Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

VI

It had taken Rendel far longer than he had supposed it would to reach the outskirts of the immense mountain chain. His barely constrained impatience, however, had gradually been supplanted by an even more virulent emotion-anger.

None of his spells worked as they should. Oh, they did what he wanted them to do, but generally to a lesser degree. They also had a tendency to fail the first time, as if the something did not want the spells completed. His growing distrust had forced him to walk the entire trip and suffer the effects of an unbroken world. Rendel stared with arrogant distaste at the scenery around him. It was pretty, yes, but hardly interesting, especially after having seen so much of it. Someday soon, though, he and the others would subdue the Dragonrealm and make it as it should be.

By now, Rendel thought, choosing a rock upon which to sit for a moment, his father and the others knew he had abandoned the plan. Barakas had probably taken much of his anger out on Gerrod, but the pale-haired Vraad could do nothing about that. That was what his younger brother was for, taking the brunt of things. Rendel liked Gerrod as much as he liked any of his brothers, sisters, and cousins-which was not that much at all-but, in the end, it was his own concerns that mattered. And was that not what his father had always taught them?

Rendel had his own agenda, one only he was privy to. The Lord Tezerenee had always been bringing up the outsider, the fool Zeree, as the one most knowledgeable about the ka and the nature of the realm beyond the veil. Never had the patriarch really asked his son if he knew more than he said. Rendel knew far more, having studied greatly in secret. Each sighting had been personally visited, albeit surreptitiously. Each phantom land had been carefully mapped. Each had been scanned for anything out of the ordinary… or perhaps it was best to say anything out of the extraordinary, for even Rendel had to admit that as a whole the Dragonrealm was truly different from his Nimth. Trouble was, most of it had no place in his grand designs.

Eyeing the first intrusion of night in the early evening sky, the Vraad cursed the time differences between Nimth and the Dragonrealm. Three days of walking and now the setting sun reminded him again that he had to push on before the trek became too treacherous. Until he had a better grasp of the intricacies involved in utilizing his powers, he would keep their use to a minimum. That meant facing an even harder walk than the one he had just completed. Yet, if he persevered-and Rendel had confidence in his ability to eventually turn every situation to his own advantage-then all his plotting would have been worth it.

In the mountains, he knew, there was a place he could rest, a place where he could attend to his needs, and begin to carve out a domain of his own, one that would equal, nay, surpass his father’s and all the rest. One where Rendel could at last be alone.

Inspired, the Vraad rose from his resting place, ready to continue even if it meant wandering through the dark of night. Only a little farther and the cavern he had discovered, along with all its treasures, would be his.

His higher senses chose that moment to warn him of the closing presence of one or more creatures. Rendel whirled and studied the trees he was leaving behind. The damnable forest. All throughout his journey, he had felt the eyes upon him. Not merely the eyes of beasts, but ones belonging to other observers, observers who succeeded in staying beyond his reach. They had let him be so far, but he knew that was about to end. Rendel did not fear them. Even with his abilities hampered as they were, he was still a Tezerenee… and a Vraad, of course. There was nothing more potent than that combination. His kind had conquered and broken one world; the Dragonrealm would be no different.

The grandiose visions forming in his mind were shattered by the fluttering of massive wings all about him. Rendel summoned a fiery staff, then summoned it again when the first attempt gained him nothing but smoke. Simultaneous with his spell, the rock he had been sitting on melted. Rendel grinned at the feeble attempt on his life and took a step toward the trees. Large things flittered about the treetops, but always just out of sight. His watchers had finally chosen to come for him. He would make them regret that decision.

Raising the flaming staff high, the Vraad put both hands at the center and twirled his weapon around and around, building speed as he did. When the staff was little more than a blur, tiny balls of fire shot forth in every direction. Treetops became orange infernos in a matter of seconds. If his adversaries would hide from him, then he would just remove their cover.

As the seconds passed, he heard no shrieks and saw no winged figures fleeing from the damage he had caused. The fire continued to spread, reaching other trees through intermingling branches. If left unchecked, it would likely spread throughout the entire forest. Rendel was unconcerned about that; all that mattered was mastering his unseen companions.

Then, as swiftly as the fire had grown, it began to die. The sorcerer glared at the treetops as, one by one, the flames were snuffed out by magical forces. Rendel swore. This was not how it should have gone. The staff had always been one of his favorite and most potent devices. The magical flames were stronger, more resistant to counterspells or even natural attacks, like wind and water. They should not have died out so easily. Rendel had underestimated his foes.

Dismissing his staff-which, as it happened, coincided with the withering of a pair of trees to his left-the Tezerenee folded his arms and gazed intently at the area where he had heard the rustling of wings. He stood motionless, forcing his will upon the world, taking from it what he needed for this assault.

A wind rose. It was a light breeze in its infancy, but Rendel pushed it beyond that. From breeze it became a prestorm wind, full of vibrant life and shaking even the stoutest of limbs as it coursed through the nearby forest. Still not satisfied, Rendel pushed harder, turning the wind upon itself, making it follow its own tail around and around. Leaves, dirt-anything loose and tiny enough-were swept into the funnel. It continued to grow, a tornado twice as tall as any of the brown and green leviathans it stood among.

Rendel was still not satisfied; he wanted a rampaging maelstrom that would tear the forest out by its roots… and with it his shadows.

The unseen watchers had not counterattacked, which to Rendel meant that they had used what they had and were even now cowering in the trees, holding on for dear life. He was slightly curious as to what they looked like, if only because they might prove useful slaves, but it would be just as satisfying if the elemental force he had unleashed tore their limbs from them and battered their bodies into pulp. Rendel had never fought a foe who was not one of his kin or at least one of the other Vraad. The golems and other constructs his clan used in mock combat did not count. His would-be attackers here had been a real, albeit minuscule, threat. The Tezerenee allowed the satisfied smile to spread farther across his face. He felt a growing pleasure at his handling of the brief affair. His had been the first conquering blow. His enemies had fallen before him like… like leaves in the wind, he decided, laughing.

The maelstrom he had created chose that moment to completely dissipate. A brief shower of refuse buffeted the treetops and then nothing was moving. No wind. No birds. No animals. Rendel stood frozen, suddenly uncertain as to who commanded the situation now.

The silence was broken at last by a sound already familiar to the stunned Vraad.

A great rustling of wings, as if a score of massive birds were taking to the sky, filled his ears, echoed in his head.

Shadows dotted the clearing around him. Rendel looked up.

Their wingspans were at least the length of his frame. They were vaguely Vraad-shaped, having arms and legs and a narrow torso. How the wings, as long as they were, succeeded in lifting all that perplexed the studious side of Rendel. Sorcery, perhaps. The creatures glided effortlessly to the ground, more than a dozen of them surrounding him. A part of Rendel demanded to know why he was standing here like a fool and not striking. Yet, the Vraad could not push himself to even the slightest of efforts. His only inclination was to gaze upon those who, in his misplaced arrogance, he had thought he could so easily better.

One of the avian beings walked up to him, contempt for Rendel in every movement, every breath. It came within reach and simply matched his gaze. The Tezerenee found he could not turn away from the visage before him. His counterpart opened its sharp, savage beak and squawked something at him. Rendel wanted to shake his head, tell the creature that he could not understand it, but even that seemed hardly worth the trouble. In the back of his head, the same part that had fruitlessly demanded action now informed him bitterly that he was under a spell. He, who had been so confident of his power, had been captured effortlessly by his shadows. Rendel had not even felt the spell.

The avian leader, for that was who he assumed the creature was, leaned closer, cocking its head to one side so as to better observe him. That one eye, inhuman as it was, reminded Rendel all too much of another eye. His father’s. In his captors, the Vraad had found a race whose arrogance appeared to match that of his own kind.

Seeming to find nothing of worth in what stood before it, the leader started to turn away. It paused midway, however, and slowly turned back, visibly contemplating something.

A taloned hand shot out toward the startled and helpless Rendel’s face. He would have screamed, picturing in his mind what those long, needle-sharp claws would do, but the world-the world he had thought he would conquer-suddenly turned into a welcome darkness that enveloped Rendel and took him away to a place where he could hide.

“Eat this, girl.”

Sharissa shook her head, not wanting anything from the Tezerenee woman who stood above her. For three days, since the dark one called Gerrod had found her lying near where the rift had last been, she had been a “guest” of the clan of the dragon. For three days, she had been questioned, in order that they might help her, yet she had not spoken a word to them. The first two days, the patriarch, a man who made Sharissa shiver when he stared at her, had chalked it down to panic. Why not? Something had happened to her father, something unexpected. What they wanted to know-what the Lord Tezerenee in particular wanted to know-was exactly what had happened to him?

Gerrod, who unnerved her with his ghostly appearance, had explained how he had found her there, still sobbing and unable to say anything coherent. It seemed to her that the patriarch frightened his own son as much as he frightened her, for the half-seen Tezerenee continually shrank deeper into the protective folds of his cloak, becoming, by tale’s end, little more than a walking piece of cloth.

Lord Barakas had been gruff and his lady had been sweet, caring almost, but Sharissa had said nothing. They did not push her after a certain point, likely because they still wanted, at the very least, the semblance of cooperation between the elder Zeree and the clan. A sudden break between the partners would raise the already strained suspicions of the rest of the Vraad. It pained her to remain silent, since if anyone was capable of aiding her in rescuing her father, it was the clan master. He had the most knowledge of the phantom realm.

The strain of three days of fighting her own fears had taken their toll. She was worn, thin, and unable to think. What was worse was that they would not let her alone, not allow her the needed privacy to work things out. Their “concern,” as Lady Alcia had put it, forced them to watch her day and night.

An impatient sigh from her latest guardian stirred her. “Weakling! I’ll leave it here. Maybe when you stop blubbering, you’ll be able to swallow it… though anyone who can’t conjure themselves up a meal on their own…”

Even as the voice faded off, Sharissa knew she was now alone. Like most Vraad, the Tezerenee had little patience for those unable to fend for themselves. Another one would be replacing the snide woman shortly, though, so Sharissa’s privacy was temporary, at best.

They are right! Nothing but a weakling! Sharissa scolded herself bitterly. She raised herself to a sitting position and slowly dragged the food over to her. A delicious odor drifted past her nose. There was no denying that the patriarch was treating her well-on the surface. What could she do now, however? There was no possibility of leaving the city without a score or more of the Tezerenee, not to mention any exceptionally paranoid Vraad celebrating the coming down below, from noting her departure. Sharissa was uncertain of her father’s true present status with the patriarch. Would he send dragon riders after her? Would he actually lay siege to the castle? Even Sirvak, skilled as the familiar was with its master’s defenses, would be hard-pressed to keep them out.

“Sharissa Zeree.”

A deathly cold wrapped itself about her spine and spread quickly throughout her person.

Gerrod’s shrouded figure stood at the doorway. “Are you better?”

He had treated her with nothing but respect and could have been considered harmless in comparison to those others she had met, but Sharissa could not warm to him. Gerrod lived in two worlds, and had hid too many things from even his lord and progenitor. He was, Dru would have said, an outstanding example of Vraad duplicity. Sharissa could feel that even though they had actually spoken very little.

“What do you want?”

Gerrod folded his legs and sat down on empty air. He floated nearer to her, much too near for Sharissa’s tastes. “This is foolish. Each moment that passes lessens the chances of Master Zeree’s survival. I know where he must be; I’ve searched everywhere else for him.” From the bitterness in his tones, Sharissa guessed that the bulk of the task had, indeed, been foisted upon her visitor. For the first time, she was able to sympathize with Gerrod. “I know he must be across the veil.” The half-seen face moved closer. “How did he do it? Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally replied, deciding that a partial truth might aid her. “The way through is no more. He can’t come back and no one can go after him.”

“Oh?” Gerrod straightened. His glittering eyes, temporarily visible, widened. “Then there is a way in which to-?”

Whatever his next words were to have been was something Sharissa would never discover, for one of the countless multitude of armored Tezerenee cousins or brothers materialized between them, anxiety evident in his agitated manner.

“Gerrod. Father wants you! Something-” The newcomer glanced at Sharissa, but appeared to find her of little importance. “Something is amiss! Go to him now!”

The hooded figure shifted, as if about to protest, then gradually sunk deeper within the protective layers of his cloak. “Where is he, Lochivan?”

“Ephraim.” It was all the other brother had to say. One moment, both Tezerenee faced each other in uneasy silence, then Sharissa was alone again. The clan of the dragon were not known for their long farewells, she decided.

The patriarch’s grand design was in jeopardy. That much was evident from Lochivan’s distress and Gerrod’s instant compliance at the mere mention of that other name. Sharissa had no proof that there was any connection between whatever the Tezerenee struggled with and the disappearance of her father save that both were tied to the land beyond the veil. Nonetheless, the feeling swept over her that the Vraad were facing something beyond their arrogant plans, beyond, perhaps, their varied and supposedly limitless abilities.

And here she sat, doing nothing.

Sharissa had spent most of her brief life secluded from the rest of her race. Dru Zeree, knowing the Vraad as he did-and remembering his own excesses-had wanted his sole child to have nothing to do with the others until he felt she was ready. The only question was, when was that to have been? As skilled as she had become with the use of sorcery, Sharissa was still an infant when it came to dealing with her kind. There had been a few scattered individuals throughout her life, but none who her father had wanted her to know intimately. Only a handful of names came to her from those passersby. One she remembered better than others, so alive had that particular Vraad been.

Perhaps…

Mistressss?

Sirvak? It was only the second time the familiar had contacted her since the horrifying events at the ridge. The first time, Sirvak had witnessed with her the fading of the forest and her father’s last desperate attempt to escape his fate. The familiar had broken contact with her moments after Gerrod had reached her, emphasizing that it would reestablish the link. Sirvak distrusted the Tezerenee-all Vraad, in fact-more than even Dru had.

Alone, mistressss?

Yes. Is Father-

The creature silenced her with a mental hiss. No, mistressss. Masterrrr issss still away. Sirvak apparently refused to accept the possibility that its master was dead. Sharissa wondered if there was an even stronger link between the magical beast and her father than the one of blood between Dru and herself. Come home, mistresss.

What is it?

Hesitation formed a silence that stretched Sharissa’s nerves taut. When she could wait no longer, the young Vraad asked again, this time with more emphasis in case the familiar was forgetting who she was.

May be a way to find masterrr, mistresss.

She almost shouted out loud, so overjoyed did the startling announcement make her. Sirvak, however, was quick to dampen her spirits before she grew too happy.

May, mistresss! Not certain! Need your guidance!

I’ll come instantly! There’s no need to wait!

Must not! It was as if her father himself had scolded her. Must take care. Never trust a Vraad, master always said.

They’re busy with their own problems, she retorted.

The familiar let loose with a mental sigh. Do as you must then, mistress. Take care, though.

Sirvak broke the link.

Rising, Sharissa stepped over to the doorway and leaned outside. The hall was empty. The young Vraad stepped back inside and moved to the sole window of her chambers. Her view overlooked the courtyards where the Vraad still gathered, talking and attempting to outshine one another. The coming had spread to the surrounding lands-as her father had said it usually did, and she could see some of her more flamboyant counterparts showing off. There was now a mountain of glittering diamond beyond the northern walls and a vast lake of water-truly a difficult spell, she acknowledged silently-on the eastern edge of the mountain. Beyond, there were flashes and sounds, none of which Sharissa could identify with anything that she had learned.

Dru had spoken of the subdued manner of this, the last coming. Only those with long-standing grudges, like Silesti and Dekkar, were likely to stir things up. Such massive displays of sorcery, however, spoke for the confidence of the Vraad race in the Lord Tezerenee’s plans. Everyone understood, at least somewhat, that the more sorcery unleashed, the worse Nimth grew. Already, the sickening green covered the murky sky. It saddened Sharissa to think of what her kind would be leaving behind and she hoped that the new land would not suffer the same.

That was if they ever succeeded in migrating over there.

No one would miss her for some time; Sharissa was certain of that now. Lord Barakas would have his entire clan working to solve whatever disaster had befallen his dreams. He would have no time for her or her father’s disappearance. Other than Gerrod, they probably thought he was dead by now, not that she had not thought of that herself constantly. With great effort, Sharissa once again pushed the ugly vision from her mind. Sirvak’s confidence bolstered her. It had to; it was the only thing she had to lean on.

Sharissa gazed down at the throngs one last time and her eyes caught on a lone figure seeming to watch the rest with barely constrained amusement. She leaned forward, not thinking to adjust her sight accordingly.

As if feeling the eyes upon her, the single Vraad looked up. Sharissa was greeted by a vibrant smile that washed away the terror and distress of the last few days. It was such a wonderful feeling that she could not help being caught up in it. She smiled in return.

In the next breath, Sharissa was no longer alone in the chamber. The other female was with her, reaching out to take her in her arms, ready to comfort the younger woman. Sharissa went to her gladly, knowing that she had found someone with whom she could share her problem.

“You look both distraught and beautiful, dear sweet Shari! What has that beast Barakas been doing to you? Why are you here instead of with your father?”

“Father’s in terrible trouble!” Sharissa burst out. It had been so long since the two of them had seen each other, but the feeling of safety and assurance she felt now washed away the years of absence.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” her companion said, smoothing Sharissa’s wild, tangled hair. “Then we can see about doing something.” Sharissa started to speak, but was cut off. “No, on second thought, let us go elsewhere; too many Tezerenee here for my tastes.”

“I was going to go home. Sirvak said I should. He said-”

“Hush! Let us depart for your father’s wondrous castle of pearl, then, sweet Shari.” The smile broadened, smothering any doubts Sharissa still had. “You’ll have to do it, however. Your father lets no one in and I think Sirvak must be the same. So very distrustful.”

“Sirvak has no say in what I do,” the young Zeree commented defiantly. “If I want you with me, he’ll obey.”

Melenea stroked Sharissa’s hair again. “That’s exactly what I thought.”