“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 the nothing just so there was room for all. It was astonishing that so much nothing could fit into so little space.
I 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 Whole!” 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 come!” 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 purpose!”
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. “I journeyed to reality. I 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…”
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 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.