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

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

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

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

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

X.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can you really do that?" Marilee asked. "He's dead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's-it's beautiful," Marilee finally whispered. Bertran merely nodded.

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

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

Cabe shook his head sadly. "They'll just think you under a spell."

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

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

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

"As you like." Cabe stepped back. "In that case, I'll bid you farewell."

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

"No . . . thank you for forgiving me."

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

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

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

Knowing no other way to begin, Cabe quietly said, "h.e.l.lo, Hadeen."

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

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

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

Now the branches rustled. Yes . . .

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

Yes . . .

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

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

"The Gryphon's set is fake, a copy, isn't it?"

Yes . . .

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

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

Yes . . . tried so hard . . .

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

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

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

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

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

We must remove her from the tomb-Hadeen began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cabe focused on Penacles. He saw no reason to waste any time. He wanted answers, at least some answers- The branches rustled. Hadrea . . .

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

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

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

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

Son . . .

DRAGON MOUND.

(Available in Hardcover & ebook) Lightning crackled nearby, splitting a tree, which nearly fell across his path. Evan's steed did not hesitate, racing as swiftly as the wind toward his destination despite the fact that the bolt that had almost hit the pair had come not from above but from before them.

Evan drew the jeweled blade, certain that someone or something already expected him.

Perhaps a hundred yards or so from the dragon's mound, the baleful animal at last halted to a slow trot. The knight noted his mount's wariness as they approached the vicinity, almost as if the horse sensed something he could not.

"What is it?" Evan whispered.

The d.a.m.nable steed's only reply came in a dismissive flick of the ears. Evan frowned, at last peering out into the wet, foggy gloom for answers.

Someone whispered.

He turned in the saddle, seeking the speaker, only to be snared by another voice coming from the opposite direction. Both spoke unintelligibly, but with tones of urgency.

A pale figure moved through the trees, seemingly unconcerned by either the downpour or the lightning. The knight leaned forward, squinting. It took Evan a moment to recognize the fur-clad form of an ax-man from Tepis-a warrior from the battle some two centuries before. The fur had been stained by something dark and the figure's head wobbled as if not entirely attached. No living being this, but rather some specter wandering the earth.

Despite his mount's disagreement, he forced the animal toward the murky figure. What part this apparition played Evan did not know. He grew tired of unanswered mystery after unanswered mystery- The ashen steed drew up short as a veiled, feminine figure in armor burst forward from the brush, waving her sword. She made not a sound and when the horse rose up and kicked at the horned helm of the attacker, his hooves went through her. She continued on, one of Haggad's lithe and deadly Knights of the Veil, swinging at foes Evan could not see.

He shivered, the ghosts of memory a faint thing compared to this. The worn knight shifted his gaze and through rain-drenched eyes watched as his most ancient nightmares more and more took on form and fury. From the mists emerged a Wallmyrian archer, his gut spilled open by a sword, readying his bow for another volley. The empty stare of death greeted Evan when he sought the man's eyes.

Beyond the archer, a knight in old Rundin wear straggled along, one leg twisted, armor soaked in blood, and half his head and helm missing.

And in the background, the whispers and the thunder of the storm gave way to the mournful wail of battle horns.

A bolt of lightning from the vicinity of the mound struck the earth nearby, startling man and mount and briefly illuminating the area for a mile around. In that instant of light, Evan Wytherling beheld a sight so blood-freezing that he nearly turned and fled, whatever the consequences to his tarnished honor and his cursed quest.

The dead had come in force to replay their roles in the great battle.

They formed from mist, from rain, from thin air. Elfin warriors with skin paler than even in life marched toward the mountains, some without limbs, some without heads, some crawling along with only one hand to push them forward. Trolls pincushioned with longbow shafts tottered toward them, grotesque faces made more so by death. A scorched and mangled skeleton swung at an almost perfectly preserved Rundin warrior.

From above came the roar of a dragon. Evan immediately looked up, but saw nothing but the overcast heaven. He returned his gaze to the ground just in time to notice one ghost in particular, a ghost who stared back . . . no mean feat as the wraith's ma.s.sive head lay cradled in his arm.

"Come to play, boy?" sneered the bony, snow-eyed visage. In his other hand he waved a wicked, toothed sword stained with dried blood. "We've waited long for you . . ."

Evan fought to control his mounting distress as he greeted the foul apparition in turn. "h.e.l.lo, General."

"Meek as a kitten! You've been away from good bloodshed far too long, boy! No more fire in your gut . . . just water!" The rail-thin specter tapped his steel-gray breastplate where a dozen or more heavy swords had been driven into his torso. "Look at me, boy! I don't even have a gut anymore and yet I'm still more alive than you!" The gaunt face cracked into a skeletal smile again. "Why don't you come down and play a little? I'll get the fire going in you again . . . before I split your gullet . . ."

Control yourself, Evan urged. The macabre figure before him could not hurt the knight; none of these apparitions could. They were phantasms called up by latent magic seeping from the cairn of Grimyr. At worst, they might steer him toward madness if Evan gave them substance with his fear. Even the monstrous figure before him, one of those best guaranteed to strike at his innermost being, did not really exist as a threat. The veteran knight had faced far more dangerous ghosts and knew the difference. "You are long dead, General Haggad. Go back to your rest."

"But I'm not done with this world yet, boy . . . and not with you, either. You owe for a lot of deaths." The wraith held his nearly hairless head up high, the better for Evan to see the soulless eyes, the outline of the bone beneath the very thin layer of dead flesh. "You owe Novaris, especially."

The silver knight's skin tingled. Evan pulled quickly on the reins, trying to urge his mount elsewhere. The horse obeyed without argument, perhaps sensing the same danger that his rider had.