai seemed almost like a cottage in comparison to the monstrous 
creation the princess was now forced to wander. 


When she finally found what. she sought, Erini hesitated. 
There were two of them, tall, ugly, and armed with blades 
longer than her. legs, it seemed. The princess cursed herself for 
being so stupid as to not have taken one of the weapons 
scattered on the floor by her unfortunate attackers. Better still, 
a sharp, thin blade like the one the elder of her two defenders 
had utilized. That was a weapon she could use properly. 


That would also not solve her present dilemma. Sorcery was 
her only chance of success. What sort of spell, though? 


One of the men nodded off briefly and was knocked awake 
by his companion, who seemed none too lively himself. Their 
exhaustion reminded Erini of her own, but she dared not dwell 
on it too long for fear she would collapse. Still, the scene had 
given her the answer. It should not be too difficult to make men 
who were already tired slip far enough into slumber. From 
there, she could take one of them and try to coax the information 
from his unprotected mind. 


Relaxing despite the natural tendency for just the opposite in 
such a situation, Erini found she knew which areas of the 


180 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 181 


spectrum would aid her spell. In her mind, she saw the colors 
blend and shape themselves, forming a pattern. A part of her 
understood that what was happening was actually taking place 
in less than the time it takes a person to blink. This was what 
Drayfitt had been steering her toward. Soon, it might be so 
automatic to her that the actual process would seem instantaneous. 
Drayfitt had said that. 


The results of her spell became noticeable instantly. The 
guard who had dozed off only moments before collapsed 
completely, falling back against the wall and sliding to the 
floor. His grip on his sword relaxed, but not until he was 
almost all the way down. The resulting clatter was hardly 
audible. 



The second man's fall proved more nerve-wracking. He 
fought the spell, almost as if he had enough sense left to 
understand what was happening. He raised his sword arm up to 
his forehead, as if trying to support his sleep-laden mind, and 
dropped the blade. The weapon struck the hard floor with an 
echoing rattle that Erini was certain would bring new men 
rushing down the hall at any moment. 


Unable to resist any longer, the second guard fell to his 
knees, then face-first onto the marble. His helmet added to the 
distant reverberations of the sword. 


When neither man had moved after a minute and battle-ready . 
newcomers had not charged madly into the hall from every 
direction, Erini stepped out from the comer she had been 
hiding behind and investigated the two men. The first guard 
was sleeping soundly; there was even a satisfied smile on his 
lips. The second man was not so well off. He slept, but his 
nose had been broken from the fall and blood spilled on the 
floor. Only the spell kept him sleeping. The pain was evident in 
his twitches. Erini wondered if the pain would eventually give 
him the strength to overcome her enchantment. If so, it meant 
that she had to work even faster than she had planned. 


Turning back to the first man, she leaned near one of his ears 
and whispered commands... 


The ensorcelled guard's arms hung limply by his sides. His 
eyes were closed. He looked as if someone had strung him up. 
That would never do. She gave him a few extra commands, 
hoping there was no immediate limit to such things. It would 
not do to have confusion stir him from the spell. 


A minute later, he was ready. To all eyes, it now appeared as 


if she were his prisoner. The scowl on his face was very real. 
The gleam in his eyes made him a man carrying out orders 
from the highest authority: Quorin, of course. If anyone stopped 
him, he would say that the counselor had decided to give the 
two one last moment together so that the princess could see 
how handsome her betrothed was without his false face. Erini 
had trouble with the last, but it might prove necessary. Such 
comments would hopefully put the other men at ease. 


While she stood there, assuring herself that all was in 
readiness, a sudden, horrible notion burst forth. She looked up 
at the mesmerized figure, who stared straight ahead, waiting to 
begin his new role. "Do you know where King Melicard is 
being held?" 


"Eas'm t'nnels. Rat land." 


Rat land? She let that slide, happy that she had not gone to 
all this trouble for nothing. In her haste to test her abilities, 
Erini had totally forgotten to ask him the all-important question 
first. 


From the other guard she took a small dagger. Not much of a 
threat, but one never knew. The princess secreted the blade in 



one boot, hoping she would not be forced to run very quickly 
while it was still hidden in there. Then, Erini turned to the 
guard and whispered, "Lead." 


The next few minutes made the previous few seem almost 
heavenly. Erini's heart sounded like a stampede of heavily 
laden warhorses. It was astonishing that the sound did not echo 
through every corridor. She kept one hand close to the blade— 
on the off-chance that the soldier had completely fooled her and 
was even now bringing her to her own cell. The trek was taking 
her into regions of the palace that she had not known even 
existed. It amazed the princess to think that there was still so 
much she had not investigated. If she survived, Erini intended 
to survey every plan of this behemoth and then double-check 
every corridor and room personally. 


Dreams of entering into such minor crusades kept her from 
going completely insane with anxiety. Too many things seemed 
to count on her. She had welcomed them in the past, but none 
had ever involved death—and so much of it—or the use of 
questionable abilities. Erini was no coward; that was not her 
fear. What ate at her was the fact that she might not be enough. 
Melicard, Iston, Galea, and Magda... they and so many others 
would likely die if she did not succeed. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


A rough hand grabbed her arm. She almost lashed out with 
whatever her abilities would give her, then realized that she had 
fallen behind the ensorcelled sentry. He looked at her as if 


seeing someone else. 


"Come on. This way." His voice was slurred, something 


that could be explained away as from exhaustion. She quickly 
reminded him of that fact. He coughed his acknowledgment of 
the command—a trick Erini had mixed in with the original 
commands—and resumed the journey. Erini kept pace with him 
this time, noting that they were heading toward a darkened 


stairway. 
Down below the earth again. I should have known! It would 


make things that much more difficult—and that much more 


dependent on her abilities. 
They descended together and, at the bottom of the stairway, 


her plan received its ultimate test. Four sentries stood guarding 
the underground passageway. Unlike the one beside her, these 
men did not look in the least bit tired. They studied the 
newcomers, first with veiled curiosity, then with eye-widening 
interest when they discovered who it was they were seeing. 


One of them, possibly the leader, possibly not, pointed the 
tip of his mace at Erini's companion. The others were armed 



with blades of varying wear. All looked far more skilled at 
using the weapons than the mesmerized figure at her side. 
"The cripple's woman! You've caught her!" 


"Yeah." The answer issued forth easy enough, but Erini's 
guard had been ordered not to continue unless pressed. 


"Why bring her down here? The master said no one's to see 


the prisoner." 


Erini forced herself not to look at her companion and try to 


guide his answer. It would have to be his response alone. 
"New orders. The counselor wants her to spend a last few 
minutes with him. See how pretty he is. See what she would've 


married." 
There was a moment's hesitation, but then malicious grins 


began to appear. This was something they would have expected 
from a leader such as Mal Quorin. Destroy the last good 
memories of Melicard. Turn his betrothed's love to disgust. 
None of them could fathom a woman continuing to care for a 
"cripple," though Erini was of the silent opinion that, even 
without the elfwood to mask his face and replace his arm, 
Melicard was worth a thousand of these men. 


SHADOW STEED 183 


"Go on," the leader signalled. 


The princess's guard stumbled a little, nearly causing her 
heart to fail. Had they looked closely, they might have noticed 
the glazed look that was returning to his eyes. Fortunately, they 
assumed it was something else. 


"You'd better report to Ostlich when you're through with 
her. He don't want anyone dropping on duty. Not tonight." The 
leader indicated a scar running across one of his men's face. 
"Edger here stays real alert now, don't you Edger? Sometimes 
up to four days!" 


The one called Edger nodded, but said nothing. Erini's 
companion returned the nod automatically and added a slow 
"Yeah." His words were becoming more slurred. Fortunately, 
he was already leading her past them. 


When they were out of sight, she started to breathe a sigh of 
relief—only to cut it short when two more guards came into 
view. They leaned against a wall in which several cell doors 
stood as grim reminders of some of Talak's less-than-pleasant 
history. One of them looked up. 


"What's goin'? Why's she here?" 


Her puppet did not respond. Erini pretended to 'stumble, 
prodding him into activity as she bumped into his side. He 
repeated his short explanation concerning Quorin's sadistic 
little game. His words were slow, but understandable. 



The look that passed between the two sentries at the cell 
indicated that they thought something besides exhaustion had 
taken its toll on the newcomer, something with more than a 
little kick to it. One man licked his lips, evidently dreaming of 
what it would be like to have a drink after so long on duty. 


Seemingly convinced, they unlocked the door. The princess 
wanted to rush in, take Melicard in her arms, but could not so 
long as she needed the charade to continue. That meant 
agonizing heartbeats as she forced herself to keep pace with the 
shuffling soul beside her. 


A figure huddled against the far wall, chained by his hands 
and feet. There was no light in the cell; the prisoner's upper 
body was in complete darkness and the lower was only a vague 
shadow. Behind her, the cell door slammed shut. That was the 
ensorcelled soldier's cue. He released his hold on the princess 
and stared blankly in the direction of the prisoner. To outside 
eyes, he would be watching the two. 


184 
RICHARD A. KNAAK 
SHAD OW STEED 
185 

No longer able to contain herself, Erini rushed over to the 
worn figure. "Melicard?" 


The head slowly turned toward her. It was Melicard! Until 
this moment, she had still feared that something was amiss. 


His face, when she saw it, threatened to tear her heart 
asunder. They had tortured him! She forced herself to look 
closer and saw that she was not entirely correct. There were 
bruises and cuts, true. He had been beaten and badly. Quorin 
would pay dearly for that. What she thought were bums, 
however, were what had been hidden beneath the elfwood mask 
he had always worn. This was what was left of his true visage. 


Deep pits of scorched and torn flesh streaked across the one 
side of his face. That was horrifying enough. The other side, 
the one that had received the brunt of the wild magic... Erini 
recalled only one thing in her life that had ever looked like this. 
A fire in the royal stables of Gordag-Ai. A fire that had burned 
to death four horses and injured one of the young boys that 
helped take care of the animals. One of those horses had 
broken free of the fire toward the end, a maddened, flame-
drenched beast whose face, neck, and body had been burned to 
the bone at various points. It had run in confused circles for 
more than a minute, nearly spreading the fire further, before the 
life within that twisted shell had finally abandoned it. Like the 
horse, Melicard's face had been torn open to the very bone 
and, thanks to the power of the artifact that had caused it, those 



wounds would not heal. Even now, even in the dark, she could 
see them glisten moistly, as if inflicted only this day. 


"The fruit...of...my labors." Melicard smiled grimly. 
The open side of his face looked like nothing less than a 
grinning corpse. Despite herself, Erini had to turn her eyes 
away for at least a moment. 


He noted the reaction. "The storytellers never speak of this 
type... of scene. Either that.. .or they gloss... gloss over it." 


"I'm sorry. It's not you—" 


"It's never me." The sarcasm was biting. 


Erini looked him squarely in the face. "It's not you. When I 
saw your face, I felt your pain, wondered how you could have 
gone on—I don't know if-I could have—and cursed dear 
Counselor Quorin for every day of his existence!" 


"Quorin." Melicard grew cold. "I was a fool of the highest 
rank, wasn't I? How many loyal humans and drakes did the 
Silver Dragon sacrifice to assure brave, clever Quorin's place at 


my side? How many? I never saw it once. I was so... so proud 
of myself and so ready to take them all on. Look what it has 
cost me. Part of my body. My kingdom. My life." He closed 
his good eye. "Worst of all, it's cost me you." 
"No." She touched his hand. "It hasn't." 
"I doubt if our future together is longer than another minute 
or two. Surely my esteemed advisor's man there has orders to 
drag you out of here. This is just a torturous game, letting us 
see one another and then separating us again." 


It was time to explain. Erini leaned forward. "This is no 
game of that foul grimalkin! That is what the sentries outside 
are supposed to think. My guard is under my influence." 
The king eyed her in open curiosity. "Influence?" 
"Like—like mesmerism." 


"Mesmerism." He did not seem completely convinced. 
Melicard indicated the chains that held him. "What about 
these? Mesmerism will not work on these, my princess." 


"I—I can deal with them." She tried to reach for the cuff 
around his wrist, but he refused to let go of her hand for the 
moment. Trying to hide the worst of his face, he tilted his head 
to one side and gave her as honest a smile as he could manage. 
"My princess... my queen." 


When their hands finally separated, Erini took hold of the 
cuff and examined it. It had a simple lock on it—not that she 
knew anything about picking locks—and was worn with age. 
The rust interested her the most. She had succeeded in lulling 
to sleep two men who had already been tired. Could it be 
possible to use the same concept to encourage the spread of rust 
across the cuff? Make it so brittle that a simple tap or two 
would shatter it? 


As she thought about it, her fingers unconsciously rubbed the 



cuff. Tiny streaks appeared. Erini gasped. Melicard, who could 
not see as well from his angle, grunted his curiosity. The 
princess did not respond, watching in fascination as the entire 
cuff and even part of the chain turned dark in the space of a few 
seconds. 


She took his arm by the wrist and, sobbing like a grief-
stricken, frail princess, muttered audibly, "Oh, Melicard! What 
will happen to us?" 


The king offered no resistance, leaving things in her care. As 
Erini moved in what appeared to simply be a desperate hug of 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


her beloved, she brought the cuff down against the wall. The 
sound was buried by her words and the rattle of the chains. 


The cuff shattered. 
"Impo—" was all that escaped from Melicard before he 


succeeded in smothering his surprise. Erini immediately went 
to work on the leg cuffs and found, to her joy, the spell working 
perfectly both times. She did not, however, try to share her joy 
with Melicard. Erini feared to even look at his face now. Not 
because of his appearance, but because of what he must by now 
have come to realize; his bride-to-be was a sorceress. 


"Erini—" Melicard whispered. 
"I think that verifies it, then," came the one voice she 


feared to hear. 


Leaping to her feet, Erini shielded Melicard. Whatever aid 


her abilities would give her she would gladly accept. Anything, 


especially if it meant the end of Mal Quorin. 


One of the guards unlocked the cell door and opened it. 
Quorin stepped through alone, confident in his power. Erini's 
mouth twitched upward. Not this time. She understood her 
abilities better. The traitor would soon find out what power 


actually was. 


Behind her, Melicard had risen to his feet. He would not 


have someone like Quorin stand above him. Erini drew strength 


from his act. 
The counselor still advanced, slowly and silently. He appeared 


very much the cat he resembled. His habit of always seeming 
to show up where and when others least expected him added to 


that effect. Even the smile. 



Perhaps I will turn you. into the mangy rat-eater you really 


are. Master Quorin! The thought appealed to the princess 
greatly. She would even let him stay and keep the stables free 


of other pests. 


"Did you realize only now that your bride was a sorceress, 


your most royal majesty? I suspected as much, though I wasn't 
certain until she escaped from my men earlier." Quorin looked 
at Erini. "Of course, my lady, I knew where you would be 
rushing to and took a quicker, more direct route. Now I have 
you again. All that remains are your stubborn countrymen and 
a few random guards who escaped my net. Talak will not even 
know of its change of rulers until the northern gates open and 
my master comes riding triumphantly through." 
"Bearing a silver banner?" Melicard asked grimly. 


SHADOW STEED 187 


"Of course. This will be the true mark of his destiny, his 
right to be emperor of all races. The capture and destruction of 
the monster king. Your crusades will be at an end. A sign of 
strength will bring his brethren around—save the outcast lord 
of the Dagora Forest. With the united strength of the others, 
however, no opposition will stand in the Dragon Kings' way. 
They will bring this land back to the glory it had before the 
Turning War." 


The king laughed, though it was evident that to do so hurt 
him further. "Did your master train you to say all of that? 
Look—look at him, Erini. Would you ever believe that he and 
these others were actually men and not drakes in disguise?" 


The barb struck Quorin harder than he pretended it did. 
Erini, who had seen and felt his rage, watched him closely. She 
had just about formulated the sort of spell she felt appropriate 
for one such as him. Something decorative. A few seconds 
more and she would be ready. 


Turning his attention to her, Mal Quorin said, "There was a 
chance you might have been useful in regard to Gordag-Ai—or 
even to my tastes in entertainment—but I don't care for the 
thought of a sorceress alive and neither does my lord. Your 
betrothed will get the opportunity to see you die more or less 
painlessly before we prepare him for the coming of Talak's new 
ruler." 


Erini unleashed her spell at Quorin. If it worked, he would 
envy the men who had died trying to recapture the princess. 


Nothing. 


No! Erini stood drained, horrified. Please! Not now! Her 
abilities had abandoned her again! 


"Have you never wondered why I feared no tricks by that 
doddering old fool, Drayfitt?" 



To one side, the ensorcelled guard suddenly moaned and 
shook his head. Her other spell had failed now. Erini stared at 
Quorin, who was reaching into his uniform for something that 
hung around his neck. It proved to be a medallion the diameter 
of a walnut. 


Melicard groaned, though whether from pain or what he saw 
was debatable. "A Seeker medallion, Erini. One he received 
from me. It mutes a spellcaster's abilities. Makes them... 
helpless." 


"Helpless. Yes. "'The counselor snapped his fingers. Two of 
the sentries from the hallway joined him. One he ordered to 


188 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


assist the man who had just woken up. He looked at the 
second, then nodded toward Erini. 


Beaten and worn, Melicard still tried to save Erini. He 
rushed past her and tried to tackle the oncoming soldier with 
his one good arm. Quorin's servant, however, was a massive 
ox and he threw the one-armed king against the far wall. 
Melicard slipped to the floor, still conscious but stunned. 


As the man turned toward Erini, she saw Quorin watching 
her from behind him, his cat's smile wide across his face and a 
thin, jagged blade now waiting in one hand. Waiting for her. 


XVII 


While the night had brought chaos to Talak, it had brought 
something even more ominous to the Dagora Forest. Just 
beyond the protected grounds of the Bedlams' domain, a tree 
curled and twisted, becoming a gnarled thing that soon cracked 
and died. From its withering roots, a black blot seemed to 
spread to the plant life around it, creating a dead, barren patch 
of earth several yards wide. 


Within the boundaries of the Manor, a separate but hauntingly 
similar incident passed. This one would have been less noticeable, 
save its victim was one of the birds that nested in the 
trees. The fate the lone tree had suffered had been kinder. What 
was left of the bird was barely recognizable. 


In the darkened room of a young lad, a golden-haired boy 
who dreamt of amazing feats of magic he would some day 
perform, the night seemed to have eyes. Eyes and shape. A 
shape that slowly detached itself from the rest of the darkness 
and loomed over the sleeping child, noting even without light 
the tiny streak of silver in the youngster's hair. 


Shade smiled almost fatherly. Blood will tell, my young one! 
Great power courses through your parents' veins! Great power 



that has pooled together and formed you! 


There was a young girl, too, but she was too young, 


SHADOW STEED 189 


unpredictable. If this vessel proved insufficient, he would wait 
a few years and take the second. By then, she would be ready. 


He touched the boy's forehead. A name came to his lips and 
he mouthed it in silence. Aurim. The Golden Treasure. The 
warlock frowned. He could feel the love the parents had for this 
child—both children—and it was beginning to disturb him in 
ways that were alien to him. He had taken subjects for his 
spells before. It was not as if they were Vraad. They were 
just... others. 


His face resembles Cabe's, though his nose is his mother's. 
The uneasiness began spreading through him. Why was he not 
already gone? The task was a simple one! Take the child and 
depart. The defensive spells surrounding the Manor were 
laughingly simple to one with millennia and the powers of 
Vraad sorcery on his side. 


Take the boy! he demanded of himself. 


"Shade." 


The hooded warlock looked up. Another figure stood on the 
other side of the bed, hands clenched and eyes narrowed. He 
wore a dark blue robe and much of his hair was silver. 


"Cabe." 


"My son. Shade. He's not for you to do with as you please. 
Get out of here now while I can still remain civil with you." 


Moving almost like the shadow he resembled. Shade looked 
closely at the youngster. ' 'He has striking golden hair... how 
is that possible?" 


Cabe tried to contain himself. This was Shade. This man had 
been his friend. He had also tried to kill the younger warlock. 
Which stood before Cabe now? "We named him Aurim because, 
being our first, he seemed so precious. When he was old 
enough to understand what his name meant, he decided he 
should have golden hair. The next day... it simply was." 


"A lad of great potential." 


"If he lives to adulthood." The edge had returned to Cabe 
Bedlam's voice. "Which he won't if you take him." 


"He might. He might not. I have need of him, though." 


"You've no right to him." It was becoming harder for Cabe 
to maintain his composure. "You've no right to anything!" 


The other warlock wrapped himself in his cloak. "I am 
Shade. I am Vraad. My existence is my right. My continued 



existence is my demand." 


A hand rose. It blazed with green flames that danced about 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the fingertips. "You've lived long enough, Shade. He deserves 
his chance—and I won't let you take him." 


Shade chuckled. "No longer the uncertain novice, are you? 
Is ten years enough? The skill is easy enough, but the reaction 
time is always the questionable part. Do you know your limits? 


I have none." 


"You have more than you think. You still thought the 


Seekers controlled us until I materialized here. I made it seem 
so. I thought you might come back. Shade. I prayed you 
wouldn't, so that I wouldn't have to fight you. I'll see you dead 
a thousand times before I let you take my son." 


"And I shall return a thousand and one times." The cowled 
visage lifted enough so that the glow from Cabe's hand allowed 
him to see Shade's true features for the first time. Cabe's 
mouth dropped open. "Or I will just take him now." 


Tendrils burst from the cloaked figure of the one warlock and 
enshrouded sleeping Aurim. They started to withdraw into 
Shade's form until the hooded spellcaster checked himself. 


"This is not your son." 


"No, he and the other children are safely hidden—even from 
you. I've learned. I thought you might come back, so I laid a 
few snares. You chose the false Aurim, though I don't care to 
think why. It almost fooled you long enough. In fact, it may 


have." 


A clear liquid showered down on Shade from nowhere. As it 
touched him, it solidified, becoming harder than marble. The 
torrent continued, forming a shell about its victim. Shade 
struggled, but seemed unable to move more than his fingers. 
Oddly, nothing but the warlock was covered by it. 


"I never thought I would thank Azran Bedlam for an idea," 
Gwen said as she materialized out of the darkness behind 
Shade. "I never thought I would want to condemn anyone to 
this sort of hell—until you came back here for our child." 


The shower ceased. As Gwen had once been imprisoned in a 
shell of amber by Cabe's mad father, so had she sought to snare 
Shade. Only Azran's fabled demon sword, the Nameless, had 
succeeded in breaking that prison, and only with an unconscious 
boost from Cabe. 


"It's over," she continued, speaking to her husband. "It 



wor—'' 


The amber prison exploded, sending deadly fragments spilling 
across the room in every direction. A fair number flew with | 


SHADOW STEED 


unerring accuracy toward the Bedlams. Only their automatic 
defensive spells saved them at all. Razor-sharp pieces tore into 
the walls, ceiling, and floor. Minor objects in the room were 
punctured or shattered. Cabe and his wife were battered into 
unconsciousness, though bruises were all they suffered. Not 
one jagged fragment had flown their directions. 


When the last particles of the devastating assault had drifted 
floorward. Shade shook himself free of any remaining fragments 
and eyed the two spellcasters. Oddly, he was not angry, 
but rather, impressed. 


"I am myself once again and there is no equal to me, 
Bedlams," he whispered. Shade turned to the false Aurim, 
undamaged by the assault. With a glance, he disposed of it in 
another realm where the surprise within would not threaten 
him. Two very deadly traps. Together, they might have succeeded. 


"I am Vraad, Cabe. That was your undoing." He took a 
deep breath. "But you have earned the right to your children. I 
think there may be another who will serve instead—that is, if 
his memories serve me right." 


He looked down at each of them and concentrated briefly. 
The walls groaned as if weakening, but he paid that only the 
least bit of attention, assuming the damage was due to his last 
assault. A new spell placed on each of them would assure that 
they would sleep a full day, maybe even two. More than 
enough time to deal with the other situations. 


Taking one last—almost fond—glance at Cabe, Shade departed 
the Manor. 


How could there be so many? Darkhorse wondered grimly. 
How did so many still survive? 


The legions of the Silver Dragon were the stuff of epic. Not 
since the combined forces of Bronze and Iron had attempted to 
overthrow the emperor had there been a dragon host as great as 
this. Not all of them were of clan Silver, either. The two clans 
that had rebelled now had a new master. Remnants of both now 
rode, ran, or flew along with those of the Dragon King. There 
were even a few drakes of clan Gold, though they were the 
fewest of all. Darkhorse suspected that there had been other 
survivors, but not for very long. The would-be emperor had 
taken over their caverns, stolen their birthplace. Many drakes 
were too proud to stand for such things. Most of those that rode 


192 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 193 



with him now were likely the dregs, perhaps even treacherous 
fools like Toma the renegade. 


Though he could see them, Darkhorse knew that the night 
still gave him protection from the oncoming army. He had 
come here, rather than return immediately to Talak, because he 
had feared this very thing. His fears had proved far more than 
even he had supposed. The host here would have given a fully 
armed and ready Talak trouble—unless King Melicard had a 
trick or two up his sleeve. Perhaps that was one reason why he 
had agreed to summoning a demon; it was possible that he had 
suspected this invasion was coming. 


Darkhorse laughed quietly. Even a demon would think twice 
about taking on a legion of fiends such as this! 


A drake army was not an army in the traditional sense. The 
host included several castes and species from the lowest minor 
drake—huge reptiles almost as intelligent as horses and often 
used for the same purpose—to the elite of the ruling drake 
class, the humanoid warlords who drove their beastlike cousins 
and their lower-caste brethren before them. There were dragons 
in the air and on the ground. Some carried riders, others did 
not. Each one was as deadly as a score of more trained men; 


yet, they had been defeated in the past. There were weaknesses 
that men had learned to exploit, Talak most of all. That was 
why the Dragon King had worked to separate the forces of his 
human foe. He wanted an easy victory to prove his worth as 
emperor. Darkhorse knew he also wanted it because, of all his 
brethren, this drake lord was, the most craven. 


Yet, even this bully has the muscle to flex, the shadow steed 
thought with bitter humor. Alone, Darkhorse could harass the 
drakes and cause great damage, but he would eventually fall. 
Despite his cowardly ways, the Silver Dragon was quite possibly 
his equal or better in power; it was difficult to say. 
Surrounded by his own followers, each with their own measure 
of power, he would be nigh on invincible compared to Darkhorse. 


Talak had to be alerted to the menace. If they had weapons 
to combat this host, so much the better. The Bedlams would 
lend their hand, also. This was not a battle to be won by a lone 
warrior, but only with the effort of many, himself included. 


/ shall see you before long. Dragon King. This I swear. 


Summoning a portal, Darkhorse departed for Talak. He 
hoped and prayed that what he found there would be an 


improvement over this dismaying sight. He had his doubts, 
though. 


May the gods who grant me my luck be cursed with the same 
ill sort! 


As he stepped out into Talak, into the great hall near the 
front entrance of the royal palace, he sensed the wrongness of 
the place. Blood had been spilled here! Much of it and only 
recently! 



Things were beginning to move too swiftly for him. A 
dragon host that would, by his, estimate, be here just after 
dawn. A royal palace under attack—yet the city seemed its 
normal self! Was he mistaken about the bloodshed? Drayfitt 
could give him no answers, especially to the question that still 
plagued him from the back of his mind. 


Where is Shade while the world turns mad? Is he orchestrating 
all of this? 


He dared not linger on thoughts of Shade now. Like it or not, 
his first duty was to Talak and warning it of the threat moving 
toward its gate. Darkhorse concentrated his will on seeking the 
Princess Erini. As a sorceress—and an untrained one—she 
would unconsciously radiate a powerful presence. Training or 
pure luck would teach her to mask that presence. Death would 
completely eliminate the problem. For the moment, however, 
her ignorance was to Darkhorse's advantage. 


Find her he did, in a place buried beneath the palace much 
the same way his prison had been, though not as deep. She was 
the only distinctive presence. There were others, perhaps as 
many as a dozen, but something interfered with his senses, 
making them appear as less than individuals. He did not have 
to think long to realize that she was probably a prisoner. There 
were fear and hatred; they were so strong they nearly radiated 
auras all their own. 


If the Princess Erini was in danger, he could not hesitate. 
Summoning up a portal, Darkhorse reared and, laughing 
mockingly, leaped through it. 


"Well! If there is to be a party, then surely Darkhorse is 
welcome, yes?" 


His sudden, overwhelming appearance, coupled with his 
brash, confusing speech, stunned the humans in the chamber—a 
prison cell, he saw. There were several people in the room, as 
he had thought, and among them were two others he had 


194 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


wanted to find. The first was Melicard, mighty Melicard, 
looking more like something left behind by a playful and only 
slightly peckish dragon. He stood—with the aid of one captor— 
against the wall nearest the door. 


The second and somewhat more irate of the two—and only 
he would be irate in the face of a creature as devastating as 
Darkhorse—was Counselor Mal Quorin. He had a long, ugly 
blade in his hand and had apparently been toying with the 
princess. There were no marks on her, but the look on her face 
indicated that, had she been able to, the advisor would have 
been dead a hundred times over. That verified what Darkhorse 
had already suspected. Quorin was the source of whatever was 
dampening his senses and the princess's abilities. 



All this the ebony stallion took in during the first glance 
around him. He took a step forward now, his attention focused 
specifically on Quorin, who, with more courage than many, 
immediately moved closer to his prey. The knife touched the 
princess's throat. 


"She dies if you even flinch, demon! She dies if you so 
much as blink my direction!" 


Unimpressed by their master's defiant rhetoric, several of the 
guards deserted for safer climates. Only the ones in the cell, 
who probably knew they could not run away in time or were 
insane fanatics like the counselor, remained. 


Darkhorse laughed in the face ofQuorin's threat. "You are a 
true servant of your master! As much a fool as he!" An 
ice-blue eye narrowed at the traitor. "Think on what sort of 
mercy you will receive from me if you do kill her!" 


"I can draw her agony out, demon! I will!" The counselor's 
eyes widened. Averting his gaze suddenly, he shouted to his 
men. "Don't stare into his eyes! He'll try to snare you like he 
did that bag-o'-bones charlatan!" 


There was some nervous shifting. The man holding Melicard 
finally broke down and tore through the doorway, but not 
before shoving his charge to the floor. Melicard did not rise. 


Cursing, Quorin stepped back a little, directing the others to 
do the same. Not once did his blade leave Erini's throat. She, 
in turn, continued to watch him with an obsessive loathing that 
disturbed even Darkhorse. 


"Your men abandon you, Master Quorin! Their deep faith is 
so touching to observe!" The advisor was a very dangerous 
adversary. Even with his plots crumbling, he refused to give in 


SHADOW STEED 195 


to his fears. As long as he held the knife and prevented both 
himself and his men from falling to Darkhorse's gaze, there 
was little the eternal could do without causing harm to the 
princess. Anything he tried might still give Quorin enough time 
to cut her throat. 


The key to this situation was whatever Quorin utilized to 
keep Erini's abilities in check and the shadow steed's senses a 
bit muted. It was likely a Seeker artifact—there were always too 
many of the blasted things around!—but Darkhorse knew of no 
way he could remove it from the chamber without Quorin 
reacting first. 


It was Melicard who finally decided it. Melicard, ignored by 
all but Erini, considered helpless by even her. Beaten and 
minus one arm, he had lain as still as a corpse after being 
tossed to the floor. Quorin, of course, had had other, weightier 
matters on his mind. He did not, therefore, hear or see the king 
rise quietly from the floor, his one good eye fixed on the 
counselor's back. The advisor's remaining men, also more 



concerned about the foreboding steed pawing at the floor before 
them, paid him no mind, either. As for Erini, her view was 
obstructed by Quorin until the last moment. Even then, to her 
credit, she gave no sign, not even stiffening. 


Darkhorse saw all and acted accordingly. Whether Melicard 
succeeded or failed, if there was an opening, the shadow steed 
would seize it. 


The king stretched out his one good arm, tottered. Darkhorse 
quickly filled the silence that had been extending far too long 
already. 


"What do you hope for now, human? To stand ready until 
the Dragon King himself stalks into this room?" 


"If need be," Mal Quorin grated. "I doubt I'll have to wait 
that long. My only problem is to get rid of you somehow, and I 
think—" 


Reaching forward, Melicard grabbed his treacherous aide by 
the collar and pulled him back. Quorin's hand went up, the 
blade briefly nicking Erini's chin, but no more. One of the 
remaining soldiers grabbed the two, who were falling down in 
one tangled pile of arms and legs. 


Darkhorse struck. The man holding Erini, panicking, tried to 
shield himself with her. Against a physical attack, he would 
have succeeded. Darkhorse had other tools at his command, 
though. He hit the floor with his right front hoof, creating a 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


wicked split in the stonework and the earth below. The crack 
that formed shot unerringly beneath the legs of both the 
princess and her captor. The soldier looked down in horror as 
an eye stared back at him from within the crevasse. In his 
shock, he loosened his grip on his prisoner. Erini suddenly 
went flying from his hands, pulled free by the power of 
Darkhorse. She landed softly by the eternal's side. As her feet 
touched the floor, the guard's left it, or rather, ;'(left him. The 
floor where he stood collapsed into the crevasse, the guard with 
it. His screams had barely died before the floor had sealed itself 
back up, looking remarkably untouched. 


"I was always a slave to the dramatic," Darkhorse rumbled 


to anyone who could hear him. 


Erini was ignoring him, her only concern Melicard, whom 
she probably imagined dead by now. Her rescue had taken only 
a few seconds, though to her and her unfortunate captor, it 
must have seemed far longer. Darkhorse laughed. Concentrating 
now on Quorin, he used his powers to pull the hapless 
counselor into the air and, while the traitor struggled to regain 
control of his limbs, transported the medallion to a place that 
burned hot enough to melt even Seeker magic away. Darkhorse 
contemplated sending Mal Quorin there as well, but he knew 
that there might yet be need even for something as foul as this 



creature was. 
The princess, however, was not so understanding. While her 


abilities had been hampered by the protective artifact the 
counselor had worn, her fury had grown unchecked. Now, 
feeling the release of those abilities, she struck without thinking. 
Mal Quorin screamed and tried to scratch off his own skin. 
The last of his men had run off the moment he had been thrust 
into the air. There was no one here left to save him. Erini 
planned to have her revenge now for everything he had done or 


planned to do. 


"'Erini!" Melicard's faint call went unheeded, so caught up 


was the princess in the full force of her own power. 


"PRINCESS\" Darkhorse roared. His voice cut through 
where the king's had failed. "Princess Erini! Stop and think!" 


Stop and think? The look on her bitter face indicated that she 
planned to do anything but that. The time for thinking was long 
past. Now, it was time for vengeance. 


Darkhorse persisted. "Think what you do to yourself, prin-


SHADOW STEED 197 


cess, not this piece of rotting offal! You might become like 
Shade, so in love with your power that you lose your humanity." 


She seemed to stir then, for her eyes travelled from her prey 
to the ebony stallion and finally to her betrothed. Melicard and 
Erini matched gazes briefly. Whatever the princess saw in the 
one eye of the king drained the need for vengeance from her 
heart. Darkhorse felt her withdraw her power back into herself. 
Above them, Mal Quorin, drenched in sweat and pale as bone, 
sighed and collapsed. The shadow steed brought him slowly 
back to the floor. 


"Melicard." The princess looked ashamed, as if somehow 
her madness had made her less a creature than even Quorin 
was. 


The king would have none of that. He had used the last of 
his strength in his battle and could only force himself up 
enough to lean on his elbow. He shook his head as his 
bride-to-be continued to berate herself and whispered something. 
Darkhorse, though he could have eavesdropped without 
either knowing, chose not to. There were some things that were 
meant to be private. 


Whatever Melicard said soothed, if not completely convinced, 
Erini. She smiled and seemed to regain some of her 
confidence. Tenderly, the novice sorceress touched Melicard 
where he had been crippled by the one artifact so many years 
before. 


His visage and arm became whole instantly. Darkhorse had 
to look closely before it became apparent that Erini had only 



given Melicard back his elfwood mask and limb and had not 
actually restored the missing pieces. Even for Darkhorse, that 
would have been an astounding achievement. 


Aided by the princess, Melicard rose to his feet and walked 
up to the shadow steed. For a time, neither human said 
anything to the eternal. He waited patiently, knowing some of 
the limits of their kind. Both of them had suffered greatly at the 
hands of the crumpled heap on the floor. 


"Thank you, dem—Darkhorse," Melicard finally began. He 
looked angry with himself. "And I dared to try and make you 
my slave. It's a wonder, great one, that you would even help 
one such as me." 


"The past kindnesses of Counselor Quorin made it nearly 
impossible at first, I must admit," Darkhorse responded wryly. 
"I did it as much for my own benefactor here," he indicated 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


the princess, "as anyone else, your majesty. I did it for your 
people as well. The Dragon King Silver is on his way even now 
with a host that may make all this subterfuge rather unnecessary." 
"And Quorin's men still hold the palace and the northern 


gate." 


"That is so, your majesty. Tell me, would your army turn 
back from its crusade into the Hell Plains if the sorcerer 
Drayfitt was found murdered?" 


Melicard's mouth dropped open. "Drayfitt? Murdered?" He 
turned toward Quorin. "I should kill him now and forgo the 
niceties of a public trial and execution!" 


Darkhorse shook his head. "While the effort was there, the 
true criminal is the warlock Shade—who has his own hand in 
this enterprise. He and the Dragon King have made a pact, 
though I would not trust either to adhere to it for very long. 
Shade is my true quest, but I will do what I have to in order to 
save your people from the more immediate threat." 


"They will likely go on," Melicard said, responding to the 
stallion's original question. "We have many other tricks. Drayfitt 
is a great loss—both to my plans and personally—but his death 
does not mean that all is lost." 


"Can you hold against the Silver Dragon's host?" 


Melicard looked at Erini. "If my bride-to-be will add her 
strength, perhaps." 


"My—what I am doesn't turn you?" 


"No more than what I am turned you." 


Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Darkhorse swore that 



the elfwood mask moved exactly as the king's face would have. 
There are all sorts of magic ... 


Erini smiled gratefully. "I don't know what I can do, but I 
will help as I can." 


Seeming to draw strength from that, Melicard looked up and 
said, "Then, the first thing we must do is take this palace 
back." 


XVIII 


The warlock Shade haunted the halls and chambers of the 
vast imperial palace of Talak undetected amidst the chaos 
commencing around him. Sentries rushing to and fro—whether 
loyalists or traitors Shade could not say and did not care—did 
not so much as glance at the hooded figure they passed, even 
those within an arm's reach of him. 


Unfolding himself at his destination, the warlock knelt down 
in the midst of the garden. Here, in such an excellent, centrally 
located area of the palace, he would release the last and largest 
clutch. 


When emerged from his sleeves were little more than amorphous 
shapes that flittered and darted about, as if in silent impatience. 
Unlike the bizarre searchers that he had summoned that other time, 
these were not living creatures in any sense of the word, merely 
bits of-magical energy shaped to do a particular task. Shade 
counted out an even dozen before he broke off the spell. His head 
throbbed briefly, but he assured himself that it was only a headache 
this time. There had been no farther losses of memory—as far as 
he knew—and his personality had been stable for days. He was 
himself at last and nothing would change that again. 


Without a word, he sent the tiny shapes out and about. They 
would spread through the palace. No comer of the massive 
edifice would remain uninvaded. 


He drew back into the shadows then, wondering how long it 
would take Darkhorse to detect him once the masking spell that 
had protected him thus far was removed. Not too long, he 
supposed, but long enough. 


The warlock smiled to himself as pictured the scene to come. 


Retaking the palace was child's play, as far as Darkhorse was 
concerned. Melicard found and freed a number of the prisoners 


________________ 199 ________________ 


200 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 201 


the counselor's men had captured in the cells surrounding his 
own. Though still outnumbered and without weapons, they 
were a force to be reckoned with, even forgetting that the king 
also had a sorceress and a "demon" to aid him. 



After a thorough search through more than half the building, 
it became apparent to all that the palace was, for the most part, 
deserted now. Only a few stragglers, looters generally, were 
uncovered. Melicard's men rearmed themselves quickly on 
weapons left abandoned in the corridors. The reason for the 
abandonment soon revealed itself to them, thanks to a looter 
caught trying to ransack the king's chambers. Staring up at 
Darkhorse all the while he spoke, the prisoner informed them 
of how Quorin's men knew now that Melicard had unleashed his 
personal horde of demons that he had saved just for this 
moment. Allowing the traitors to seize the palace had only been 
a ploy to discover who was guilty and who was not. Even now, 
men were fleeing for their lives from the monsters they knew 
were following them relentlessly. 


Darkhorse understood. Seeing him and knowing that he had 
come for their master, Quorin's underlings had panicked. In 
their haste to get as far from the shadow steed as possible, they 
had likely rushed past their fellows without pausing, spouting 
out garbled warnings as they ran. As was always the case with 
fear, the stories had grown, each man shouting some tale of a 
demon come to get them. Panic escalated. 


The eternal chuckled as he told Melicard, "Apparently, I was 
too pessimistic about your chances of quick success! You have 
my apologies. King Melicard!" 


"We have you to thank for our easy victory. Let us hope that 
those at the gate surrender so easily." 


"Shall I go there and see to it?" 


The king shook his head. "I am grateful, but your appearance 
may panic people near the gate. I need as much order as 
possible." 


Erini, who had vanished momentarily from the throne room, 
returned at that moment with another man, an officer in the 
dress of Gordag-Ai. Melicard knew him, but the princess 
introduced him to Darkhorse, who learned the man was a 
Captain Iston or something. Iston seemed in awe of the ebony 
stallion, but his military training succeeded in keeping him 
making much of a spectacle of himself. 


Wn Iston apologized profusely to the king for his failure 


to keep the princess safe. From the look on her face, Darkhorse 
hazarded a guess that Erini had heard the same thing only 
moments earlier. 


"I've already explained to you," she said, interrupting his 
fourth apology, "I am a sorceress, captain. I transported myself 
out of the room by accident. There was no way for any of your 
men to keep watch over me." Beneath her calm tone, the 
eternal noted some bitterness. Erini had still not forgiven 
herself for the men who had died trying to rescue her. 


While they talked, rather too idly in Darkhorse's opinion, 
something nagged at the corner of his mind. Something obvi



ous that they had all been missing, something about the 
crooked counselor... 


Of course! Darkhorse cursed himself for not thinking of it 
sooner. He turned immediately to King Melicard, who was 
engrossed in a discussion concerning the chameleon cloaks 
Iston's two men had worn. "Your majesty!" 


When a tall, pitch-black stallion demands attention, he receives 
it instantly. Melicard fell back under the glittering gaze. 
"What is it? Is Shade within the palace walls?" 


Darkhorse snorted. "I doubt I would be able to tell even if he 
was, but that is not what I wanted to say! I have a request of you!" 


"Name it. I owe you too much to deny you anything." 


"Mal Quorin's chambers. I want to see them." 


Erini's face darkened. Melicard nodded grimly and looked 
rather irritated with himself. "I should've thought of that long 
before. He's the link, after all, to the Dragon King—and likely 
Shade, too." 


"Yes! It was he who provided Drayfitt with the book that the 
drakes had uncovered! I wonder what else remains hidden in 
his rooms?" 


"I'll have someone drag him back up here!" Melicard 
rubbed his chin. "He'll show you everything even if I have to 
remove a few fingers and toes to get him to do it." 


The eternal disagreed. "Mal Quorin is the last creature I 
would want in that room. From the tricks he has already 
played, I would not put it past him to have a few more ready 
and waiting for him. No, I think I would prefer to probe his 
room on my own. Your good counselor is best left admiring the 
cobwebs of his new abode." 


"There's much in what you say. Do you need someone to 
lead you to it?" 


202 
RICHARD A. KNAAK 
SHADOW STEED 
203 

"It is not a place I think I would care to enter without some 
prior inspection. I am not impervious to everything." 


Melicard smiled. "I was beginning to think you were unstoppable. 
However, if otherwise is the case, I can have one of 
my men show you the way." 



Darkhorse dipped his head in the closest he could come to a 
bow. "That would be appreciated." 


Little more than a few minutes passed before he was being 
led to the ex-advisor's personal sanctum by one nearly panic-
stricken soldier. Even knowing that the great leviathan trotting 
next to him was an ally of the king did not stop the man from 
shaking and stuttering. It was an amusing sight, a soldier who 
was obviously a longtime veteran shaking in his boots, but 
Darkhorse forbore from saying or doing anything that would 
shame the human. 


At last, they came to a set of doors that somehow arrogantly 
proclaimed power even though they were as plain as any 
Darkhorse had seen here. He was interested also to note how 
far they were from the king's chambers. Quorin had set up his 
own tiny little kingdom in the palace. It was a wonder that he 
had, according to Erini and Melicard, always seemed to be 
around when you expected him least. 


Darkhorse dismissed his guide, who happily departed at the 
quickest walk he could manage while still seeming to keep his 
dignity. The ebony stallion waited until he was alone and then 
began to inspect the entrance for traps or tricks. 


The first was simple yet devious. There was an intricate 
triple lock in the door. A normal key would merely cause one 
lock to be exchanged for another, all without the one turning 
the key realizing it. He would then find that the door was still 
locked. Trying again would set the third lock into play. It was 
an endless cycle. The secret, evidently, was a special key that 
Quorin had no doubt carried on his person, one that caught all 
three lock mechanisms simultaneously. A very impressive piece 
of work, the stallion decided, but not one that would give him 
any trouble. Darkhorse did not need a key and, in fact, could 
have ignored the lock altogether. The door was so reinforced 
that nothing short of a raging, full-grown bull would have been 
able to break it down, and that only after several painful 
attempts. That meant nothing to the creature who could create 
fissures in a mountain with the mere tap of his hooves. In 
respect to King Melicard and Princess Erini, however, Darkhorse 


decided to forgo splintering it into so much scrap. Instead, 
probing the locks again, he caused all three locks to open at the 
same time, as if the key were actually in there. 


After that, it was an even simpler task to make the door open 
up by itself. Darkhorse laughed silently at the picture he knew 
he must have made. Not once, however, had he considered 
giving himself hands and arms, useful though they might have 
been. The form he wore was more his own than the shapeless 
mass he had originated with. With his abilities intact, it would 
serve him as well as any other. 


The shadow steed peered inside. 


"Curious," he finally muttered before stepping into the room. 


Mal Quorin's personal chambers had an odd feel to them, as 
if the rooms, at least the front ones, were more for display than 



actual use. Things were just too perfect, too much what one 
would have expected, almost as if even the placement of the 
chair by the fireplace had been choreographed. This was not 
the sort of room a man like Quorin would have been happy 
with. This was a place where he spoke in private to the king or 
pretended to do work. 


Moving swiftly to the next doorway, he noted that the 
bedroom was the same. Again, everything seemed appropriate 
for a man of Mal Quorin's rank and position. Too appropriate. 
The fixtures were just too gaudy to be believed. The bed was 
large, well-built and expensive, but hardly right. A row of 
well-preserved tomes on a shelf revealed the typical books 
concerning politics and history, including, ironically, several by 
the late Drayfitt. 


Darkhorse laughed, his tone somewhat bitter, wondering if 
any of them had been read. 


These were not Quorin's personal quarters, he concluded. 
These were the ones that the traitor had made up for the sake of 
appearances. Where then...? 


He backed out of the room and looked down both ends of the 
corridor. One would take him back toward the Princess Erini 
and the others. The opposite direction ended in a cul-de-sac and 
included two other doors on one wall. Darkhorse stared at the 
blank wall across from those two doors. Elegant paintings and 
intricate sculptures adorned it. Nothing seemed amiss... from 
the hallway. 


Darkhorse reentered Quorin's chambers, heading straight 
into the bedroom. Probing with his mind, he soon discovered 


204 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


205 


what he sought. There was a spell masking it, a strong one that 
even he had not noticed at first, caught up as he was by the 
general wrongness he had felt upon first arriving, 


Not so clever, dear one! Someone, perhaps Mal Quorin, 
perhaps not, had sealed the other rooms on this side of the 
corridor, making it seem as if they had never existed. The only 
true way to enter them now was through the counselor's 
chambers. He found a switch of sorts hidden in the back wall 
of the bedroom. Darkhorse wasted no time, tripping the switch 
and immediately stepping back. After so many mishaps, the 
shadow steed was trying to be cautious. His senses had proven 
too little too often in the past few days. 


The wall slid open without the slightest hint of any danger. 



Searching, Darkhorse detected nothing potentially threatening 
in the walls, ceiling, or floor. There was, though, a subtle spell 
emanating from the secret doorway that tried in vain to turn his 
thoughts to anything but the desire to enter. A human would 
have been affected and would have likely walked away, suddenly 
caught up in some other notion. Darkhorse overwhelmed the 
spell easily, eliminating it so that the king's men would have no 
difficulty entering at some later time. That done, the stallion 
nosed the secret door open further and slowly entered. Before 
he was even halfway in, he already sensed that here, indeed, 
was the true domicile of the traitorous advisor. 


It was dark in here, as dark as the former inhabitant's life. 
Adjusting his physical senses, Darkhorse brought the world of 
Mal Quorin into focus. It was not a place he would have 
invited the Princess Erini. 


"And they call me demon when abominations such as this 
roam freely, advising heads of state!" 


The room he stood in was filled with grisly trophies. Skulls 
adorned one entire shelf, all of them polished smooth. Darkhorse 
wondered if each had died at the hands of the counselor 
himself. Possibly, they had all been rivals for power at one time 
or another. Hanging from the opposing wall, as if to allow the 
skulls something to gaze at, was an array of sinister and 
unusual weaponry. Most had not been designed to bring about a 
quick and painless death. Mal Quorin seemed to have a 
fondness for serrated edges. 


Perhaps I should have let Princess Erini erase his existence 
from this world! Better yet, perhaps I should have done it 
myself instead of preserving his foul life! 


Death had come freely to this room many times, he noted. 
The stench assaulted him on many planes. The room beyond 
emanated even worse. Darkhorse did not even bother stepping 
toward it. He knew what he would find. Quorin's playroom. 


Does this truly fall under the definition of humanity? Darkhorse 
wondered. He knew there and then that he should have let the 
princess have her way with the fiend while they were in the 
cell. When this was over, Mal Quorin would pay... and 
pay... and pay. Darkhorse was not like humans; he had no 
qualms about the rights and wrongs of punishment. Mal Quorin 
had now forfeited any right he had to a continued existence. 
Whatever use he might have been, it was not worth it. Not now. 


None of what he had discovered so far, however, had any 
bearing on the reasons he had come here. Quorin's personal 
atrocities aside—though not too far aside—the man had left 
little other trace of his double side. Darkhorse had expected 
charts or something that would give an indication of what had 
been planned. There seemed to be nothing. His search would need 
to be more thorough. Frowning, the shadow steed concentrated. 


Drawers slowly opened. Cabinets doors freely swung forward, 
revealing their contents. A panel hidden in the wall 
snapped into existence. Even the secret door through which he 
had entered opened wider. 



"Show me what you have," he whispered to the room. 


Parchments, maps, talismans... everything that had been 
stored over the years in one place or another came flying out 
into the air. One by one, they flew past the gaze of the eternal, 
who studied each with eyes that saw more than the physical. As 
each piece was dismissed, it would return to its point of origin, 
even placing itself in its original position. The last was not due 
to any courtesy toward the treacherous counselor, but rather 
because Melicard might find reason to inspect these belongings 
himself. What might have been of no significance to Darkhorse 
might prove vital to the king. 


The speed with which he inspected each and every item 
would have horrified Erini or the others. Things flew by as little 
more than blurs, depending on what they were. Time was of 
the essence, true, but that in no way meant that Darkhorse was 
being careless. If there was something of importance to him 
among Quorin's effects, he would find it. 


He did, though it took him more than half the search to find 
even that one item. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


A tiny box, quite ordinary in appearance. To most, it would 
have seemed the sort of thing the man might have kept a 
keepsake or two in, save that the imprisoned counselor was 
hardly the sort of person to keep remembrances. Moreover, the 
box was not quite what it was supposed to be. Power had been 
infused into it; so much, in fact, that the lid refused his first 
attempts to open it, something that impressed upon him the 
abilities of the creator. There were few entities alive now with 
such power. A Dragon King would have the ability. ' 


Darkhorse cursed and set the box aside. It would require his 
full concentration and that was not something he had command 
of, not, at least, until he was through with his search. Impatience 
was eating at his thoughts and Darkhorse knew he was going to 
grow more and more careless if he was not careful. So much to 
do and, despite what seemed an endless night, dawn was fast 
approaching. If the Silver Dragon and his host were not within 
sight of Talak already, they soon would be. 


His search progressed with very little else to show for his 
efforts. Even the items of these rooms revealed little of Quorin's 
misdeeds or what the plots of his master still entailed. It was as 
if the man had only started his life a short time before joining 
the lower ranks of the city-state's government. Possibly it was 
so. Possibly it was also the case that Quorin kept most of what 
he needed to know in his head. Such an agent would be useful 


to the Dragon King. 


Just as the shadow steed was about to concede defeat, a 
yellowed parchment giving off a very distinctive aura caught 



his eye. Its age was uncalculable, save that he knew with only 
a glance that it was Vraad in origin. Darkhorse did .not take 
time out to study it. Instead, he completed his search of the rest 
of the effects, moving more slowly and cautiously now. 


Three other pieces caught his attention before he was finished. 
The first was a dagger with an inscription dating it to the 
time just prior to the Turning War. It had a taint to it that 
Darkhorse suspected belonged to Cabe's father, Azran. The 
second of the trio was another parchment, one of recent origin. 
While he could not sense anything overly malevolent about it, 
something disturbed him. The final addition was a talisman, 
obviously of Seeker origin, that he found in the same drawer as 
the box. Its purpose, too, escaped him for the moment, but any 
such item that Quorin would deem worthy of keeping interested 
him for that reason alone. The shadow steed's spirits both rose 


SHADOW STEED 207 


and fell as he surveyed his tiny collection. It was possible he 
had found what he had originally sought, but now came the 
difficulty of understanding just what it was he had found. 


The box interested him most, but it would also probably be 
the most exasperating piece of the lot. He inspected the dagger 
first. It was, as he had suspected, a creation of Azran's and 
definitely one of his first attempts. The madman's mark was on 
it. The dagger would kill with only a touch. Even a nick was 
fatal. Close examination revealed the blade as nothing more 
than that. Unlike the other items he had looked over, Darkhorse 
did not replace the dagger in its original location. With some 
satisfaction, he raised it into the air before him and sent it on a 
journey that would only end when it reached the sun. Even a 
toy left behind by Azran had limits to its capacity to survive. 


The Seeker talisman seemed to have little in the way of 
power and, though its use remained a mystery, Darkhorse 
doubted it could be of any importance. He returned it to where 
it had come from. That left the parchments and, of course, the 
box. After some deliberation, he had the Vraad parchment rise 
up before him. Defenses ready, the shadow steed slowly made 
the yellowed and crumbling sheet unfold. It had not survived 
the millennia as well as Shade's book apparently had, but that 
it still existed at all said something for the power invested in it. 
He only hoped that it was not protected by some secondary 
spell. His probing had revealed nothing of the sort, but one 
could never be too certain where the Vraad were concerned. 


He recognized the mark, though he had seen it only once or 
twice, and that in the far, far distant past: the dragon banner. 
There was a Vraad clan name attached to that banner, but it 
escaped his memory at the moment. He could only recall that 
the warlock had been part of this selfsame clan. 


It was a map. A map detailing the division of a land. There 
was a list of almost two dozen items, names perhaps, some of 
which had been crossed out and all of which were more or less 
illegible. Darkhorse discarded the parchment in disgust. Only 
the Vraad would think of preserving something so minor as a 
list of their division of spoils from some plot. The great 



conquerors. Despite himself, he laughed. 


That left him only two items: the newer, or, at least more 
recent parchment and the box. Once more he tried to pry it 
open with his powers and once more he failed. Furious, he 
allowed it to drop heavily onto the floor. Darkhorse used his 


208 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 209 


skills to snatch up the parchment in its place and, with thinning 
patience, unfurled the new item completely before common 
sense reminded him of the traps that might lurk within. 


Something briefly struck at him. A human would have died 
from the blow, his heart literally bursting open. Darkhorse, on 
the other hand, suffered nothing more than annoyance at his 
own lack of thought. Had this been a stronger spell, he might 
have been injured—or worse. 


The blow lessened until it was no longer noticeable. The 
ebony stallion inspected the parchment. It was blank. Its sole 
purpose had been to kill whoever had opened it. Darkhorse 
wondered if it had been meant as a last resort for Quorin should 
he have failed his master, or if the foul counselor had intended 
to give it to Erini or the king at some late point. Whatever the 
case, it was now no more than an unused sheet. He returned it to 
its original resting place and once again began inspecting the box. 


-"You, my friend," he muttered to the object, "have a story 
to tell! I wonder what lies within your maw—and what I must 
do to pry that maw open..." 
The spell keeping it closed had an odd feel to it, almost as if 
it were incomplete and that, somehow, it was that incompleteness 
that gave it strength. The spell was a lock and completing it 
would be like using the key—but what key would fit? 


/ have no time for your little games! Darkhorse ranted 
silently at the box. The key would not be obvious to someone 
who had not searched the entire area already. If would have to 
be magical in some sense, but subtle as well. Only a tiny link 
was missing from the spell binding the box shut. What he 
needed was something almost insignificant in power but— 


He recalled the Seeker talisman from where he had sent it. 
Could it be? It would explain why Quorin had kept such a 
weak artifact and why it seemed to have no detectable purpose. 
Add to that the fact that it had been located in the same drawer 
as the box. Why not put the key in the same place as the lock it 
was meant for, especially since most people would never 
connect the two. Like hiding something in plain sight. More 
and more, Darkhorse convinced himself that he had chosen 
correctly. In the end, however, there was only one way to find 
out, and that was to see if his "key" fit. 


Recalling some of his past mistakes, he surrounded the 
container and the talisman before beginning. With so much 
effort put into keeping the box sealed, it was possible that what 


he unleashed might be devastating. Possible, but doubtful. 
Unlike the parchment, Darkhorse sensed that this item had a 



more useful purpose. 


With his mind, he brought the talisman to the box and laid it 
on top. The pattern he sensed did not seem right. Darkhorse 
shifted the talisman to a standing position in front of the 
container. The binding field altered, but again it was not the 
complete pattern that he sought. 


After a moment's thought, he caused the medallion to lay 
flat. This time, he brought the box to the talisman, carefully 
placing it directly on top of the Seeker device. 


A perfectly formed pattern momentarily flickered into existence, 
then cancelled itself out completely. He had succeeded in 
unlocking the box. 


That success did not ease his mind. Darkhorse still had to 
open the container. 


Something nagged at the comer of his mind. He was beginning 
to dislike those feelings and, under present circumstances, 
chose to ignore it as simple growing paranoia. It might even 
be, the stallion decided, that the box itself was trying to turn 
him away before he opened it and discovered its secret. 


Still, there was no sense in taking too many chances.... 


He turned the container so that the lid would open toward 
him. In this way, the brunt of any blow would be away from 
where he stood. The precaution might be all for nought, but 
there was no harm in taking it. 


With a careful touch of his will, Darkhorse raised the lid high. 


Briefly, there was a flash of brilliant light, so brilliant that it 
illuminated the far half of the chamber as well as the sun might 
have, had it been brought inside. The flash lasted no longer 
than two, maybe three seconds and then died completely. 
Darkhorse's eyes, adjusted to the dark of the room, needed a 
moment to readjust. When they had, the shadow steed scanned 
his surroundings, searching for any minute difference. There 
was none. Despite the fact that he had shielded the box, he had 
expected some altering. Curious, he dissolved the shield. 


The box looked and felt harmless. Darkhorse probed it 
closely. It was as if Quorin's toy had used up whatever power it 
had contained and now needed to be recharged. Where had the 
power gone, though? Darkhorse almost wondered what would 
have happened if he had taken the flash full on. It had been 
more than raw power, though time had not allowed him much 


210 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 211 


of a chance to discover what else it had been. Some spell, but 
for what purpose? 


In frustration, he dropped the box to the floor and crushed it 



beneath one of his hooves. "Curse your creator! If I should 
ever find that our paths have crossed..." 


It was a foolish act and one he instantly regretted. Darkhorse 
kicked at the remnants of the container, knowing that it was 
likely he had destroyed his only clue. 


Darkhorse was about to return to Melicard when he became 
aware of something—no! Someone—in the outer rooms. There 
was no mistaking that presence. Not so close. 


"Your madness has finally led you to—" he burst into the 
room, defenses and offenses at the ready... only to find no 
sign of his adversary. 


No sign of Shade. 


Or was that the case? Darkhorse moved toward the wall to 
his left, sensing a slight trace emanating from that direction. 
Shade's magic. It was too distinctive, too Vraad to be any 
other's. There were cracks in the wall, too, as if the warlock 
had struck out against it before his abrupt departure. 


Darkhorse laughed. Even now, he could sense the warlock's 
presence elsewhere in the palace. This time, there would be no 
escape. This time, Darkhorse would confront him. 


And one of us will play the final hand.. .perhaps both of us, 
if need be! 


The shadow steed laughed again, but it was a hollow laugh, 
devoid of even the least bit of humor. 


In the place where he had chosen to wait. Shade nodded to 
himself and whispered, "So. Now comes the time. At last." 


Two men had been left to guard Mal Quorin's cell. Even 
though at the time the king had been shorthanded and no one 


had known that Quorin's men would rout, Melicard had decided 
that sparing two men was still worth the price. It said 
something about the importance of the prisoner—and how 
much King Melicard desperately wanted his former advisor to 
remain where he was until Talak could mete out proper justice 
to a man who had betrayed everyone. 


For the last few hours, their prisoner had remained quiet. It 
had been a welcome change from the first hour, when Quorin 
had recovered somewhat from the princess's assault and started 
ranting how they would all pay when his lord and master 
crushed the city beneath his paw. The guards, still weak 
themselves from their own ordeal, had been taking turns 
napping, trying to build up their strength. Once in a while, the 
one awake would look through the barred window in the door 
of Quorin's cell and make certain that the prisoner had not 
slipped through the cracks in the cell walls or some such 
impossibility. Each time, Quorin had still been there. The ten-
minute ritual quickly became something of a joke—until one of 



the sentries stood up, stretching his worn legs, and glanced 
inside. 


The chains hung loosely. Of the traitor, there was not the 
slightest sign. The cell had no other openings... unless the 
prisoner had slithered through the cracks. 


Though the panicked guard and his soon-to-be-panicked 
companion could not have known it, Mal Quorin had vanished 
from his place of confinement just about the time Darkhorse 
had opened the lid of the box. Even had they known and been 
able to make the connection, there still remained one more 
question, one that greatly outweighed the question of how he 
had escaped. 


That question was, of course, where was he? 


Melicard paced the room, trying to explain again to his 
headstrong bride-to-be what he wanted of her and why. 


"Erini, I want you to stay back here—" 


"Where it's safeT' The princess shook her head vehemently. 
"This will one day be my kingdom, too—unless you've changed 
your mind about me—" 


"Never!" 


"Then let me defend it with you, Melicard." Erini took a 
deep breath and stepped away from the king. She was more 
nervous than she wanted to admit. Does it ever become easier? 


212 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Darkhorse seemed to take the entire thing in stride, as if 
combatting immortal warlocks and sinister Dragon Kings was 
an everyday matter—and perhaps it was with him. The princess, 
on the other hand, while ready to give her life for the 
protection of her people, still contained within her a very 
human desire to be safe and secure from the troubles around 
her. 


"Without Mal Quorin to lead them, the traitors have no one 
to turn to. It will be over in an hour, maybe less. We have a fair 
idea now who belonged to him, thanks to some of our prisoners. 
At worst, we shall round up everyone, replace the gate 
complement with men loyal to me, and sort out the innocent 
and guilty here in the palace. Crude but effective. Hardly 
something requiring your talents—which I will need when the 
drakes arrive." 


"The drakes..." Erini shook her head, not because she 
disagreed with Melicard's summation but because the lack of 
sleep was finally taking its toll upon her. She stumbled 
momentarily. 


Melicard succeeded in grabbing her arms, preventing her 



from causing herself any harm by slipping. "This is the reason 
I especially do not wish your aid in this matter. I want to 
protect you; I will not argue that point. I know, however, that 
your abilities make you invaluable to the safety of my—our— 
people. That is why I want you to take the time you have to 
sleep. Rest. You have not fought the battles I have. You have 
not had to go without sleep for days. What happens when the 
Dragon King arrives and you don't have the concentration to 
make use of your abilities? What happens then?" 


What, indeed? Erini knew he was correct. Knew it, but did 
not like it. She wanted to be there at his side for every moment 
that became available to them, even in the middle of a battle if 
circumstances warranted it. Yet, if she truly wanted a future 
here, the princess knew that she would be best able to guarantee 
that by being fit and ready when the drake host arrived. 
Melicard admitted he had many tricks of his own, long-term 
preparations for just such a day, but the aid of a spellcaster of 
any sort would only strengthen their chances. They were hardly 
assured of victory. The Silver Dragon had been preparing for 
this day as well—with better success so far. 


"You will face danger enough," her betrothed continued. 
His grip had changed from a spontaneous one designed to keep 


SHADOW STEED 213 


her from falling to one that threatened to never release her from 
his side. Erini would have been happy enough to suffer such a 
fate. "The Dragon King will note fairly quickly that there 
is a sorceress aiding in the defenses. You may be personally 
assaulted." 


The princess shivered. She felt herself brave, but... 


"I have something for you." One hand released its hold 
reluctantly, vanished, then returned, this time bearing a familiar-
looking object. 


"This is Quorin's talisman." Erini tried to push it away, 
wanting nothing to remind her of the insidious man. 


"Not his, but one.similar. Stronger. It was once mine. I've 
not worn it for some time, not since after the... you'll need it 
more." 


She accepted it reluctantly, knowing this was one point it 
would be useless to argue over with him. As he placed it 
around her neck, a sudden, insane fear crept over her. "Melicard. 
Do you think we have any chance?" 


"Talak has stood before. We also have Darkhorse. He's 
promised us the aid of the Bedlams, and I know from past 
experience that they are up to the task." 


"Where are they? Why haven't they arrived yet?" 


"Who can predict what these spellcasters will do?" He 
leaned closer and whispered, "I have enough trouble with just 
one. The one who so readily saved my soul after I twisted it 



into something of a mockery." 


"It wasn't that difficult. You'd had nearly twenty years of 
free life. I only reminded you of what that life had offered 
once." 


Melicard broke away from her. "Which reminds me also of 
the tasks at hand." He snapped his fingers, summoning four 
men he had borrowed from Iston's complement. "Escort her 
majesty to her quarters and remain there. See to it she gets 
some rest." 


Both of them knew that the princess could easily bypass her 
watchers with the aid of her abilities, but Melicard also knew 
that Erini felt guilty about the trouble that her accidental 
departure had caused them during the coup. The princess knew 
he was counting on that. 


Before allowing herself to be escorted away, Erini stepped 
over to Melicard for one final time, reached up, and kissed him 
in full view of the others. She was going to get a reputation for 


214 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


being brazen at this rate, she knew, but there was always the 
chance that something terrible might happen while they were 
separated. Reluctantly separating herself from the stunned king, 
Erini rejoined her escort and gave them permission to depart. 
For her own sake, she dared not look back until she knew for a 
fact that Melicard was no longer in sight. 


In the halls, it seemed impossible that there was still a great 
threat to the safety of this city—her city. The palace was nearly 
silent. Only if she listened closely could she hear men running 
or marching in the distance. One last patrol was searching 
through this massive edifice in the remote possibility that some 
of Mal Quorin's men were still in hiding. 


Captain Iston, on his way back to the king, stopped her in 
the hall. His face was worn, but he looked willing to take on 
the entire horde if that would keep his mistress safe. His 
mistress and one other, based on the first words that escaped 
his lips. "Galea! Your majesty! I—I beg your pardon! I wanted 
to ask—" 


"—if I could see how Galea was doing?" Though they had 
failed to spirit her away, Iston and his men had succeeded in 
rescuing her two ladies. Unfortunately, Iston had never had any 
time to actually speak with Galea. Knowing how difficult it had 
been for her to leave Melicard, Erini smiled and added, "Of 
course, I will. You have my promise." 


"My deepest gratitude, your majesty." The officer bowed 
and hurried on his way. 


The walk to her personal chambers was uneventful, with the 
exception of the notion, which rose twice in her thoughts, that 
Shade was so very nearby. Once, she stared at one of the walls, 
thinking he was there. The second time, Erini had the oddest 
feeling that she had just walked over an area where the warlock 



should have been standing. It puzzled her once she realized that 
he was in neither of those two places. Why would she imagine 
such a thing? Had recent events finally taken its toll on her? 
Was Erini losing all sense of reality? 


Sleep began to look very wonderful, very precious. Melicard 
was correct; if the princess did not sleep, she would be useless 
to him when the siege began. 


Before dismissing her escort, she peeked into the rooms 
belonging to Magda and Galea. Magda, ever in control even 
after surviving a coup attempt, looked up from where she was 


SHADOW STEED 215 


sitting. Beside her and lying asleep in bed, was Galea. The tall 
woman rose and walked quietly over to her mistress. 


"Yes, your majesty?" 


"How is she? How are both of you?" 


"She feared more for your life and that of her dashing 
captain that she did for her own. Galea is worn out, nothing 
more. I promised to sit with her for a while in order to calm her 
nerves. As for myself... I get along." 


Erini could not help smiling slightly at Magda's attitude. 
"You are a rock that both of us sorely need." 


"I live to serve my mistress." 


"I'd be lost without you. When Galea awakes, tell her that 
her officer asked about her. He's fine. I also want you to get 
some rest, Magda. Even you have to sleep." 


"The same could be said about you, your majesty. I'll tell her 
and do as you say. I must admit to some difficulty with keeping 
my eyes open." 


"I know the feeling. Sleep well, Magda, for we may all need 
our wits about us come the morrow." 


"The morrow is almost here already," the plain woman 
commented. "May you sleep well, also, my lady, and please 
summon me if you have need of my services." 


"Thank you." 


Her escort stayed with her to the very end, even insisting on 
following her into her chambers. Not until every comer and 
every closet had been inspected, evidently at Melicard's command, 
did they deign to depart. Even then, two of them went 
no farther than the corridor outside. Erini was tempted to tell 
them the futility of such an action, but knew it was likely her 
betrothed's way of easing his own fears—though he knew as 
well as she that sorcery made it too easy for her to leave 
without anyone noticing. 


Alone, the princess was tempted to fall face-down into her 



pillow and lay there until sleep overcame her, which would not 
have proven much of a struggle, judging by the way she felt 
merely gazing at the bed. She found her thoughts intruding 
again; this time concerning the terrible situation they would 
probably find themselves in come daylight. If only Darkhorse 
had been able to warn them! she thought wearily. They would 
be here by now! 


He had tried. She knew that. Unfortunately, the commander 
had assumed it was the eternal who had killed Drayfitt and that 


216 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 217 


he was a servant to one of the Dragon Kings. It was a wonder 
that all the stallion had suffered was a momentary exile to—to— 
whatever plane had apparently spawned him, if she understood 
correctly. 


If only Melicard could have spoken with his men. He had 
mentioned once having methods for that, but, as with so many 
things, those methods had fallen under his "loyal" counselor's 
control. Now, they were no longer available. Quorin had been 
very thorough in his work. 


Drayfitt, Erini thought sadly. Drayfitt could have created 
something. He could have— 


It occurred to her at that point that she had the potential to do 
anything the elderly sorcerer had been capable of doing. 


The notion excited her, brought new energy to her worn 
body and mind. If she could somehow contact Melicard's 
forces in the Hell Plains, she might be able to convince them to 
turn around. Then, it would be up to Talak to hold out until the 
army returned. Surely with foes coming at him from two sides, 
even the Dragon King would be forced to capitulate or flee. 
Melicard had also mentioned his smaller armies of the north 
and west. While the princess did not quite understand under 
what circumstances Quorin had tricked them, she could only 
assume that if she was successful with the first, then she stood 
a good chance of contacting them as well. From there, time 
would be what mattered. Erini hoped the Bedlams would arrive 
before it was too late. 


How would she do it? Drayfitt had shown her little. Yet, the 
one thing he had always emphasized was, magic, in any form, 
worked more easily if one allowed it to come to oneself 
naturally. Allow her inner self to make each spell almost 
automatic. Few people had the ability or the patience to do 
that, which was why there had never been that many spellcasters 
of significant ability even prior to the Dragon Kings' secret 
purgings following the unsuccessful Turning War. 


The first thing she needed, Erini decided, was a comfortable 
but firm place to sit. Had she been, say, the Lady Gwendolyn 
Bedlam, she knew that it would have taken perhaps just the 
blink of an eye or the wave of a hand to perform the deed. Not 
having experience or the feel of sorcery, the princess was 
forced to do everything step-by-step. Hopefully, there would be 
time later on for someone to assist her in her practice. 



While the bed looked most comfortable, the floor seemed 


more practical. Erini did not want her spell ruined because the 
softness of her bed made her too sleepy. The floor was 
comfortable, but in no way conducive to rest—at least, not yet. 
Erini knew that, once her initial enthusiasm faded away, it 
would be near impossible for her to stay awake regardless of 
where she was or what she was doing. 


Seating herself on one of the carpeted areas, she closed her 
-eyes and tried to picture men encamped in a violent, smoke-
filled land. They would be rising about now, Erini supposed. 
She pictured the tents, saw the sentries, and imagined the 
details of their armor, the last based on those she had seen the 
palace guards wearing. The images faded briefly as exhaustion 
tried to seize the moment while her eyes were closed tight. 
Blinking, the princess cursed under her breath and tried again. 


The images grew sharper in her mind, but that was all they 
were—images. She could feel no connection between herself 
and anyone in the encampment. With growing disgust, Erini 
realized that she knew none of the officers by face, much less 
by name. How, then, could she hope to make contact with 
them? Was her only hope the possibility that she might be able 
to transport herself to the encampment? Would that even work? 
To date, her abilities had worked haphazardly at best, even 
taking into account Mal Quorin's damnable medallion. 


Her concentration was interrupted for what she considered 
permanently by the return of the feeling that there was another 
in the room with her, another by the name of Shade. Erini leapt 
to her feet, teetering ever so slightly. Nothing. For the space of 
a breath, she had felt his presence so near that it would not 
have surprised her to find him staring over her shoulder. Her 
weary mind succeeded in coming up with an answer that 
satisfied her for the moment; her erratic senses had no doubt 
picked up on the traces left behind by his previous visitation. 
That she had not noted them in the days between now and the 
time of that incident did not occur to her. 


Defeated, Erini slumped onto her bed. The appeal of falling 
asleep in her clothes renewed itself. Her arms were lead; the 
weight of the palace seemed to have been placed on her head. 
She wanted nothing but sleep now. Perhaps after some rest, the 
princess hoped, she would have some success. 


A hesitant knock on her chamber doors stirred her. "You 
may enter." 


It was Galea. There were rings under her eyes and it looked 


218 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


as if she had just woken up. She had dressed hastily, for her 
clothes were wrinkled and her hair was in complete disarray. 
"My lady?" 



"What is it, Galea?" 


The other woman looked perplexed. "You summoned me, 
your majesty." 


Had she? Try as she might, Erini could not recall doing so. 
Perhaps Galea had only dreamt that she had. "I've no need of 
you now, but if you have a moment, I have a message for you 
from someone important to you." 


From the way her companion's eyes lit up, the princess knew 
that Galea had already guessed who that certain someone was. 
Trying to smooth her hair into something more organized, the 
robust woman stepped respectfully inside, closing the door 
behind her. She hurried over to her mistress, unable to hide her 
anxiousness. 


Erini started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut as the 
feeling of the two of them not being alone threatened to 
overwhelm her. She glanced quickly around the bedroom. 


Galea looked at her in slight confusion. "Is something 
amiss, my lady?" 


"I'm not—" the princess turned to her, intending to calm 
both Galea's worries and her own—and found herself staring 
into eyes that no longer saw, but gazed blindly into the 
emptiness next to her. "Galea?" 


The gentle woman did not move. Erini could not even tell if 
she was breathing. 


It had not been her imagination and in her weariness she had 
failed to understand that. 


"Greetings to your majesty," a voice uttered indifferently. 


Even before her gaze turned on him, she knew it was Shade. 
He stood near the mirrors, which had turned black and opaque 
in his presence. Erini idly wondered whether there was something 
the warlock did not want to see. 


Shade slowly strode toward her. His face, though shadowed 
by the immense hood, was quite distinct this time, a complete 
change from their accidental meeting. A lock of silver hair 
hung down across his forehead. Erini shook her head, not 
believing any of this. Not now! Not after everything else! 


"I find I have need of you. Princess Erini. Other matters... 
well, you wouldn't understand, I imagine." 


She tried to open her mouth to scream for help, not knowing 


SHADOW STEED 219 


who or what could save her from this, but her lips seemed sewn 
shut. 


"My apologies, but I have more to say and much to do." He 



reached forward, not for her, Erini noticed, but for Galea. The 
princess reached out to block him, but her movements were 
uncoordinated for some reason and she only succeeded in 
falling over herself. As she tried to rise, Erini caught a glimpse 
of Shade whispering to the other woman. Galea nodded, still 
deep in the trance. 


Darkhorse! Where was Darkhorse? Managing to come to a 
kneeling position, the novice sorceress tried a spell, any spell, 
that would alert someone, preferably the ebony stallion, to her 
predicament. 


"Mustn't do that," Shade's hand was suddenly on her 
shoulder, though the warlock had been elsewhere a moment 
before. Galea was nowhere to be seen. Tears of frustration 
tumbled down her cheeks. She looked up into the cursed 
warlock's visage and tried to convey her anger with her eyes. 


He almost looked sympathetic. His next words even carried a 
tone of slight remorse with them. "I do not know why I am 
explaining myself to you. You are my only choice. I have to act 
now—who can say how long a better choice than you might 
take to come along? My time is limited and I find I grow more 
impatient." 


Her eyes narrowed as she pictured Darkhorse confronting 
and defeating him. Shade smiled knowingly, almost as if he 
could read those harsh thoughts. "Your savior will not notice 
your absence for some time to come. At present, he is 
chasing... me, you might say. Something to keep him busy." 
Shade held up the fingers of both hands and counted names off. 
"The Bedlams sleep. I owe them that much for now. They will 
sleep for quite some time. Your Melicard has a mighty horde 
approaching his very doorstep and, counterwise, the Dragon 
King Silver has an entire city prepared to face him. Poor 
Drayfitt, my sad benefactor, is dead—an unfortunate accident 
of his own doing. Finally, Darkhorse is chasing phantoms." 


There were still several fingers up as the warlock completed 
his insane recital. Erini studied them closely, still keeping a 
faint hope alive. Shade looked from her to the raised fingers 
and then slowly lowered them. "The rest were merely spares, 
I'm afraid. There's no one else." 


He pointed a single finger in her direction and indicated that 


220 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 221 


she should rise. There was no choice in the matter; Erini's body 
responded without her cooperation. The hooded warlock nodded 
in satisfaction. 


"I could have taken you in a much more violent manner, 
princess, but I'm trying to be reasonable. You have no idea 
how calm I've been. I could have leveled this city with your 
precious Melicard in it. The Dragon King would've been 
annoyed; he so wants to take Talak in one piece. There's so 
much I could have done, but things turned out for the best after 
all, so I suppose there's no use pursuing the subject." 



Erini could say nothing, do nothing. Only her eyes allowed 
her any opinion at all. They spoke volumes, mostly concerning 
the madness of the creature before her. 


Shade frowned and purposely looked away, only to find the 
blackened mirrors confronting his gaze. Turning back to his 
captive, he smiled again. It was a different son of smile, 
though, one tinged with guilt; an emotion Erini found it hard to 
accept that the warlock would feel under the present circumstances. 


"You may survive," he added, almost hopefully. "If you 
do, I'll return you safe and sound to here—or Gordag-Ai if the 
drakes succeed here. You have my oath on that." 


She gave him one last glare, telling him what she thought of 
his promises. 


The warlock grew oddly unsettled. "We have to go now." 


As Erini struggled futilely to make her body respond. Shade 
wrapped his seemingly endless cloak about both of them and 
pulled her toward him. The world seemed to warp around 
them—and then they were elsewhere. 


"Shade!" 


Darkhorse struck the wall of the cellar he had materialized in 
only a few seconds before. As with his previous stops, the only 
trace of his adversary was a minute trail left behind by the 


warlock's method of travel. The previous thread had led him 
here—but then, the last trail before that and the ones before 
that had all led him along. 


That was the truth of the matter, Darkhorse finally admitted 
to himself. He had been led along. He had fallen for yet 
another ploy by the warlock, who had spent each and every 
lifetime during his curse plotting and planning tricks for the 
incarnation yet to come, not to mention the hundreds of 
enemies he had gathered over the centuries. 


"Damn you!" The shadow steed kicked through the wall. 
He stepped back, annoyed and embarrassed. If he was not more 
careful, he would do the Dragon King's work for him. How 
ironic it would be for the inhabitants to discover that the palace 
had collapsed due to the efforts of one of its defenders. 


After his fourth miss, Darkhorse suspected he was being led 
astray; suspected it, but could not be certain. There was always 
the chance that Shade wanted him to believe he was on a false 
trail. As he had thought so often in the past, the only thing 
predictable about the warlock was his unpredictability. That 
convoluted sort of reasoning had forced him to pursue the trail 
again and again. This visitation, however, had finally settled 
it for him. Shade had made a fool out of the eternal once 
more. 


What is your purpose for all of this, Shade? What plot have 



you unleashed now? 


Was there danger to Melicard or the Princess Erini? The 
possibility was too great to ignore. Darkhorse departed the 
damaged cellar posthaste. In his imagination, he saw the king 
and all his soldiers scattered about like so many toys. Worse 
yet, he pictured the novice spellcaster, Erini, desperately battling 
for herself and her betrothed against a foe she could not 
hope to withstand. It was not that she was weak or that she was 
a female; it was because the warlock had the experience of the 
ages to draw upon, whereas she had only a handful of suggestions 
given to her by Drayfitt and him. 


He burst through the portal's other end, landing amidst a 
conference between Melicard and several officers. A few could 
not help gasping at the imposing sight. Melicard flinched, but 
otherwise held his shock back respectably. 


"Darkhorse! Where have you been? Dawn is almost upon 
us! The first rays are already doing battle with the weakening 
night!" 


222 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"Already?" The eternal sought out a window facing the 
proper direction. Sure enough, there was an aura of light 
growing steadily upward from the horizon. Had he been occupied 
that long? Either his obsession had finally grown completely 
out of control, or Shade had added a slight twist to the trail, 
secretly slowing Darkhorse's time perspective. True, he had 
also taken quite some time with his search of Quorin's belongings, 
but that still was not sufficient. It would have been an 
astounding feat, slowing time, that is, but hardly something 
beyond the abilities of a Vraad. Darkhorse prayed he was 
incorrect; if Shade was playing with time, then the entire world 
was threatened. The Vraads had a tendency to eventually 
destroy everything they utilized. 


Melicard sensed Darkhorse's sinking mood. "What is it? 
What did you find in Quorin's chambers? Something of great 
importance?" 


Shaking dark thoughts from his mind, the shadow steed 
finally replied. "There is nothing of value to us that I could 
discover. Perhaps you will find it different. My sincere recommendation, 
however, is to either seal or strip those chambers as 
soon as you can. I, myself, would prefer everything burned— 
with the fiend bound, gagged, and laid out on top of the 
pyre!" 


"Gods! What did you find?" 


"That is unimportant to us at the moment! The Princess 
Erini! Where is she?" 


"I sent her to get some rest some time ago. We'll need her if 
we're to stand off the Dragon King's oncoming host. By the 



way," Melicard gave him a triumphant smile that somehow 
stretched across the mask, too, "the gate is ours. It was almost 
too simple—even more so than retaking the palace. They virtually 
threw themselves at us and begged for imprisonment rather 
than face the demons! You have quite a reputation now, 
Darkhorse." 


"One that I would gladly trade for another, I think. Is the 
princess guarded?" 


"I believe so. She will be safe." 


Darkhorse shook his head. "I think I would prefer to look 
in—" 


"Your majesty!" An officer clad in the same sort of uniform 
as Erini's Captain Iston barged through the heavy doors. He 
had apparently been running all the way from wherever he 


SHADOW STEED 223 


had come. "I brought the news myself, in case you had 
questions!" 


"Questions about what, man?" Melicard demanded. 


Between gulps of air, the soldier replied, "The lookouts 
have identified the first signs of the drakes' approach!" 


"Already!" Melicard took a deep breath and looked at 
everyone, even Darkhorse. "Come. I want to see it for myself 
and I want each and every one of you to give me any 
observations about them as they draw nearer." 


Darkhorse hesitated, caught between his fear for his benefactress, 
the princess, and his concern for Talak. Talak won out, 
though the steed swore to himself that he would look in on 
Erini once he had seen whatever there was to see of Silver's 
horrible army. 


Out on one of the highest balconies of the palace, they 
gathered to watch. One of his aides handed the king a long 
tube, which Melicard put to his eye. Darkhorse did not have to 
ask the purpose of the device, which obviously gave the king a 
better view of the distant reaches. Sorcerers had created similar 
tools before, though this one had evidently been crafted by 
hand. 


"I see them," Melicard commented at last. "By my father, 
it looks to be a vast legion! I don't think there's been a drake 
host this great since perhaps the siege of Penacles!" 


While others gazed on or waited for the opportunity, Darkhorse 
adjusted his own senses, allowing him a view that even the 
mechanical toys of the king could not match. Melicard was 
correct; this was a vast host—and at its head rode the Dragon 
King himself. Oddly, Silver seemed almost apprehensive. Bully 
and coward though the drake lord was, Darkhorse would have 
expected him to^be in a far more triumphant mood. With such 
an army behind him and the city gate supposedly ready to 



welcome him in without a struggle, he should have been 
confident. Was it just the drake's way, or did he know 
something? 


Surveying the drake warriors who rode beside their master, 
Darkhorse finally discovered the horrible truth. Seated behind 
one warrior and looking distinctly distressed was none other 
than Mat Quorin. 


"King Melicard!" The eternal returned his senses to normal. 


"What now, friend Darkhorse? Do you see something?" 


The shadow steed laughed. "Do I see something? Your 


224 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 225 


majesty, was it your intention to perhaps draw the drakes 
unsuspectingly to your gates? Did you hope to fool them into 
thinking that the traitors still controlled the city?" 


From the flushed look on Melicard's face, he had intended 
something very close to that. Darkhorse was not surprised; it 
would have been a fairly logical maneuver. 


The stallion dipped his head so that he was almost on a level 
with the mortal. "Your majesty, the plan will fail now! Mal 
Quorin rides with the drakes!" 


"Impossible!" Melicard raised the tube to his eye again and 
tried to see what his ally had. Unfortunately, the device was not 
up to the task. He threw it to the floor in disgust, where the 
glass lens on one end cracked from the force. The king did not 
even notice. "I believe you, Darkhorse, even if I can't see it 
for myself! How, though? What sort of trick?" He turned to 
one of his aides. "Alert the gate! Tell them that our plan is 
known!" To another, he added, "Go to our treacherous counselor's 
cell! Find out from the guards posted there what happened 
and why I was not informed!" 


"Go easy on the sentries, your highness," Darkhorse 
commented, somewhat subdued. His mind had been racing and 
he suspected he knew the secret of Quorin's escape. "They are 
probably confused and fearful. I think that I may have accidently 
been the catalyst for the devil's escape." He did not elaborate, 
intending that for a time when things were more peaceful—if 
such a rarity were ever to occur. 


Melicard nodded, reading the etemal's attitude and knowing 
Darkhorse was angry toward himself. Fear suddenly raged 
across the monarch's odd features. Not fear for himself, but for 
his bride-to-be. "Erini! He might have done some something to 
her!" 


That was doubtful, in Darkhorse's opinion. He suspected 
now that the box was a last resort saved by Mal Quorin on the 
off-chance that he had to flee to his master. In opening up 
the container, the shadow steed had unwittingly unleashed the 
spell, which apparently had been specifically tied to the imprisoned 
advisor. 



The king would not listen to those around him. If he had not 
been informed of Quorin's escape, then it followed that he 
might also have not been informed of any new attempt to kill or 
kidnap Princess Erini. Darkhorse was on the verge of stating 
that he would investigate, having already desired to do so 


since first arriving, when a new voice broke through the 
chaos. 


"What's wrong? Darkhorse! Melicard! Are the drakes already 
at the gate?" 


"Erini!" At the sight of his beloved, the king rushed to her 
and took her in his arms, ignoring the embarrassed looks on the 
face of his subordinates. The princess held him briefly, but 
seemed more interested in what was going on that would 
require everyone's presence here. "I couldn't sleep any more," 
she commented as she broke away and walked toward the rail 
of the balcony. "I was worried that something might happen 
while I was resting." 


Melicard, a little at a loss due to the chaos his mind had been 
struggling with, joined her. "The drakes are out on the horizon. 
There. Darkhorse says that Quorin is with them." 


"Quorin? That's terrible." Erini stared northward, as if 
trying to see the drake army without the aid of any device or 
her own sorcery. 


Darkhorse snorted. Terrible? He would have expected a far 
more virulent response from the princess, who probably hated 
Quorin more than anyone else here. Studying her closely, he 
noted her pale, almost unresponsive features. It was likely that 
her lackluster response was due in great part to a surge of 
fatalism concerning the coming day or even simply because she 
had only slept a short while. Unlike Melicard and his men, who 
were long used to staying awake for a day or more, she had 
never had the need to do so. Would that I could sleep! I would 
sleep for a year if such was possible! 


But not until Shade has been dealt with, he reminded 
himself. 


Shade. Darkhorse still wondered what purpose the warlock 
had had in setting him off on the endless and pointless chase. 
Shade had wanted him occupied. Why? 


He realized belatedly that Melicard was speaking to him. 
"What was that, your majesty?" 


"I asked what might be taking your friends so long? We 
have need of the Bedlams, Darkhorse. I would like to discuss 
our options with them beforehand—unless they feel they can 
arrive at the last moment and remove the threat with a wave of 
their hands." The king's voice was tinged with aggravation. 
His kingdom's existence was hanging in the balance and two of 
his greatest allies were among the missing. 



226 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


Darkhorse, too, began to wonder. Cabe had fallen prey to 
Shade's machinations earlier. Had the warlock struck twice? "I 
will go seek them now! There is still time before the Silver 
Dragon can strike! Will you be safe?" 


"I would never leave my kingdom defenseless against a 
threat like the drakes. I swore that Duke Toma would be the 
last of his kind to ever enter Talak with his head still attached 
to his body." 


The shadow steed chuckled. "Indeed. You also have your 
personal sorceress, too." He indicated a somber Erini with a 
nod of his head. She looked at Darkhorse, smiled briefly, then 
returned to her dreamlike gazing. "Yesss. I will return before 
long. King Melicard! You have my oath on that!" 


"I would prefer your presence instead. We will await your 
return." 


Summoning a portal, Darkhorse leapt from the balcony and 
vanished into it. The transition was swift this time and he 
barely noticed his brief passage through the emptiness. In mere 
breaths, he was exiting the other side, his destination as near to 
the protective barrier as he could get. This time, he hoped for a 
simpler visit. 


He sent a probe first, hoping that it would engage the 
attention of one of those he sought. With the Bedlams sorely 
needed elsewhere, Darkhorse wanted to keep his return as quiet 
as possible so as to not panic the others who lived here. 
Unfortunately, he received no response, which, when he thought 
about it, left him few other choices than to call out. 


Trotting closer to where the Manor itself stood, Darkhorse 
shouted, "Bedlams! Cabe! It is I, Darkhorse! I have need of 
you!" 


He heard confused shouts and the mutters of angry folk. 
Several anxious minutes went by before someone responded to 
his summons. It was not Cabe. It was an uncrested drake, 
one of the servitor caste, who finally dared to challenge 
him. 


"What isss it? What do you ssseek?" 


"What do I seekt Your master and mistress, drake! The 
warlock Cabe Bedlam and his mate, the Lady of the Amber!" 
. The drake seemed more interested in the ebony stallion than 
locating those he served. "I have never ssseen a beassst such as 
you!" 


"I was here earlier! I am Darkhorse!" 


SHADOW STEED 227 


"Darkhorssse!" The drake hissed in pleasure. "The massster 



has ssspoken of you! 1 wasss sorry that I misssed you! I am 
Ssarekai, one who trains and cares for riding drakes and 
sssteeds such as your magnificent ssself!" 


As much as Darkhorse normally delighted in being appreciated, 
he had no time for such flattery now. "Your master, scaly 
one! I have need to speak with him\" 


"Yesss, forgive me! Your appearance here has excited me! 
Others have been searching for them!" 


"Searching? No one knows where they are?" 


"They were not in their room." 


Ssarekai would have said more, but a human female materialized 
through the trees and rushed to his side. Glancing at 
Darkhorse with more than a little fear, she whispered to the 
drake. It was an odd sight. Though humans and drakes 
intermingled in some places, such as Irillian, there was generally 
a sense of separation even when they spoke to one another. 
Here, on the other hand, the woman stood somewhat behind 
Ssarekai, as if she depended on him for protection from 
Darkhorse. 


Curious things are being done here, the shadow steed thought 
wryly. 


The drake looked upset. His hissing became more evident 
and his blunted, nearly human tongue darted in and out every 
now and then as he spoke. "Great Darkhorse, sssomething is 
amissss! No one can find the massster and mistress! Someone 
sssays—" 


He did not hear what the drake had to say next, for another 
voice intruded, this one threatening to tear his mind apart, so 
intensely did it strike him. Ssarekai stepped back, his next 
words forgotten. Behind him, the female human tried to make 
herself as small as possible. 


Darkhorse! 


That was all. His name. His name echoing again and again. 
Shaking his head, he succeeded in clearing the echoes from his 
mind, but not from his thoughts. 


"Great Darkhorse?" Ssarekai tentatively called. 


The eternal paid him no mind. Erini! She was calling for his 
help! The Dragon King must have struck somehow! 


His task here forgotten, the eternal summoned forth a new 
portal. Had the drakes waited until he was gone before beginning 
some insidious assault? What? 


228 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"Great One?" the drake Ssarekai called again, this time 
more urgently. His voice went unheeded. 



"Stand fast! Those who would touch the friends ofDarkhorse 
must be willing to pay in full for their misdeeds!" 


The fearsome statements were out of his mouth before his 
eyes acknowledged the obvious fact that no one standing within 
sight appeared to be under attack by so much as a flea. Nothing 
seemed to be happening at all, save that Darkhorse once again 
found himself facing a sea of startled looks from every pair of 
eyes in the room. It was something he was becoming very 
annoyed about. The stallion was beginning to feel as if he were 
the intruder, not Shade or the Silver Dragon. 


Scanning those around him, Darkhorse spotted Erini. She 
was staring at him in mild surprise. Confused, the shadow 
steed turned away from her gaze and focused on Melicard. The 
king flashed an uncertain smile in his direction. 


"While we—appreciate—the sentiment, Darkhorse, I think 
the time for theatrics is long past." 


Something is dreadfully wrong here! Had it been possible, 
his face would have turned crimson. "I received a desperate 
summons for help—from the Princess Erini!" 


Melicard looked at his future queen. "Erini?" 


The princess shook her head silently. She seemed almost 
disinterested. 


The king turned back to the imposing figure before him and 
said, "Nothing has happened since you departed a moment ago 
save that the drakes have moved a little closer and we still await 
your friends, the Lord and Lady Bedlam. When do they arrive? 
I would rather not put my faith entirely in my own tricks, not if 
there are two master spellcasters available." 


"I—I cannot say when they will arrive or if they even ever 
will. There was no sign of them. Their own people cannot find 
them!" 


"Cannot find them?" 


"I fear Shade has;struck again!" Darkhorse could not help 
looking skyward. "I rue that this time should have ever come! 
He was my friend during many an adventure, but he has also 
been my swore foe in times past! This day, however, washes 
away all the good that he has ever performed! If Cabe and his 
mate have suffered because of the warlock..." Darkhorse 


SHADOW STEED 229 


could not finish, unable to find a punishment strong enough to 
mete out. 


The cry had seemed so real. He studied the princess, who 
idly stood by, waiting for something to happen. Why was she 
so indifferent now? Even with the lack of true sleep, she was 
not acting as he would have imagined her to act. The Erini he 
had met would have continued pushing until unconsciousness 
took her. This one seemed to hardly care. 



There was one other thing that disturbed him—or perhaps it 
was the absence of something. 


Several men came marching into the chamber. Captain Iston 
in their lead. A gasp escaped Erini and she took a tentative step 
forward before catching herself and settling back into her look 
of indifference. Darkhorse's ice-blue eyes narrowed. 


Iston saluted. "My men are ready when you give the signal, 
your majesty." 


Darkhorse listened to the officer's words, but his eyes 
remained fixed on the princess. There was a look of longing 
growing in her eyes that had nothing to do with Melicard. Her 
attention appeared to be focused on the captain. 


He knew that the princess was a woman of passions, but the 
shadow steed knew that her love could have never turned so 
easily. Erini had been prepared to give her life several times 
over for the sake of her betrothed. This Erini acted as if she had 
never cared at all. 


This Erini? 


Forgetting Melicard and the others, he trotted toward the 
princess. She could not help turning to him, so impressive a 
sight he was, especially moving toward her with such evident 
purpose. Strangely, there was a level of fear noticeable in her 
eyes that also did not match the Erini he had come to know 
well, even despite what little time they had spent together. 


"Your majesty is not looking well," he rumbled. 


"A lack of sleep," she murmured. It was evident that the 
woman before him did not want him so near. 


"How is your concentration? Will you be able to aid in the 
cause?" 


"I hope so." Her tone suggested otherwise. 


Darkhorse fixed his glittering eyes on hers. Erini tried to 
struggle, but her will was surprisingly weak and she quickly 
succumbed. 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


"I know now what so disturbed me about you! I know now 
that you could not have summoned my aid!" 


Behind him, Melicard moved quickly to stand beside his 
bride-to-be. He faced Darkhorse with blood in his good 


eye. 


"What are you doing to her? What in the name of the Tybers 
are you doing?" 



"Resolving my own uncertainties about a few things—and 
cursing myself anew for missing the obvious!" Darkhorse drew 
Erini toward him, repelling Melicard at the same time. While 
the king struggled in vain and his men watched in stunned 
confusion, the shadow steed probed the human before him. He 
was not surprised at the results. 


"This is not your future bride, King Melicard! This woman 
has no sorcerous ability whatsoever! She who stands before 
you, though she looks like the Princess Erini, is but a poor 
creature caught in a spell whose origins can only derive from 
that master of mayhem. Shade!" 


Melicard's jaw dropped. "Not Erini?" 


"No, not the princess! I should have noticed instantly that 
she projected no sorcerous presence! Princess Erini did not 
have the skill yet to mask that presence, at least not so 
completely!" 


The false Erini was struggling with the spell that held her. A 
spellcaster she might not have been, but whoever—and that 
was likely to be Shade—had ensorcelled her had shrouded her 
in a few defensive spells. Darkhorse, though, strengthened by 
his own fury, tore away each of them, until only the illusion 
remained. While everyone waited—Melicard shaking—the shadow 
steed removed that last spell, revealing a shorter, slightly 
stout woman. 


"Galea!" Captain Iston surged forth, trying to reach the 
woman. Darkhorse nodded imperceptibly. The female's deepest 
emotions had forced themselves to the surface the moment the 
officer had entered the room. Only strong love or hate was 
capable of that and Darkhorse knew enough to tell which was 
which. He released the confused Galea, who turned to her 
soldier and buried herself in his arms. A quick glance into her 
thoughts had already revealed that she knew nothing. 


"Erini! Where's Erini?" Melicard demanded of him. 


"I do not know, your majesty! When the summons reached 
me, I paid its point of origin no attention, assuming that since 


SHADOW STEED 231 


little time had passed, she must be in the palace with you!" 
The ebony stallion laughed madly, mocking his own stupidity 
and carelessness. "Every turn! Every direction! He trips me 
each time and I continue to take the falls!" 


The king's split visage became a grim mask. Staring at some 
point in space, he calmly and quietly commanded, "Find her, 
Child of the Void. Find my queen and save her. I don't care 
what the cost might be. Start now." 


"Now?" Darkhorse studied the human incredulously. "I 
cannot search for her now, though a part of me screams to do 
just that! Talak is endangered and the life of one being cannot 
outweigh the fate of an entire kingdom!" 



"I have no need of you. We will hold. We will hold until the 
end of everything, if necessary. Go! I refuse your help! Will 
that free you of your obligation?" 


The shadow steed stamped a hoof against the marble floor. 
He knew what the king was doing and liked it not at all. All of 
Talak! "King Melicard... I cannot do this—" 


"Get out of my sight, then, demon'. I want nothing of you if 
you will not do this for me!" 


Melicard's subordinates were finding everything else to do 
other than stare at their ranting monarch. Darkhorse knew that 
the king's ravings were only an act. An act of love. 


Sighing, Melicard visibly pulled himself together. "We will 
still be here when you return. As I have said, Talak has long 
been prepared for such an invasion—even if most of my forces 
are scattered elsewhere." 


They would be arguing until the Silver Dragon himself burst 
through the chamber doors, Darkhorse finally realized. There 
was no changing the king's mind. The eternal knew that 
accepting the human's decision was not the correct thing to do, 
but it was too close to his own desires for him to fight it. He 
felt he owed much to Erini for releasing him—and much more 
because there was a quality about her that he had found in so 
few others, making it all the more admirable. There was no one 
name for it and he did not care to think of one. What mattered 
was the princess. 


"Very well," he finally replied, his words as close to a 
whisper as he could manage. 


The look he received from Melicard was a mixture of 
gratitude and relief. 


"I do not even know where to look." That was somewhat of 


232 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 233 


a lie. Darkhorse did know where to look; the only trouble was 
that there were too many places and certainly not enough 
time. 


"You do what you can." With that final statement, the king 
turned away, momentarily unable to continue. 


Deciding silence was more appropriate than any response he 
could give, the shadow steed departed immediately—for where, 
he could not say. 


With the imposing presence of Darkhorse gone, Melicard 
was slowly able to get his thoughts under control. He had 
sworn that he would make Talak hold, and hold it would. The 
defenses had never been tested in actual combat, but he tried 
not to think about that. Ironically, Melicard no longer thought 
about the potential for destruction. That hundreds of the cursed 
drakes would die meant little to him. His own people would die 



as well and the kingdom might fall. 


"Captain Iston!" He had come to rely heavily on the 
foreigner, impressed as he was with the man's loyalty and 
experience. If they somehow survived, he would offer the 
soldier a permanent position on his staff—if Iston still wanted 
to remain in Talak. Should Darkhorse fail—and the horrid 
thought refused to die—the complement from Gordag-Ai would 
likely return to their homeland, having no further ties with his 
own kingdom. 


"Your majesty?" The officer reluctantly abandoned his woman's 
side. Melicard felt a twinge within. 


"You have your orders. I must ask that you now follow, 
them." 


"Yes, your majesty." 


As an afterthought, the king added, "You may say your 
farewells before you depart." 


"Thank you." Iston saluted, took Galea's hand, and led her 
away. 


Melicard turned to the others. Several already had their 
orders and these he dismissed immediately. The rest waited, 
somewhat reassured now that their liege had taken control 
again. 


The king surveyed the horizon. Was it his imagination or 
was the Dragon King's host moving more slowly? He grimaced. 
Wishful thinking, no doubt. 


"We have," he finally began, "only a few hours before 


havoc reigns. The others know their duties. What I want from 
each of you are suggestions—or comments on anything I've 
forgotten about. I want anything that will buy us time." He 
also wished he had at least one spellcaster. Thanks to the 
talismans he had kept, despite his own dislike for them since 
his disfigurement and what little Drayfitt—poor Drayfitt—had 
succeeded in accomplishing, the king had assumed his palace 
was fairly safe from the invasions of spell-throwing drakes and 
such. Now, however, he was not so certain. Darkhorse's ability 
to come and go as he pleased did not bother him. Shade's did, 
but here was a warlock with the knowledge of millennia. What 
bothered him was that an agent of the Silver Dragon had 
worked actively underneath his very nose and there was no 
doubt that Quorin had been in contact with his true master 
several times. It would take only one breach in those sorcerous 
defenses... 


"My lord!" A guard stood by the doorway, awaiting permission 
to enter. 


"Yes, what is it?" Were there not enough troubles? 


"There is a drake demanding entrance to the city!" 



"A drake?" How had they missed that? No doubt an emissary 
from the Silver Dragon, here to issue the demands of his 
lord. Best to kill him... no. Best to send him back with a 
message! "Tell the reptile that his master will never have this 
city and that I have said his head will hang alongside the 
banners when we have crushed gaggle of monstrosities!" 


"My lord—" 


The king knew it was emotion speaking, not thought, but he 
hardly cared. The audacity of his foe angered him. "You heard 
me! Go!" 


The sentry bowed low, but did not move. He had something 
he felt had to be said, regardless of the king's anger. Melicard 
nodded permission. 


"The drake is not at the northern gate, my lord, and he does 
not appear to be of the clan Silver." 


"No?" 


"He claims to have ridden from south." 


South? "The Dagora Forest?" 


"That was what he said." 


Melicard did not know whether to laugh or curse. The Green 
Dragon had sent an emissary, but, considering that Talak and 


234 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 235 


the monarch of the Dagora Forest had clashed in the past, the 
question was—was he here as an ally or a new foel 
There was only one way to find out. 


Erini was frightened, though she tried as best she could not 
to show it. She was frightened of many things, but what 
frightened the princess most was the curious behavior of her 
captor. 


Despite his claims to the contrary, she doubted that Shade's 
mind was as complete as he thought it to be. His personality 
seemed fluid to her, changing from one extreme to another. So 
close to what he believed would be his triumph. Shade was 
beginning to recall more and more about his tragic failure—and 
he insisted on sharing each detail with her, as if trying to purge 
himself of the memories. 


"When men came back to this land," he was telling her 
companionably, "and settled, bowing for a time to the will of 
the first Dragon Kings, I moved back among them. Weaklings! 
Their ancestors had given in to this world, taking up its magic 
instead of strengthening their own! There were a few who 



could do outstanding things with that magic, though, and from 
them I learned much of what I had dared not attempt for fear of 
losing myself as my counterparts had." 


Erini, held by his spells in a standing position with her arms 
outstretched—as if challenging the world, she thought bitterly— 
did not understand half of what he said. He was talking for 
himself. As long as it kept her from the fate he had planned, 
Erini did not object. 


"I took many names and many guises in those days, learning 
what I could. Several times, I renewed my lifespan. Someday, 
though, I knew that those spells would fail me. I would die and 
the Vraad would pass from this world forever, a world ours by 
right." He smiled coldly. "There were a few others who 


survived, in a sense, but they had also given themselves over to 
this world's nature, becoming less Vraad and more—more—" 


Shade rose, seeming to forget his tale completely. It was not 
the first time he had changed so abruptly. Shade stretched out 
one arm and caused the blue ball of light floating high above 
them to increase in intensity. The warlock's stronghold, little 
more than shadow prior to this, was revealed to his captive for 
the first time. Erini was properly awed. 


Erini had never seen the throne room of the drake emperor, 
so it was understandable that she would miss the incredible 
similarity between that place and this. Grand effigies of people 
and creatures long dead or vanished lined the walls on each 
side. Some were so real as to force the princess to look 
elsewhere, for fear one of them would start staring back at her. 
Erini was brave, but, even with her limited experience in 
magic, she could sense the cold presence within each one. 
These things were alive, although hardly in the sense that most 
people thought of as living. In some ways, they almost reminded 
her of Darkhorse, though she hated even considering such a 
thought. 


"My cache. Plundered by those scaly wretches above. This 
was where I formulated my spell and stored all my notes and 
special—toys. A Vraad habit. Though I performed my spells 
among humans and lived in human communities, it was here, 
in this place, that I first conceived of my notion. It was here 
that I found and began to travel the path of immortality and 
true power such as even the Vraad had never dreamed." 


As he spoke. Shade reached into his cloak and removed a 
rather ordinary-looking tripod. The care with which he handled 
it told Erini it was anything but ordinary. She watched in 
helpless frustration as the warlock placed it at her feet. 


"The concept came to me early on, but the doing of it 
escaped me for centuries. I feared I was lost. To understand 
what I needed, I would have to give myself. Become changed 
by this world—have I said that already?" Shade looked up 
from what he was doing, uncertain. There was a slight trace of 
fear in his tone, as if he were finally realizing that his mind was 
not as it should be. 



While he puzzled over his own question, Erini continued her 
own struggle. Though she could not move, her mind was still 
free. Shade needed her mind free yet malleable. The princess 
desperately tried to capitalize on that, continually summoning 


236 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


up whatever strength she could find within herself and sending 
out a sorcerous cry for aid that she hoped Darkhorse would 
detect. It was a slim, almost mad hope, but it was all she 
had. She lacked the skill and experience she needed to break 
free of her physical predicament. The warlock knew too many 
tricks. 


"It won't even hurt—not much, that is," Shade suddenly 
told her, coming within a hand's width of her face. She tried to 
close her eyes, but his spell prevented that. Instead, she was 
forced to stare into his glimmering, seemingly multifaceted 
orbs. There were those who said that the eyes were the mirror 
of the soul, and what there was of Shade was more reflection 
than substance. More than life, but also less. 


He was no longer human and likely had not been since 
the very day that he had fallen victim to his own obsessive 
desires. 


His hand came up before her eyes, his voice was soothing, 
yet with that undercurrent of anxiety and fear. "Listen to me 
now. I'm going to begin. I don't need your cooperation, but I 
ask it. Give me what I want and I'll see what I can do for you 
afterward. You will give it to me regardless of your desires, but 
the transition will be easier on both of us if you do your part 
willingly." 


Frozen as she was, Erini could only respond with her eyes, 
which she did promptly. Shade backed away, his face initially 
the picture of remorse, then, in an abrupt change, arrogant and 
lordly. "Very well, then. I offered for your sake, really. Suffer 
if you like. Here is what you will do for me." 


The warlock reached up and touched her forehead. Erini's 
mind was suddenly filled with images and instructions. She 
found herself unable to continue her desperate summons under 
such circumstances and finally gave in. Her only consolation 
was the thin hope that something in the shadowy warlock's 
instructions might give her an idea. 


Erini's task, as he had defined it, was to be the vessel in 
which two radically different forms of sorcery would be meshed 
together. Unlike the tales the princess had heard as a child, it 
was not the powers of darkness and light that Shade had sought 
to master. It was the vestiges of a power that lingered from 
whatever world the Vraad had originated from and this world's 
own strength. The images both horrified and fascinated her. 


"We will begin now." Wrapping himself deep within his 



SHADOW STEED 237 


cloak. Shade leaned forward and focused his gaze on the 
tripod. 


Though she could see little, Erini felt everything. She felt the 
power that she summoned forth fill the chamber—she summoned 
forth? No, it only appeared that way. From the instructions that 
the warlock had implanted in her mind, she understood that he 
was utilizing the tripod in order to draw energy through her. To 
draw upon so much power himself would be to risk the success 
of his plan. He had to be free to control the situation, and 
without her that would have been impossible. 


Erini knew that there must be defenses she could summon, 
things that would disrupt his spell permanently, but her mind 
was not skilled enough to cope with the influx of power and 
still concentrate on shielding herself. The princess now saw 
why Shade desired an untrained and inexperienced spellcaster 
with high potential. Even Drayfitt's mind would have been too 
closed for Shade to have trusted the outcome of his experiment. 
Erini was like a child, uncertain of what her limitations were; 


an open book on which Shade could write what he pleased. 


"You feel the power flowing into your soul." A statement, 
not a question. "Hold it there. Let it gather." 


She did as he bid her, unable to do anything else. It was 
frustrating to feel so strong and yet be so helpless. The strength 
of the world seemed to flow into her. For the first time, Erini 
saw the world in terms of the lines and fields of energy that 
many spellcasters did. Yet, the spectrum remained there as 
well. The two were one. It was impossible to tell if one had 
resulted because of the other or if they had both sprung into 
existence simultaneously. There was so much potential here 
that even the greatest sorcerers of legend had probably never 
known the like. There was power enough here to make one 
almost a god— 


—and this was only apart of what Shade desired. Shade, not 
her. She was a vessel, the princess reminded herself, for all the 
power that she contained was for her captor, not herself. 


"The flow will continue slowly. You must guide its intensity, 
make certain it does not overwhelm you—and be prepared to 
accept the next offering." 


It was too much! Erini panicked. How could she hope to 
contain so much energy, so much pure power? Erini struggled 
to assert her mind. Darkhorse! If only I could summon him! 


Erini? 


238 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 239 


It was brief and lost to her completely after that single word, 
after the calling of her name, but she knew that she had 
touched the eteraal's thoughts. Her mind filled with hope. 



A cold, loathsome essence entered Erini just as she sought 
Darkhorse again, caressing her soul as if tasting a treat. Caught 
unaware, the princess wanted to scream and scream and scream, 
but Shade's earlier spell prevented such a release of her horror 
at the unthinkable invasion. The world around her shrank away, 
as if she were looking at it from above. The warlock looked 
into her eyes, curiosity and anticipation at the forefront. She 
wanted to ram him through the earth, peel away every layer of 
skin while he writhed in agony—anything—as long as it would 
free her mind from the unspeakable presence seeking to become 
a part of her. 


"Accept it, princess. You have no choice." 


She didn't. Erini wanted to destroy, to tear her own body 
apart and remove the cancerous thing from her soul. Shade's 
commands prevented all but the weakest resistance. This was 
the essence of the power that the warlock's kind had utilized in 
that nameless hell they had been—forced?—to leave. It was 
alien to the Dragonrealm, following different, twisted laws of 
nature that should not—could not—exist here. 


There is a way around that. 


The thought was not her own, but rather one of Shade's 
imprinted instructions, rising forth, now that its task was at 
hand. It felt like something almost alive, as if it had been 
imbued with a tiny piece of the Vraad's being. 


There are points of binding, places where the two realities 
may be joined. You have only to look. 


Joined. They had to be joined. Erini saw that now. It was the 
only possible way to keep herself from suffering a similar fate 
to that which Shade had suffered, if not something worse. 
Either force within her was capable of scattering her body and 
mind beyond the reaches of forever. If she was to have any 
chance to survive, she would have to do as her captor's 
instructions indicated. 


Of course you do, the piece of Shade reminded her. Erini 
wondered if it was her own mind that made it seem so much 
alive and, if so, was she going mad? 


You have a task. Do it. 


That was the only truth she did have at the moment. With 
growing disgust, she accepted the foreign sorcery completely 


into her being. In her imagination, it seemed to squirm like a 
worm trying to burrow deeper. Erini almost rejected it then, but 
knew that, by doing so, she would condemn herself. What sort 
of world had the Vraad come from, and how could they 
possibly be the ancestors of the humans alive today? There 
were hints of those answers now and then, vague, ghostlike 
images that danced around her, almost distracting her from the 
horrid task. None of them were distinct and Erini felt some 
relief at that. Despite her wonder, these were things she 
actually had little desire to leam about. They all bore the same 
stench as the sorcery. 



See the points. Take them and marry them to their counterparts. 
Here. Here. Here. 


This part of her task seemed almost laughingly simple now, 
though she knew that here was where Shade had originally 
begun his downward spiral to damnation. Erini could not see 
why. The points her mind saw met willingly with one another. 
Perhaps it was, as the warlock had indicated, only because she 
was the vessel—or rather the catalyst—and not the final recipient 
of the spell's outcome. She had only one purpose, not 
several as he had had. 


While a portion of her consciousness worked automatically, 
having no choice to do otherwise, Erini found a change 
occurring throughout her mind, throughout her very soul. The 
princess could no more deny the transformation than she could 
her earlier acceptance of the alien sorcery. After a few seconds— 
perhaps minutes or even hours, she could not say—Erini even 
began to welcome the change. Her perspective grew and grew 
and her comprehension of what her world was truly like 
expanded until Erini felt she was the Dragonrealm, the vast 
eastern continent, the smaller southern continents, the islands, 
the seas ... everything. 


Shade's spell became a secondary thing to her, something 
that had to be done but that did not require more than a trace of 
her concentration. All events, all people, became known to her. 
Unconsciously, Erini focused on Talak and her betrothed. 


It was there before her gaze, a thought came to life. The 
drakes were within striking range of the city. The princess 
gained some perspective on how much time had passed, for the 
sun was already high and it appeared as if the first blows had 
already fallen. There were dead drakes on the landscape between 
the Dragon King's host and the city walls, and settle


240 RICHARDA.KNAAK SHADOW STEED 241 


ments unfortunate enough to have sprung up near the northern 
wall were little more than splintered wood and scattered articles. 
The inhabitants, she remembered, had been ordered in at 
some point before her kidnapping. There was also damage to 
the city itself. An aerial assault, some comer of her mind told 
her. It sounded astonishingly like her grandfather, general-
consort to her grandmother, the queen at that time. He had been 
dead for almost seven years. She studied the dragons. Something 
pierced their hearts. Something magic. 


Melicard. Her view did not alter, for she saw all things at 
once, but the image of the king somehow was foremost among 
them. He was in the throne room, giving orders, caught up in 
the battle. A few of his men were injured and there was a 
sticky, dark fluid covering one of the walls. Erini belatedly 
noticed the sky where the ceiling had once been. A drake had 
nearly broken through all of their defenses. Somehow, though, 
the magical defenses of Talak—she could not recall if she had 



ever known about them prior to this—had been restored and, in 
fact, improved. The Dragon King would find Talak a costly 
victory. 


Victory. It was still within the drake lord's grasp. At the very 
least, Talak would be in shambles and most of its population 
would be dead. Another Mito Pica. 


The two magics were nearly one now. Erini's perspective 
altered again, this time in a puzzling manner. A bit worrisome, 
too, though that emotion was becoming less and less a part of 
her. The princess, despite the understanding of her world that 
she had gained earlier, could not fathom what was happening 
now. In some ways, it reminded her of how the world looked 
when the spectrum was visible to her. Like one image superimposed 
upon another. It was an apt comparison, she decided, but 
hardly one that explained what was overlaying the Dragonrealm 
and the rest like a shroud. 


There were mountains where mountains should not have 
been. There were seas and rivers where only dry sand or lush 
forests existed now. Where Talak stood, another city, smaller in 
width yet stretching far higher into the heavens, also rose, 
ziggurats of Melicard's kingdom fighting for supremacy with 
odd, twisted towers that ended in spearlike points. It was and 
was not the same world. 


Though she felt life on this world, something warned her not 
to seek it out. Instead, she turned her inner gaze to the most 


fascinating and most chilling sight visible. The heavens themselves. 
The beautiful blue of her world had been replaced by a 
green of dark intensity. Not a green such as a leaf might be 
colored, however, but a green that reminded Erini of nothing 
more than rot. Decay. A world that was festering and had been 
festering for over thousands and thousands of years. 


The world which Shade and the Vraad had abandoned for 
this one. A world they had made into this putrifying abomination. 


This was the potential that Shade represented. 


Without willing it, her view turned to the warlock himself. 
He knelt before her, enraptured by the progress of his spell, 
almost ready to accept the fruits of her forced labor. To her 
shock, she saw things about him she doubted even he had ever 
known. Not just his myriad incarnations, but what the distorted 
spell had done to his essence over the millennia. Shade was far 
from whole, far from untouched by the world his people had 
fled to. He was possibly in a worse condition than he had been 
during the time of his previous incarnations—and he refused to 
see that. 


She was astounded at his latent abilities. He had held back 
throughout all of this, the princess realized. In the hooded 
warlock was the potential to devastate a region larger than the 
Tyber Mountains themselves. Shade had hinted at the godlike 
powers of his kind, but the truth was far more overwhelming. It 
had only been his desire to complete his lifelong goal that had 
checked a madness that might have seen the Dragonrealm in 



complete ruins in less than a week. That and a tiny, nagging 
doubt—guilt, she correct herself—about what he was doing. 
There was more good in Shade than he realized. There had 
been more in the original, too. His own memories were playing 
him false. 


This is a new form of incarnation, Erini concluded. Shade 
has not escaped his previous failure; he has become even more 
mired in it than before. 


What would happen when his power increased a hundredfold? 


Erini found she was growing beyond the point of caring. Her 
perceptions continued to expand. Soon, she would no longer be 
a part of her world, not in the true sense. This was the fate that 
Shade had suffered, but Erini would not be returning in any 
form. Shade's variation on his original work would guarantee 
that. He would gain command of the powers he sought, but 
lose his vessel in the prospect. 


242 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


243 


What remained of Erini sought to fight that fate, but she 
lacked any weapon with which to do it. She did not have the 
concentration to strike back with her own insignificant talent— 
and what good would it have done, anyway? Shade would have 
dismissed any assault on a magical level with as much effort as 
what he needed to breathe. 


Erini felt herself beginning to fragment. Her task was almost 
complete, but she would never see the outcome. The strain was 


too much. 


She thought of Melicard, who would have no one to keep 
him from falling i-nto the same darkness that he had lived 
within before her coming. His image, commanding his aides in 
the defense of Talak, flickered before Erini. She thought of her 
parents, who would never know what fate had befallen their 
daughter. Melicard seemed to fade as the king and queen of 
Gordag-Ai took precedence. Lastly, Erini thought of Darkhorse, 
a being she had known only for a short time, but with whom 
she felt a rapport, a bond. 


Erini? 


The image of Darkhorse strengthened. He stood, confused, 
in an area she recognized from its ungodly bleakness as the 
Northern Wastes. The cold and snow did not bother him in the 
least. Darkhorse remained where he was, his head cocked to 
one side, almost as if he were listening to something. 



Erini! 


Had he sensed her? The novice sorceress was no longer 
certain she cared. Still, because of their bond, she acknowledged 
her presence to him. 


Now he stood ready, seeking a direction in which to run. 
Erini! Where are you? 


Where was she? "Everywhere" seemed the most appropriate 
response, but she knew that was not what the shadow steed 
meant. He was searching for her physical form. 


A wave of urgency washed across her consciousness. Erini 
could not be certain whether it was a stray emotion of her own 
or one of Darkhorse's, relayed somehow by their contact. 
Whichever was the case, she acted upon that urgency and 
allowed him to see, to experience, where she was. 


The eternal grew very grim and shot back, / know where 
your are! Do not lose yourself! Keep a hold on your existence, 


Erini! 
She lost track of him, then, for, to obey his instructions, on 


top of all else, the princess was forced to concentrate her 
remaining will on maintaining her essence. She was uncertain 
as to how long she could do this, for the intensity of the 
warlock's spell was becoming more and more difficult to 
withstand. It would not be long, regardless of her efforts. 


Erini wondered whether Darkhorse would find her in time— 
and whether even he now stood a chance against the powers of 
Shade. 


In that part of her that was puppet to the warlock, the final 
binding was at last completed. 


In the chamber, below the watchful eyes of the effigies, a 
triumphant Shade, hood pulled low over his face, reached forth 
with those abilities at his command and prepared to at last 
accept what he felt was his due. The faces of Vraad he had 
known, most of them clan, others friends or, more often, foes, 
drifted in and out of his memories. He would have life eternal 
now, and power to make even those who watched over the 
Dragonrealm and the other lands, those would-be gods, acknowledge 
his mastery. 


He would have a world to play with. No Vraad had ever had 
an entire world to play with. 


Most of all, he would not die. The Vraad would not become 
a shadow of the past. 


A presence oh so familiar to him forced the sorcerer from his 
dreams. He felt a barrier form about the princess. 


"The last false trail has been removed. Shade! Come! Turn 
around and greet your old friend! Have you no words for 



Darkhorse—words that I may have them etch upon your 
crypt?" 


The hooded warlock turned slowly toward his ancient adversary, 
his friend of old. "You took long enough getting 
here." 


Darkhorse stepped back anxiously, but not because he was 
frightened by the Vraad's confident words. Of course. Shade 
had known the shadow steed would be coming. He would have 
expected nothing else. No, what disturbed Darkhorse was 
something that Shade from his angle, could not see—and, as a 
matter of fact, neither could the stallion. 


Nothing met his gaze from beneath the deep hood save a blur 
that might have been a face. 


SHADOW STEED 245 


The Dragon King Silver hissed bitterly as he watched Talak 
fend off another assault. Somehow, the crippled vermin that 
fancied himself a ruler had overcome all obstacles placed 
before him, save the loss of much of his army. The drake lord 
glanced briefly to his right, where his human agent stood 
surveying the same scene with emotions that mirrored the 
Dragon King's own. He had no idea why he was letting the 
creature Quorin live, save that he had a desire to prove to him, 
to prove to all of them, that he would take Talak if it cost every 
possible weapon and life at his command. 


Shade was next. The alliance had been a fallacy, one the 
drake lord had thought he needed during a desperate moment 
and one that neither had followed from the first. The Silver 
Dragon wondered if the warlock knew yet that his curse had 
not been lifted. That had been obvious to him, but the arrogant 
warm-blood had been certain he was whole once more. The 
drake laughed, making those around him eye him discreetly 
while they tried to discern what it was their master found 
amusing at a time such as this. 


Shade had taken his information from the mind of the 
sorcerer Drayfitt, knowing that the elderly spellcaster had 
studied the warlock's book thoroughly. Unfortunately for Shade, 
Drayfitt had never seen some of the final notes. Though the 
drake lord had had to wait until the sorcerer's translations of 
the other pages were passed on to him, that wait had been 
worthwhile. They had provided the dragon king with the basis 
of translating the remaining sheets, which were where he had 
successfully guessed the most valuable information had been 
written down. The pages contained clues to the foundation of 
Vraad sorcery and, by sheer coincidence, integral comments 
that the warlock had written about his original theories. Some__________________ 
244 __________________ 


where along the way, those notes had been forgotten by Shade. 



The Dragon King had ensured that they would remain forgotten 
until he could find some use for them. 


Yes, Shade would be next... if there was anything left of 
him for the drakes to kill. 


The Dragon King straightened and gave a signal to one of his 
dukes, a warrior whose clutch he himself had fathered. Most of 
those around him were his offspring, though none bore the 
markings of succession. They could never be heirs. All they 
could be were warriors who gave their lives for him—as they 
might do now. 


The signal was what the main host had waited for. The Silver 
Dragon King knew what defenses were weakest now. He would 
throw everything he had at them. He had wanted Talak in one 
piece. A prize. Now, the drake lord did not care if one stone 
remained standing, even if it took the last of his force. 


One of his offspring had argued that such an assault was 
madness, that it would only cost lives. His carcass was even 
now being digested by the Dragon King's riding beast. No one 
else had dared speak out and no one else would ever dare hint 
that he was an incompetent ruler, that he had only thrived in the 
shadow of his more powerful brother, the Dragon Gold. 


No one else would dare call him a coward. 


There was no reasoning behind the last, but none was 
needed. A Dragon King was answerable to no one save himself. 


They moved on Talak. 


A blur. 


The passage through the barriers between the Void and 
reality of the Dragonrealm had not reversed the spell Shade had 
unleashed. It had, evidently, altered it in such a way that there 
was no telling what would happen next. The period of sanity 
had been little more than a time of dormancy while the next 
phase of the warlock's "disease" built up. From his manner, 
Darkhorse knew that his companion of old did not even realize 
what had happened. Shade still believed he was back to where 
he had started, that he was mortal, but whole. 


What would this new spell do to him, then? 


Erini, locked frozen in the final stage of Shade's gambit, 
seemed to fade just a bit. Darkhorse turned his gaze back and 
forth, his fear for Erini, but his fury for the warlock. The 
female had little time remaining to her. Darkhorse's quick 


246 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


action had bought her a delay, but how long that delay would be 
was questionable. He was forced to expend energy at a growing 
rate merely to keep the forces gathered within her in check. 



The ghostly steed had great doubts as to his ability to face 
Shade and still maintain that balance. He knew that, by rights, 
his first and foremost duty was to stop Shade at all costs... but 
that cost would include his benefactress. 


Barely more than two or three breaths had passed since his 
arrival. Seeking to borrow time, he slowly replied to the 
warlock's initial statement, "You expected me." 


"There was nothing planned that did not foresee your eventual 
success at tracking me down," the faceless figure returned. 
Shade seemed entirely too much at ease. "Almost everything I 
have done was merely to maintain your curiosity and stubbornness 
until our final meeting." 


That caused Darkhorse to laugh. "There are few with the 
audacity to seek an audience with me—and you are foremost 
among them, my former friend and current nemesis!" 


"That's because I have nothing more to fear from you, 
eternal—Eternal!'" Shade might have smiled; it was truly 
impossible to say. Watching him, Darkhorse actually pitied the 
warlock. To have come so close to escaping his endless 
curse... "I am one with you now. Child of the Void! I am 
immortal. I have succeeded at last." 


"Not yet, Vraad. The key is in the lock, but it has not yet 
turned." 


Shade said nothing, but Darkhorse suddenly became certain 
that the warlock did wear a smile. 


A bitter-tasting wind swept through the chamber, so swiftly 
birthed that it was near tornado proportions before Darkhorse 
could even acknowledge its existence. If Shade had created it 
to destroy him, it was a feeble attempt. Formed in a place 
between chaos and order, such a wind was little more than a 
breeze to him and, protected by the shadow steed's power, it 
did not even touch the helpless Erini. 


What it was doing, however, was tearing the chamber—even 
the mountain under which the cavern lay—to fragments that 
flew madly into the air, colliding with one another and flying 
off into a darkness that was not night. Darkhorse found his 
footing growing unstable and his bond with Erini being stretched 
to its utmost. It was too late to stop whatever spell Shade—and 
it could only be the warlock's doing—had cast. The eternal 


SHADOW STEED 247 


could only shield himself and the princess and wait for the 
storm to pass. If it would. 


As the last of the cavern walls tore free from the earth and 
vanished, a new land formed around the three. A land that 
seemed out of sync with reality. Its colors were haphazard, 
clashing, and the landscape was twisted and dying. The sky 
was an odd shade of green, much like mold or something dead 
left too long to decay on its. own. 



Throughout all of this. Shade stood where he was, seemingly 
passive. As the wind died down, to be replaced by a stale, 
sulfurous stench, the warlock spoke one word ever so softly. In 
the still of this ugly, decrepit land, he might have been 
shouting, for Darkhorse heard that word all too clearly. 


"Nimth." 


A single word that spoke volumes. It told Darkhorse where 
he was. It told him what sort of power Shade must have had to 
break a barrier that had remained unbroken since the Vraads' 
escape from their tortured world, Nimth. It told him something 
of Shade that he had failed to see upon his arrival. 


The warlock had moved more quickly than the eternal had 
guessed. He had already claimed his due from the princess by 


the time Darkhorse had thrown up the protective shield around 
her. 


Darkhorse had failed. 


"I restore the balance," Shade abruptly whispered. Again, 
his voice carried as if he had shouted with all his might. 


They were once more in the cavernous chamber in which the 
warlock had performed his experiment. This time, the transfer 
was immediate. Shade evidently assumed that there was no 
reason for further theatrics. 


The message behind the sudden return to the Dragonrealm 
was not lost upon the shadow steed. Shade was telling him 
through actions that there were deeds within his power that 


stretched even beyond the laws of nature, beyond the rule of 


reality. 


In the midst of mulling over those thoughts—a period which 
the warlock was apparently magnanimously willing to grant to 
his ancient comrade—one realization raised itself above all else 
and made the huge stallion laugh mockingly. 


Shade, who would not have been able to appreciate the 
humor had he understood what it was that Darkhorse laughed 
at, lost his calm demeanor. Though his expression was lost to 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


all but himself, his change in stance was message enough. 
Darkhorse quieted, knowing he had touched the greatest weakness 
of his adversary and knowing that his chances of capitalizing 
on that weakness were minimal at best. Better to try and 
create a friendly peace between the Silver Dragon and King 


Melicard. 



Tiny whips of controlled energy darted from the spellcaster's 
arms and struck the stallion like a thousand accurate-shafts 
released by master archers. With each blow, Darkhorse felt a 
little of his essence fade. He repelled what he could, sending a 
few back at their creator, but there were too many and they 
continued to come. There was one certain way he knew that 
would rid him of the deadly rain, but it would require releasing 
Erini to her fate and Darkhorse refused to do that. It did not 
escape him that his death would be followed almost immediately 
by her own, regardless. Only an ever-increasing output of 
his own power kept her from being scattered throughout all. 
Soon, he would have none left to defend and heal himself. 


The last of the wriggling missiles faded before they touched 
the shadow steed. Shade seemed to regain control of himself. 
His tone was near apologetic. "I was trying to show you what I 
am capable of, Darkhorse. I am beyond even you now. It 
would be pointless to pursue your death—and it would be your 


death, not mine." 


"You have only succeeded in revealing to me how much I 
dare not allow you to escape me." 


"Your efforts go beyond the point of futility now. I could 
exile you to a place that would make the Void seem a paradise. 
I could compact you into a tiny sphere and drop you into the 
deepest sea." Shade's voice was almost pleading, as if he truly 
did not want to continue this confrontation. "I could do so 
much more, but there is no point to it, anymore. I'm willing to 


forget our past differences." 


Darkhorse met his threats and condescending words with 
disdain. "I think it might be a bit difficult to forget our past 
differences, considering how they have affected so many. Exile 
me and I will find my way back. Seal me up and I will outlive 
my prison. Destroy me... and you will defeat yourself." The 
stallion kicked at the floor. "Destroy me and condemn yourself 
to your fate, to your selfmade curse." 


The warlock straightened, the tension within him visibly 
mounting. After so many failures, there still remained anxie-


SHADOW STEED 249 


ties. Had he seen his visage or lack of it... "I am free of my 
past errors. I am whole." 


One of the statues, the one nearest to the faceless spellcaster, 
collapsed. Darkhorse felt a shrill cry that coursed through his 
mind as that which had lived within perished. The others 
quivered in sudden anxiety. The floor of the chamber slowly 
developed cracks. 


Darkhorse knew what was happening, though he doubted the 
other did. "Listen to me—" 


Too late. His adversary was beyond listening. Any hope of a 
peaceful accord between them had been shattered and Darkhorse 



knew that it was his own fault as well as Shade's. 


His mind already a sea of confusion and turmoil. Shade saw 
the destruction around him as an attack and the shadow steed's 
words as a ploy to gain time. A hint of sadness touched him. 
That Darkhorse would act so! That there might be another 
cause did not occur to him. He, after all, was himself again— 
and the warlock was not about to give up so quickly what he 
had sought for so long. Even if it meant killing the one closest 
to him. 


The air around Darkhorse grew oppressingly thick. So thick, 
in fact, that it began to squeeze him. Had he been an actual 
horse, he would have been crushed in the first seconds. 
Instead, the eternal found himself being compressed smaller 
and smaller. The warlock was making good his threat. If 
Darkhorse failed to resist, Shade would reduce him to the size 
of a pebble and throw him somewhere where no one would be 
likely to find him. The hooded spellcaster might even choose to 
keep him as a memento. 


He resisted instantly, of course, but with only a portion of 
the strength normally available to him. Erini's life was demanding 
almost as much of his energy as his own rescue. It 
took him far too much time to finally free himself. The next 
assault took him even before the last vestiges of the first had 
faded away. A tear in reality sought to draw him inside, pulling 
at his form with such persistence that he almost succumbed 
before he was able to fashion a defense. Darkhorse sealed the 
rip and let it vanish. It lasted long enough, however, to give 
him a glimpse of where Shade had intended on sending him. 


The festering sore that the Vraads had once called home. 
Nimth. 


He had not wanted to do it this way, but Shade was leaving 


250 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


251 


him no options. Unless Darkhorse struck back with the one 
weapon he knew would be effective, the warlock would take 
him with his next attack—and success or not, this ploy would 
likely drive the final wedge between them. 


The unsavory deed was done even as Darkhorse pictured it. 
Shade, sensing something materializing before him, struck at 
its heart. His target shattered into dozens of glittering fragments, 
which immediately expanded into exact copies of the 
original. As one, they focused on their attacker, who could not 
help but look up at them. Darkhorse, watching, could not help 



but flinch, 


Shade stared, possibly openmouthed, at repetition after repetition 
of his own blurred, featureless visage. They were everywhere 
and each told him the one thing he could not face. The 
truth of his condition. 


He screamed denial even as his pent-up power caused each 
mirror to melt like a single snowflake on a raging campfire. 
Darkhorse himself was buffeted to the ground by the wild 
forces unleashed. He barely maintained his bond with Erini. 
Other than the energy utilized to keep her from dissipating like 
a wisp of smoke, the shadow steed had little more to call upon. 
What remained he needed just to survive this latest and most 
horrid onslaught. It was all he could do just to keep his mind 


coherent. 


"Nononononononononooooo!" Shade was screaming. Rocking 
back and forth, he clawed at his own face, trying to remove 
what could not be removed. Portions of the chamber ceiling 
collapsed, but none so much as struck within two yards of the 
warlock. Somehow, his own defenses were still intact. 


He cannot contain the power and the more he releases, the 
more destruction! It was worse than Darkhorse had feared. 
Vraad sorcery had destroyed one world already. It tore at the 
laws of nature rather than worked with them. As with the 
sorcery of the Dragonrealm, it was ofttimes an almost unconscious, 
automatic thing and the more it was used, the more 
chaos it caused. Shade, trapped in his own horror, was allowing 
it to run rampant. Darkhorse wondered if there might have been 
some other way. 


The warlock was on his knees and facing the ground, 
unmindful of what havoc he was unleashing. Darkhorse had 
wondered what this new spell would do; the answer seemed to 


be create more destruction. It was as if the intensity of the 
original curse had been doubled in scope. 


"Shade!" he called out, his voice booming above all else. 
"You must listen to me! A part of you must know the chaos 
you have invited into this world! I know from the past few days 
that there is, within you, a desire to end this madness peacefully! 
If you would hear me—" 


Surprisingly, the warlock did look up. There was a tenseness 
in his movements. He had heard Darkhorse's voice, but not the 
shadow steed's warning. A fierce presence rose about the 
warlock as his tortured mind mixed facts and suppositions until 
they no longer had any true meaning. From that came one 
final, insane conclusion. 


"You!" Shade rose, all fury. His mind, the stallion noted, 
was shifting from one extreme emotion to another—and with 
this particular emotion, he needed a focal point. "You did this 
to me!" 


It would have been one of the most absurd things that 



Darkhorse had ever heard, save that he could have predicted it 
would be so. Shade could not accept that the grand spell had 
failed again or that he had not even recovered from the first 
attempt. He needed a scapegoat in order to preserve what little 
remained of his sanity—if there was anything left. The warlock 
needed something to lash out at. 


What he does next could level settled areas, the eternal 
realized. And being in the Tybers, one of those places might be 
Talak! How ironic it would be if the Dragon King captured 
Melicard's kingdom, only to have it sink beneath the earth or 
simply cease to be. 


That image in mind, Darkhorse vanished— 


—and reentered the world in the desolate, blistering cold of 
the Northern Wastes. 


Before him, almost as if he had known where the shadow 
steed had intended fleeing, was Shade. Despite, the wind, his 
cloak remained still, covering him like a shroud, Darkhorse had 
wondered what death would look like when it finally claimed 
him. He now knew. There would be no escaping Shade, then. 
Whatever it took, the warlock would track him down, laying 
waste to whatever happened to cross his path in the meantime. 
Perhaps, letting the axe fall here would at least save the 
Dragonrealm, thought Darkhorse somewhat fatalistically, though 


252 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 253 


he suspected that the tortured figure before him would not 
completely spend his madness here. 


"For our friendship," the spectral figure said, his calm 
words more chilling than his angered ones, "I would have left 
you in peace. I would have. Then, you did this to me! Now, I 
have only—" 


"Shade, if you would just listen to me!" 


"—one question to ask of you before I treat you as you've 
chosen to treat me. Why do it? Tell me that." 


There was no correct response and Darkhorse knew that. The 
best he could do was give no answer at all. Shade's twisted 
thought had condemned him already. 


"Goodbye, then, my comrade of old." 


Despite the distance now separating them, Darkhorse still 
maintained the shell protecting the helpless Erini, although it 
sapped almost all of what remained of his strength. He prepared 
himself now for the worst. Death or, at the very least, the 
absence of life. Having never died, he could not say what 
awaited him, if anything. Certainly, he did not fall within the 
realms of human afterlife. 



Scattered thoughts touched him. Curiosity concerning the 
eventual fate of Talak. Questions as to where the Bedlams had 
gone. He wondered what their children would grow up to be 
like. Most of all, Darkhorse wondered what fate awaited the 
world of the Dragonrealm, with or without the interference and 
chaos created by its new, blur-visaged demigod. 


He would protect Erini with the last vestiges of his power. 
When Shade finally took him, the shadow steed would give his 
essence to her. Perhaps it would buy her time enough for Cabe 
to find her. Likely not. 


/ have erred every step of the way, Darkhorse decided. Most 
of all, I erred in thinking of this one as still human—when all 
he truly was, was a Vraad! 


Shade moved, but slowly, as if unwell. Darkhorse saw little 
of consequence in that at the moment, instead concerned with 
bracing himself against what would surely be the warlock's 
final blow. His own nature would protect him briefly, but hardly 
long enough to matter. He only hoped, a foolish hope, that the 
warlock would feel regret afterward. It might stave off some of 
the coming devastation. 


If only there was some way to take from the warlock the 
powers he had usurped... 


There was, There WAS. 


The answer came to him too late. Something darted around 
Darkhorse like a mad horsefly, something that grew as it 
circled him. He tried fending it off, but his power was too 
weak. It expanded as it moved, rapidly wrapping him within a 
shell whose very presence chilled his form, froze lifelessly his 
very essence. Given time, it would make of him a monument to 
his own futility. Given time, there would be nothing more than 
a shell shaped like a huge, writhing steed. 


Given'a little more time, there would not even be that. 


Darkhorse struggled to maintain his senses. The key was his. 
He had controlled it all this time, but his own foolish sense of 
"noble sacrifice" had left him blind to the potential before 
him. Now, it might be too late. 


Entangled in the warlock's death trap, Darkhorse tumbled 
into the snow and ice. The link with Erini, the one that still 
kept her alive, was his only chance. Summoning up his will 
and foregoing his own defense, he called out to her in his 
mind. Erini! 


If he was wrong, it hardly mattered. Neither he nor she had 
more than a few minutes left either way. 


A dim shadow fell over him. Through partially obscured 
vision, he saw a spectral Shade loom over him, likely come to 
gloat over his throes. To the etemal's confusion, the hooded 
.figure sighed and reached out to touch his foe on the head. 
Briefly, Darkhorse entertained the thought of absorbing his 
adversary and trapping him within the emptiness that was his 



inner self, but he knew that the power of Shade was more than 
capable of withstanding even that. True enough, the Vraad's 
hand pulsated with energy. 


The fiendish thing—did it live?—had sealed his mouth and 
Darkhorse found himself unable to form another. He lay there, 
silent and nearly mummified, as the warlock continued to move 
his hand along the shadow steed's neck and to his head. 


For the first time, he felt the probe of Shade's mind. It was 
the final defeat. Darkhorse no longer even had the will with 
which to combat his longtime nemesis and companion. 


"Soooo, that's why you fell so easily," the shadow lurking 
above him whispered. He had discovered the stallion's refusal 
to ^abandon Erini. Darkhorse shook, but was no longer able to 
do anything else... unless... 


The shadow steed opened his mind completely and let his 


254 


RICHARD A. KNAAK 


SHADOW STEED 


255 


captor see everything, but, most especially, what he knew about 


Shade's condition. 


The warlock shook and pulled his hand away as if touching 
something unclean. He remained stooped over his defeated 
adversary for some time, muttering things that Darkhorse could 
not make out save that Shade seemed to be arguing with 
himself adamantly. Finally, however, he came to some fateful 
decision and wrapped himself in his cloak, staring at the point 
somewhere beyond Darkhorse's limited range of vision. 


"I'll need the girl again," he whispered to himself as he rose 
to a standing position. With an almost careless dismissal of the 
muffled figure at his feet. Shade stepped over Darkhorse and 
vanished into the tundra. 


The eternal cursed himself. Of course Shade's first thought 
would be to recapture Erini! Darkhorse had let him see what 
was happening: instead of becoming a near-perfect demigod, 
the warlock was threatened with an existence even less real 
than in his prior incarnations. As powerful as he had become, 
Shade was still at the mercy of his self-made curse. The shadow 
steed had hoped that, knowing this. Shade might come to his 


senses. 


Forgive me, Erini! Oddly, Darkhorse's error gave him the 
glimmer of hope. He had been abandoned and the deadly spell 



that had almost ended his existence had stopped, apparently 
dormant without its master's guidance. Given time, he would 


be able to free himself. 


At that moment, he felt the link between himself and the 
princess break. Shade had reclaimed her for his dire purposes. 


A dangerous error on your part, my dear, deadly friend! 


No longer forced to divide his strength between his own 
defense and the protection of the fading Erini, the eternal's 
might returned much more rapidly. He had still nearly burned 
himself out, but now he had at least the ghost of an opportunity. 
Shade would be vulnerable now, mentally if not magically, 
and Darkhorse was already devising a way to increase that 
vulnerability. He no longer felt much remorse about what he 
plotted to do; Shade's apparent denial of his own condition had 
made it clear that the spellcaster was beyond aid. It was either 
defeat Shade or watch as the Dragonrealm and the rest of this 
world suffered the same fate as long-forgotten Nimth. 


A storm was brewing, one that threatened to become a 
fullscale blizzard. There was a touch of sorcery about it and 


Darkhorse knew then that there was no time to waste. Shade 
had already begun whatever new experiment he planned. If 
there was a time to catch him with his guard down, it was 
before the plan reached fruition. The shadow steed had failed at 
that once. This time, though, the tale would end differently. 


Darkhorse rose quickly, tearing and snapping the bonds that 
had ensnared him. Where they had sought to leech from him, 
he now returned the favor, causing them to dissipate in mere 
seconds. Things of sorcery, they left no remains. The only 
regrets Darkhorse had was the vile taste of them; they were 
filled with the taint of Vraad sorcery. 


In the distance, he witnessed a vast aurora and knew immediately 
that there was where he needed to go. There, he would 
finally have Shade where he wanted him. 


A portal offered too much risk. Darkhorse raced across the 
empty land, feeling somewhat at sympathy with it for all it had 
been through. Once, there had been trees here, life. Now, 
nothing but emptiness. The land looked much the way the 
eternal felt. 


It was, he thought, a fitting place for what would be coming 
next. 


Erini was the first to come within sight. She stood much the 
way she had in the chamber, save that her eyes were open and 
she seemed to be saying something. Darkhorse slowed. Something 
seemed wrong. When a rise brought Shade into view, the 
shadow steed knew that the scene before him was not as it 
should have been, that something was amiss. 


The warlock was seated before his captive, his head low and 
his arms outstretched as if he were the one giving of himself. 



Darkhorse sped across the remaining tundra and began casting 
his first—and likely last—spell. Entranced as he seemed to 
be, Shade would not notice until it struck. From the comer of 
his eyes, Darkhorse noted Erini's gaze turning toward him. Her 
mouth opened as if she intended to say something, but the 
ebony stallion ignored her. For the moment, it was only Shade 
that mattered. 


When the attack caught him unaware, the shadow steed's 
first angry thought was how the warlock had tricked him again, 
laying some trap that he knew Darkhorse would be unable to 
resist. Then, as the world turned upside-down, he realized that 
it was not his ancient adversary who had caught him by 


256 RICHARD A. KNAAK SHADOW STEED 257 


surprise, but Erini. Erini had attacked him, as if she actually 
wanted her captor's spell completed. 


Before he could rise and demand explanations, Shade's voice 
suddenly rose above the howling wind. "No, princess. It's all 
right. He doesn't understand—and, besides, it's taking its own 
course now. He won't be able to touch me; no one will." 


"I can only try!" Darkhorse roared, standing. The snow fell 
from his huge form as if glad to abandon his fearsome presence. 
"Stand away, Erini! You shall be compelled no further!" 


"Darkhorse!" 


He ignored her shout, supposing her to be under the warlock's 
influence. "The female is under my protection. Shade! 
You will release her will and face me!" 


Shade lifted his head toward Darkhorse. It was pale and 
drawn, but distinct. The stallion's first thought was that he had 
failed again. Cursing, he kicked at the snow and readied 
himself to perish fighting. The warlock, however, rose on 
surprisingly unsteady feet and shook his head at the leviathan 
ready to charge him. 


"I'll face you, Darkhorse, but only to say goodbye." 


"You will not leave me behind again!" 


Shade smiled without malice. His face was as pale as the 
snow—or was that the snow Darkhorse saw? The warlock 
stepped toward him, leaving no trail. His movements were slow 
and he seemed to ripple with the wind. The warlock paused 
just out of arm's length from his adversary. 


"You can't follow me where I'm going." 


Darkhorse lashed out with his hooves, hoping to take Shade 
by surprise with a physical attack. To his dismay, he struck only 
air. Behind him, the massive stallion heard Erini gasp. 



Wrapped in his cloak, the warlock stepped back so that he 
now faced both Darkhorse and Erini. Turning to the latter, he 
said politely, "You have what you wanted in return, sorceress. 
-May it please you." 


Erini would not respond, but her face grew almost as 
deathlike as the warlock's. She suddenly shook her head and 
sat in the snow, shivering from something other than the cold. 
The princess buried her face in her hands. 


"What we gain is never quite what we originally wanted, is 
it, Darkhorse?" It was impossible to deny anymore; Shade was 
little more than a ghost in form, a memory more than a man. 


"What have you done now, warlock? What have you demanded 
of Erini that leaves her in such pain?" 


"She cries at the vast extent of her reward, Darkhorse. I 
leave that for her to explain. As for me, I have taken the only 
path left to me. A final path, you might say." 


"Final—!" Darkhorse probed the figure before him—and 
found nothing but a dying emanation of power. Nothing physical 
stood there; what remained was of magic. Magic that was 
fleeing even now to where it belonged. The farthest stretches of 
the Dragonrealm and a crippled, tortured place called Nimth. 


Shade had made Erini reverse his earlier spell, drawing forth 
not only his newly accumulated powers, but those forces within 
him that had originally cursed him to what had once seemed an 
endless chain of phantom incarnations, personalities that existed, 
but did not truly live. 


Sorcery was all that truly remained of the original spellcaster 
and, when the last of it had dissipated, there would be nothing. 
No Shade. Not even the ever-present cloak. All of him was 
magic, nothing more. 


"All that power, all that glory, was not worth facing—facing?—a 
continuation of that damned, horrible mockery of immortality, 
of life." There was little left of the warlock now. He looked 
like a reflection in a piece of glass, wavering in the wind. The 
storm that had threatened seemed to be dying with the man who 
had likely been its cause, but the wind, oddly, was picking up 
in intensity. 


Or was that so odd? Darkhorse gaze locked with Shade's. 
The warlock smiled again and nodded ever so slightly. 


"I had another name, once," he started, as if seeking to take 
both of their minds off of the truth. "It was..." 


Words and warlock drifted away with the wind. 


His name. He wanted to say his name to me. The black steed 
stared at the place where his adversary, his other half, had last 
stood. There were no tracks, of course. The last tracks were 
those where Shade had stood and given himself to Erini. Where 
he had finally, absolutely, ended his curse in the only way left 



to him. 


"Darkhorse?" 


Erini. He had forgotten her presence. 


"I will never know love as you do, princess," he rumbled 
without removing his gaze from Shade's last stand. "But I 


258 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


know that I have lost one who could be considered a brother to 
me despite the evils he caused." 


The sorceress was silent. Darkhorse, urged by a feeling he 
barely understood, trotted forward and kicked snow across the 
warlock's remaining tracks, not pausing until they were buried. 
Gruffly, he turned to his companion. For the first time, the 
stallion seemed to see her. Though her abilities protected her 
from the elements, she had suffered as few others had. Twice 
Shade had used her, forced her to touch something of a world 
that was little more than a sick parody of this one. He hoped 
she would recover once they returned to— 


His ice-blue eyes widened as he recalled what was occurring 
in their absence. "Talak! Lords of the Dead, Erini! You should 
have said something!" 


The human was drawn and weaker than he would have 
suspected, considering the power she had absorbed. Darkhorse 
sensed also a loss to the aura, the presence, about her. She was 
worn to the bone, too, but none of that was why she now sat in 
the snow, gazing at the emptiness without truly seeing it. 


"There's no need to hurry," she stated quietly, finally 
responding to his words. 


"No need to hurry? With Talak under siege by the drakes?" 
Had her ordeal at last overtaken her mind, too? 


"Shade said that I had been rewarded." Erini laughed 
bitterly. "It seemed so perfect. They didn't deserve to survive. 
I keep telling myself that they would have killed Melicard and 
all the rest if I hadn't agreed." Her voice caught. "Yet, for 
some unfathomable reason, I can't help crying at the suffering 
they must have gone through, the shock when they realized 
what was happening." 


"You make no sense, mortal!" She did, but Darkhorse had 
trouble believing what he was imagining. 


She looked up, so pale he almost expected her to dissipate in 
the wind as Shade had done. "I want nothing to do with 
sorcery, Darkhorse. It seemed the best way to rid us of them, 
but... so many lives!" 


"The drake host?" he finally asked with some misgivings. 



She nodded, putting her head in her hands again. "All of 
them. Swallowed up without damage to anything or anyone 
else—save Mal Quorin, I suppose. I even pity him, if you can 
believe it. Shade killed them all with my permission. 


Now it was Darkhorse who could say nothing. He wondered 


SHADOW STBED 259 


at the carnage they would see when they returned. In some 
ways, it had been necessary, but the scope of what the warlock 
had been capable of... 


Erini looked up again, tears for her enemies in her eyes. 
"Take me back to Talak, Darkhorse. I—I can't do it myself. I 
might—might appear in the middle of—I want Melicard!" 


The eternal let her cry some of the pain away as he slowly 
formed a sphere around them. A variation on the portal, it 
would allow them to travel without forcing the princess to act 
herself. When they arrived in Talak, he would see to speaking 
to Melicard privately about her immediate needs. 


He welcomed her sorrow and her need for his aid. Her trials 
would give him purpose and allow him another chance to leam. 
Some day, he might yet understand the mortal creatures he had 
chosen to make his own. Some day, he might understand their 
path through life and, because of that, the definition of life 
itself. Perhaps then, the shadow steed might one day come to 
understand what could have created the man who had become 
known in legend and face as simply Shade. 


Perhaps then, he might also make sense of the continuous, 
wrenching feeling that had begun within him when he realized 
that the warlock had surrendered his life. 


xxm 


Cabe Bedlam found the eternal overlooking the northern 
lands from one of the palace balconies. A vast, well-cultivated 
field, half wheat and half oat, covered nearly every inch of the 
level plain before them. Upon first glance, there seemed 
nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that this was 
hardly the time of year for such a mature crop. What made the 
sight stunning, however, was the fact that it was out there 
where the army of the Dragon King had once stood. It was out 
there that settlements, wooded areas, and roads had existed 
prior to this day. 


260 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


It was there that the drake host had perished down to the 
least of the minor drakes. 


"I'll never forget the sight," Cabe said quietly, eyes fixed 
on the innocent-looking field. "We had barely arrived here 
ourselves, and then only thanks to the Dragon King Green, 
who arrived at the Manor and broke the spell Shade had cast 
over us." He had already relayed that story earlier, telling how, 



in response to word from the Lady Bedlam, the master of 
Dagora Forest had gained entrance and found the two, victims 
of Shade's attempt to kidnap their son Aurim. Neither the 
Bedlams nor their Dragon King ally. Green, could explain why 
the warlock had abandoned his plan after successfully dealing 
with the only two standing in his way. 


Darkhorse thought he knew, but did not say so to Cabe. It 
would only make what had happened to the ancient warlock 
more difficult to accept. 


Cabe moved on to the shocking fate that had befallen the 
charging drakes. "Even with our sorcery, we were only keeping 
them in check. Some of their number got through from time 
to time and wreaked havoc until each was killed or driven off. 
Some of their spells succeeded as well." The sorcerer shivered, 
remembering some of the more dire ones. "Word reached us at 
one point that the expedition to the Hell Plains had turned 
around, apparently because of some message etched into the 
ground by a spell of Drayfitt's just before his death—" Cabe 
did not notice Darkhorse flinch. That explained the final words 
he had not heard, the ones the elderly sorcerer had spoken 
before expiring! To the end, Drayfitt had served Talak with the 
utmost efficiency. "Though the reinforcements were on their 
way, the fighting was becoming so fierce that we suspected the 
drakes would be through Talak's defenses before they arrived. 
It was just after that when the ground to the north began to split 
open." 


What had happened next had driven even stone-hearted 
Melicard to pity the deaths of his enemies. Great gaps and 
ravines opened in the earth, but only in and around the moving 
host. Some estimated that nearly half of the drakes perished in 
the first minute, as the warriors tried frantically and uselessly to 
control the sudden panic of their lesser cousins. Warriors and 
mounts fell screaming into the gaps, which closed up instantly, 
only to be replaced by others. Many of those who managed to 


SHADOW STEED 261 


find stable footing during the first onslaught fell easy prey 
when that ground beneath them suddenly yawned wide. 


"Did none of them fly away?" 


"Seems logical, doesn't it?" Cabe wore a grim smile. 
"They tried it. The sky over the area was literally filled with 
them—until the winds began to buffet them back to the 
earth!" 


"Winds?" 


"Winds followed by lightning followed by a downpour that 
would have crushed in the roof of the palace had the storms 
touched the city—which they did not with amazing accuracy! 
Everything was confined to the area where Silver's horde was 
trapped." 


Quakes, wind, lightning, and rain. Earth, air, fire, and 
water. Darkhorse had to admire Shade's work. How extravagantly 



traditional. 


No one had seen the Dragon King himself perish nor, for that 
matter, Mal Quorin's fate, either. It was safe to assume, 
however, that they had fallen with the rest. The entire horrible 
sight had lasted perhaps five minutes. When the last drake had 
perished, the wounds in the earth healed themselves and the 
storms dwindled to nothing. No one could really say when 
exactly the field had risen up, though everyone swore it was 
there only moments later. 


Voices within informed him that the one he had been waiting 
for had finally recovered enough to join the rest. Darkhorse 
excused himself from Cabe. 


"I'll not forget the good he did, Darkhorse," Cabe called 
after him. 


"Do not forget the evil, either." He trotted into the vast 
room. 


Her face lit up as she noticed him. 


"Princess Erini!" He dipped his head in her honor. "Glad I 
am to see you better! Cherish this woman. King Melicard, for 
there are few as worthy as she!" 


The king had one arm securely wrapped around his betrothed. 
The love he bore for her was spread equally across 
both sides of his face. The elfwood arm, the one that held 
Erini, looked as supple and lifelike as the real thing. 


It is the spirit of the wearer that makes of the elfwood what it 
will be. With love comes life, it seems! 


"Darkhorse." Erini separated herself from Melicard, walked 


262 RICHARD A. KNAAK 


up to the shadow steed, and hugged him by the neck. Off to the 
side, the Lady Bedlam smiled sourly. "Thank you for giving 
me my life again!" the princess added. 


"It is I who should thank you! Are you truly better?" 


"It will take me some time to leam not to shiver each time 
my eyes turn north and see the field." 


Darkhorse laughed. "Think of the field as the first heralds of 
peace! What Shade did was horrendous, but did not cowardly 
Silver bring it upon himself?" 


"I suppose." The princess looked down, as if remembering. 
Then, she looked back up, staring into his glittering eyes. 
"What happens to you now?" 


The shadow steed felt as if all eyes in the room were now on 
him. "I shall roam the Dragonrealm as I always have! For 
Darkhorse, there is no grand scheme, no destiny! I shall roam 
and see what there is to see! I—" 



It was the Lady Bedlam who spoke the words that he would 
not. "You shall search the lands to see if, somehow, he 
survived, won't you?" 


The room grew silent as he stared first at her and then at 
Erini. She looked puzzled, having seen Shade freely end his 
tortured existence. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I will search 
the Dragonrealm for him. There must be no doubt. If he 
has survived, he may need help." Darkhorse absently pawed 
at the floor, leaving scars. "He may also need destroying 
again." 


The ebony stallion stepped back from the mortal creatures 
around him. "It is past the time for me to leave! I am glad you 
are all well and that most of us have lived to see this peace." 
He looked specifically at Melicard and the Dragon King Green. 
There was hope there for some sort of compromise, a lessening 
of Talak's zeal toward those drakes who sought peace between 
the races. Erini caught his stare and looked at her betrothed, 
who nodded noncommittedly. "I now bid you farewell!" 


"Come back to Talak when you wish," the princess 
called. 


Darkhorse nodded to her and also to Cabe, who had rejoined 
his mate. He reared, summoning a portal. 


"Come to the Manor sometime," Gwen said, startling both 
Cabe and the eternal. "You must meet the children. They 
would love you." 


The shadow steed laughed cheerfully, the echoes resounding 


SHADOW 


through the palace. "This, then, is truly a day of miracles' I 
shall take you up on that offer soon. Lady Bedlam. Ha!" 


He entered the portal still laughing, his destination—and his 
destiny—unknown even to him.