Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

IX

From the tower in which his private chambers lay, Barakas Tezerenee watched the vanishing of his wife and the others. Sharissa Zeree would be suitably impressed with the way of things by the time Alcia was finished. Her encounter with the elfin prisoner had been perfectly orchestrated, as he had expected. There lay potential in that meeting; unless he missed his guess, she would try her best to speak to the prisoner in private… although it would not be so private as she believed.

All things come together, the patriarch thought in satisfaction. He patted a square container upon which the mark of the Tezerenee had been emblazoned.

“Father?”

Barakas turned and faced Lochivan, who had materialized, as was proper, on one knee with his head bent downward. “All goes well, my son?”

“Yes, my lord. Sharissa is in the chamber even now. By this time, she is aware of the nature of the corpse.”

“Perhaps she can tell us what happened. That would be an added prize.”

“Does it matter so?”

“We must strive to further ourselves. If the legacy of the avians can aid us, so be it.” The patriarch looked down at his son. “You are a few minutes early.”

Lochivan did not look up. “I deemed it more beneficial to our goals that I depart the chamber. Sharissa is not comfortable in my presence.”

“She will have to learn if she is to marry your brother.”

This time, the younger Tezerenee did look up. His helm hid much of his visage from his parent, but Barakas knew his son’s mind. “Is that necessary, Father?”

Barakas started to scratch his wrist, but fought down the urge. “I listened to you. I allowed you to use that sycophant to drop off your little gimmick. You had raised good points. Now, I see that we no longer have to worry about Dru Zeree following us… not, at least, for quite some time.”

The kneeling figure did not speak, knowing there was more to come.

“Your toy failed. She fought it, proving she has a will worthy of the Tezerenee. The cross-over had not yet commenced, and her interference might have brought the rest of the Vraad down on us, something I did not wish at the time.” Something caught the corner of his eye. He turned, but all he saw was the box sitting on a table. A simple magical test of the barriers proved they still held, so he knew that it was not an escape attempt he had noted.

Lochivan made the mistake of looking up. Barakas returned his attention to his son. “I find I am more than satisfied that taking her was the correct maneuver after all. Reegan needs a strong hand to guide him. She will be that guiding hand once I have molded her properly.” He folded his arms. “Now, do you still have qualms?”

“No, sire.”

It was a lie and they both knew it, but the Lord Tezerenee also knew that he could rely on Lochivan to obey him in all things. “Very well. You are dismissed.

…Wait.”

“Sire?”

“Tomorrow, I want a force ready to ride to the mountains, ground and air forces.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Go.”

Lochivan vanished without even rising. It was an act that attested to the rejuvenation of the Tezerenees’ power. They were not yet the masters they had once been in Nimth, but that day could not help but be drawing near, the patriarch believed.

He started to turn back to the window once more, when, for the second time, something caught his eye. It was gone before he could do any more than register its existence, but the Lord Tezerenee froze where he was, for there was something familiar about the shape, a shrouded, possibly human shape.

Quickly moving to the box, he touched the seal. There had been no trick-ery; the box was, indeed, still protected against assault from both without and within. He felt the presence trapped inside stir to renewed fury.

“Struggle all you like, demon,” Barakas whispered to the one imprisoned within. “You will bow to my control, or else I’ll leave you in there and lose you somewhere in the deepest cavern I can find.”

The struggling subsided. Fear was gaining ground. Barakas had introduced Dru Zeree’s deadly companion to a place even worse than the emptiness of the Void. It had not been difficult to uncover the shadow steed’s principal weakness. He feared to be alone.

In the box, there was not even the nothingness of the Void to share Dark-horse’s fate, only the ebony creature himself.

“That’s better. If you behave yourself, I will even let you see Lady Sharissa again.” It would serve as a lesson to both. He would see that she was helpless despite being free to move about, and she would note that even a might as great as he was little challenge to the Tezerenee.

It was the next step in breaking their will.

Removing his hand from the box, Darkhorse’s ungodly prison, Barakas scratched at his throat. He still wondered about the image. Was it a trick of his eyes, eyes that had, of late, not seen as well as they should have? Was it just his imagination? If so, why pick that one image to conjure to life?

Why would he imagine the startled vision of his traitorous son, Gerrod?

Something had gone wrong terribly wrong and he didn’t know what to do and he didn’t know where he was and how he had ended up here but the last thing he remembered was almost reaching his goal but his father had been there, hadn’t he?

“Stop it!” Gerrod screamed at himself, not caring a whit at the moment how mad he must look. He put his hands to his ears as if by doing so he could silence his own inner voice. Yet, the insane thoughts rambled on for several breaths before the warlock was finally able to bring himself under control.

In perverse fashion, it was his father’s words that provided the willpower.

We are the Tezerenee. The name Tezerenee is power. Nothing is greater than our will.

Until this moment, those words had always struck him as contradictory and simplistic. For all his father’s speeches, only one will really mattered among the clan of the dragon-the patriarch’s, of course. Now the words reminded Gerrod that his father would not allow madness to rule him so easily. The Lord Tezerenee would fight it with as much strength as he would a physical foe. It all depended on how you focused that strength.

Gerrod would not allow himself to fail where he knew his father would succeed.

Through silent contemplation, he brought order to his thoughts and quelled, if not cast out, the fear. It occurred to him then that he had closed his eyes upon losing his hold on his destination and had not opened them again.

From the darkness of his inner self, Gerrod found himself thrust in the light of… nothing?

For lack of a better term, he was willing to call his surroundings white, though white implied something, if only light and color, and this was neither. It was simply a vast nothingness.

“Dragon’s blood!” he hissed, momentarily slipping to a favorite Tezerenee oath.

He was floating helplessly in what could only be the emptiness that Dru Zeree had tried so desperately to describe, but always in so very inadequate terms. Gerrod could see why. Nothing, no words, could match the truth. There was no description that could do justice to the Void.

Calm. He had to remain calm. Master Zeree had escaped this place, and so would he.

What had happened? Gerrod recalled his brief intrusion into the real world and the sudden vagueness of his destination, as if the teleport spell no longer had a certain path to fix upon. His father had been there, a risk the warlock had been willing to face, but not the dweller from the Void. Why? The spell should have brought Gerrod to Darkhorse, unless there was some unforeseen barrier…

A box. He recalled a box. There was something about it that had drawn him, something-

“You are not other I.”

“What?” Gerrod looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Other I was becoming boring. Maybe you will be entertaining.”

“Who is that? Where are you?” the warlock shouted. He tried to turn around, but in the Void it was impossible to say whether he had achieved any result or not. Certainly, nothing but emptiness spanned his field of vision. It might have been a different nothing than the moment before, but how would he know?

“I am here.”

A vast hole opened up before the floating Vraad. Gerrod’s stomach began to turn. This was sounding too familiar to him. The hole quivered. Gerrod wondered how one could have a hole in the middle of emptiness. This was a part of the Void’s tendencies that he had never come to terms with even after mulling over the story for years. The natural laws that he was accustomed to had no meaning here. If the Void felt a hole could exist in the midst of what was basically a bigger hole, then so be it.

“You’re real!” Gerrod’s blurted remark was superfluous at best, but staring at this creature, even after having faced Darkhorse, he could not help but want to deny the sight before him.

“You have a funny inside voice. It makes all sorts of funny noises.”

It was reading his thoughts, the surface ones, at least. Dru Zeree had mentioned that Darkhorse had done the same-

“Darkhorse? What is a Darkhorse?” The black, bottomless hole grew larger, its borders coming within a few yards of the nervous Tezerenee.

The warlock kept a careful rein on his thoughts. Any loose notion would be easy prey for the creature… and there was no promise that it was as friendly as Darkhorse had been.

“Darkhorse is like you.”

“There is nothing like me.” The blot was proud of that fact. “There was other I, but other I is gone.”

“Darkhorse is other I. It… he has a new name.”

“A name?”

What sort of mind did this creature have, Gerrod wondered, that it could read his thoughts well enough to learn his speech but not understand various terms and ideas? Master Zeree had described a similar situation with Dark-horse, but not how irritating it could be. There were already too many emotions vying for mastery over the warlock without one more addition.

“What… is… a… name?” With each word, the hole grew larger. Gerrod now found himself truly having to worry that he would be devoured, swallowed, or whatever the case might be if the creature continued its growth.

“A name is what you call something. I am Gerrod. If you talk to me, you might mention my name so that I will know that you are speaking to me.”

“Gerrod, you are amusing, Gerrod. Gerrod, what else do you know, Gerrod? Gerrod, come and Gerrod entertain me further, Gerrod!”

“That’s not what I meant.” He wondered if it mattered that his visage was still covered by his hood. Would his annoyance and fear register to this bizarre horror?

The hole chose that moment to swell further. Gerrod tried to wave himself away.

“Why do you do that? Why do you wiggle your appendages so?”

“You… your body would swallow me! If you get any closer, I’ll die-” It could hardly understand that term. Gerrod hurriedly sought another. “I’ll be no more. I won’t be able to entertain you again!”

The blot paused, but its tone did not encourage the young Tezerenee. “You… fear… me.”

He could not deny it. “I do.”

“I like its taste.” The dweller from the Void seemed to consider things. At the very least, it was both still and silent for several breaths. “You are more entertaining than the other things I have met!”

“Others?”

“I absorbed them! It was fun, but this is more fun! I think I shall play with you!”

“Play?” Try as he might, Gerrod could not keep the quiver from his voice. Could it be that the spell, unable to fix upon one creature, had brought him instead to one akin to what he sought? How else to explain his meeting this brother of Darkhorse’s so soon after his debacle?

Was it that soon? Had not Dru Zeree said that time was not a consideration in the Void? How long had he actually been there?

I will not allow panic to rule me! he thought, teeth gritted. I have to get away from this thing before it loses interest in me and decides to… to… The warlock found he could not bring himself to complete his thought.

“Do something else for me!” the hole demanded.

What did he know about Darkhorse that he could use to divert the creature’s attention? “Can you make yourself take up less area?” He indicated with his hands what he meant. “Can you make yourself this big, for instance?”

The blot was suddenly the very size he had indicated. Gerrod blinked in astonishment at the speed with which the dweller reacted to his suggestion. He had known that the shadow steed was swift to react to things; Zeree had made that clear. What had not been clear was how swift those reactions were. He would have to be careful about what he did. Gerrod could not allow the monstrosity to know what was happening.

“Now what?” bellowed the blot, its voice still reverberating with harsh consistency in the human’s ears.

Now what? indeed! Have it become a horse like its brother? No, that would likely rely on the dweller’s searching through the warlock’s thoughts for an image of a horse. Gerrod had no desire to allow this entity to go rooting around his mind. It might not leave him the same.

A shock tore through his system, so abrupt that Gerrod had no time to brace himself for it. He screamed loud and full and could not say when he at last was able to stop.

“Entertain me, I said.” The cold tone left no doubt as to where the agony had originated.

“You-”

“The other little things like yourself, they were entertaining for a time! I found they did interesting things when I touched them like that! I learned much from them! I learn much from you! I even have a name now!” It giggled, a disquieting sound. “I fooled you I did! A good game, wasn’t it? Here you explain to me what a name is and I had one all the time!”

Mad… inhuman, utter madness! It babbles like an idiot, but an idiot who could easily erase my existence whenever it chooses, the Tezerenee thought, his panic, despite his efforts, gaining too great a foothold. How could he divert the insane creature long enough to find a way out of this emptiness? There had to be something in what Dru Zeree had told him about Darkhorse!

“You were very clever,” he finally told the hole. “You had me tricked completely. You were almost as clever as Dark-the other I you mentioned. He was very, very clever.”

The blot stirred, swelling in size again. Gerrod wondered if he had gone too far. A notion had formed, but Gerrod was not certain whether it had any merit yet. Much of his success would lie in the dweller’s arrogant yet childlike ignorance.

“I formed other I! Was that not most clever of all? How could other I, this Darkhorse creature, be more clever?”

The warlock’s ears pounded. He clapped his hands over them and shouted back, “There are many ways to be clever! Some are more wondrous than others! Let me tell you the story!”

As if understanding his pain, the eternal’s voice grew soft, almost subdued in tone. More and more, Gerrod was coming to respect Darkhorse for what he had become. This horror, on the other hand… “What is a ‘story’?”

Gerrod hesitated. “Are you playing with me again? If you are, I won’t bother telling you what a story is!”

“I am not playing with you! What is a story? Is it fun? I want fun! I understand fun!”

“It can be very fun.” He would have liked to debate its concept of fun, but, being Vraad, Gerrod knew that his own folk, when ruling Nimth, had often acted just as sadistic, just as mad, while “enjoying” themselves. “A story is a… Suppose I told you about other I’s clever trick and how I know of it. That would be a story of sorts.” It would also be the opening he needed. There was something in Master Zeree’s tale that could help him… and he had nearly let it pass!

“Your other voice hides! Why?”

He stiffened. The creature had almost caught his thoughts, his “other voice.” “It has to hide before I can tell you a story. That… that is the way I am!”

The blot shrank again, evidently satisfied with the explanation. Gerrod felt as if he teetered on the edge of the proverbial precipice; his adversary was an unpredictable quantity. Any move, any wrong word, could spell the warlock’s end.

“Do you want to hear my story?”

“It might prove amusing! I like to be amused, you know! How does a story begin?”

Gerrod breathed a sigh of relief. “Sometimes they begin with words like ‘Once there was…’ or ‘Long ago… ‘. This one begins ‘There was a man named Dru Zeree… ‘.”

He went into the story, editing, as best he could under the circumstances, any mention of how the outsider Zeree had found himself here or how the sorcerer and his newfound companion had left this place. While he told the tale, Gerrod tried to mull over his own manner of escape. Vraad sorcery had not worked for Zeree. Might-he hesitated to even consider it-might the magic of the founders’ world work here? He was capable of it, Gerrod knew that much, but to finally give in to it…

His unnerving companion remained quiet throughout the story. The hooded Vraad put aside his other worries and concentrated again on the creature, for the tale was nearly complete. It was being entertained, that much was obvious. Would it follow through on his suggestion? Did it suspect what he had in mind and was simply playing with him?

“… and when the other I burst forth, he was a new creature, a wonderful, huge beast who called himself Darkhorse!” What would his father think of him, floating in limbo telling stories in order to preserve his life?

“I have a name! Do you want to know what it is?” The blot sounded so much like an anxious child that Gerrod almost laughed despite the danger to him.

“What is it?”

“I am Yereel!” The hole swelled to mammoth proportions. Gerrod waved his arms and legs back and forth, but he felt himself being drawn into the gaping mouth that was his unwanted companion.

“Y-Yereel! Stop! Please!”

Yereel shrank down to a tiny blot little bigger than the warlock’s hand. It-he seemed more appropriate now-giggled again. “I frightened you! Good! The taste stirs me as nothing else does!”

A decidedly different path of development than Zeree’s creature took, the Tezerenee thought again. How very unfortunate for me. He decided to make no comment about the creature’s-Yereel’s-choice of names. If the dweller was happy, it was to Gerrod’s advantage. In the meantime, the warlock had to press on. “Did you enjoy the tale?”

“Very much! Can I make one?”

“If you like. I have something better to entertain you with… and a way to prove yourself more clever than Darkhorse.”

Though it was impossible to read any emotion in a hole, Gerrod was certain Yereel was intrigued.

“What is this way?” the blot finally asked.

“Change yourself as he did.”

Hesitation… then, “I have never done such before.”

“Neither had Darkhorse.”

“I do not have this ‘horse’ to shape myself like.”

The Tezerenee allowed himself a quick smile, hoping such a facial movement was beyond the dweller’s comprehension. “That would only prove yourself as clever as him. If you want to prove yourself most clever, then you need a new form, one that Darkhorse did not do.”

Yereel almost whimpered. “I have no other form to copy! There is only you and I!”

Gerrod pretended to consider that problem. “Well, then you could shape yourself into something like me! Darkhorse never did that! That would prove you more clever!”

“Wonderful!”

“It might be too difficult for you, though…”

“Not so! Watch!”

Still the same tiny hole in the midst of nothing, Yereel began to turn in on himself. He continued to turn in on himself, never seeming to lose any more self. The warlock thought upon Dru Zeree’s description of the metamorphosis. There were similarities and differences in what Yereel attempted now, but all that mattered to Gerrod were the final results.

The change in the dweller’s appearance became more noticeable. Now, instead of a hole, he began to resemble a shell. Gerrod was not inclined to touch him and see if what he observed was true. During the course of their trek, Darkhorse had more than once absorbed adversaries like the Seekers, even though he had sported a more substantial form.

The shell toughened. Now was the time to test his theory. The hooded warlock leaned forward and asked, “How are you succeeding?”

From Yereel there was no response. “Can you answer me? Can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

Darkhorse had entered what Master Zeree had believed was the equivalent of a pupa stage in insects. He had literally readjusted his essence in order to exist more comfortably in the real world. That transformation had lasted a day or more, if Gerrod recalled. He had no idea how long Yereel’s would last, especially since time was not a known quantity in the Void, but he hoped it would prove sufficient for his purposes.

Gerrod exhaled. As simple as his triumph seemed now, it had taken a great deal out of him. Yereel was unpredictable; victory still might only prove to be a false dream if the dweller chose to burst free of his cocoon before the warlock was away.

“My spell brought me to this point. Vraad sorcery must work in this place!” Zeree had claimed it did not or, at the very least, did to no worthwhile effect. Despite those pessimistic thoughts, Gerrod was determined to attempt Vraad sorcery first.

He tried to pinpoint his destination. As it had been just prior to his accident, Darkhorse’s presence could be felt somewhere beyond the emptiness of the Void, but not strong enough that he could latch on to it. Worse yet, Yereel’s nearby form distracted him to the point where he finally gave up in disgust. Whether or not Vraad sorcery would work for him-and considering the link he had forged, he still believed it might-his current location made it impossible to be effective.

He could not return home. The shadow steed’s position had been his sole point of concentration. The founders’ world was lost to him-unless he attempted Sharissa’s way.

“You’re a fool, Gerrod!” Every breath he wasted meant that much more chance of still being here when the spherical shell floating before him hatched. He would have to give in, but only this once.

How had Sharissa described it? Relax and give himself over to the magic? There was supposed to be a spectrum or lines of force.

He saw neither, but he did feel a strange tingling in his body, as if some living force had permeated his entire form. A new wave of panic threatened to drown him, but he fought it off. This outworld magic would not twist him to its own interests! It was he who commanded!

Something briefly shimmered before his eyes. Not a spectrum. Not a field of lines crisscrossing into infinity. More like a path floating in the nothingness.

A path? Mention had been made of paths utilized by Darkhorse when he and the sorcerer had made their escape from the infernal nonplace. Reacting out of habit, he tried to snare it as he might a rabbit for food. Only when it proved impossible to find again did he think about what he was doing. Vraad methods did work with the sorcery of the founders’ world, but not without great effort and a high level of chance.

“All right, damn you! Take me! Only this once!”

He relaxed his body, if not his mind, and let the power flow into him. It was more than a tingle now; he itched, but from within.

Paths, the warlock thought. There are paths. I just have to open my will to them.

It reappeared, a long, winding path running through the emptiness into a distant glow far beyond. Gerrod smiled. With the same presence of mind, he made himself drift toward the inviting trail. There was probably a better way to do what he had succeeded in doing so far, but he would leave that, as he had left so many things already, to more contemplative times. All that the warlock cared about now was reaching the path that would lead him to the Dragonrealm.

Another gleaming path crisscrossed the first.

His eyes narrowed. Even as the second brightened into view, a third and a fourth, one unconnected to the others, materialized. Gerrod swore under his breath, then openly as a horde of trails shooting this way and that formed before his eyes.

The Void was not so empty. In fact, it was cluttered beyond imagination, but by things so insubstantial that even a creature like Yereel had apparently never noted them.

Which one was the correct path?

He tentatively reached out with his mind, working as best he could with his newfound might, not against it. As a Vraad sorcerer, he would have been able to sense some of the differences between the paths. Hopefully, it would be the same now.

The first trail he stared at vanished a breath later. It was not one he wanted, that much he knew. Encouraged, Gerrod touched others and watched them fade away as his mind discarded them as possible choices. Most simply felt wrong, as if he knew without actually knowing that they went to a place the warlock was not interested in visiting. A few disturbed him greatly… and one was so chilling, so disquieting, that he abandoned it in near panic. Yet, wiping his brow, he was encouraged. Only a few dozen paths remained where there had been an endless array. Many had disappeared without his even studying them; it was possible his subconscious was now aiding his efforts.

Several more dwindled away to nothing, but then Gerrod recalled his companion. He felt an intense need to turn and reassure himself. It was more than merely sudden worry; he was absolutely certain that he had to turn around.

He did.

The cocoon was pulsating.

Yereel would soon emerge… and then what would Gerrod do?

He whirled around and scanned the paths remaining to him. Still too many to be certain.

“You’re a fool!” he muttered.

All paths but one vanished as he made his choice. He knew it would take him to the land of the Dragonrealm, but no more. That, at this point, was all that mattered.

As if discouraged by final decision, his body was suddenly standing on the very trail. Gerrod took an anxious step forward. As thin as it appeared, it held him quite readily. It was narrower than he had thought, and Gerrod tried not to imagine what might happen if he took a misstep.

The same inner alarm that had warned him to look back now fairly shook his body with its intensity.

The Tezerenee needed no more encouragement. He raced down the glimmering, ethereal path and did not hesitate in the least, not even when the expanding glow before him suddenly flared and swallowed him up.

Blue sky and rocky hills greeted him. Gerrod, caught up in the welcome change of scenery around him, ran blindly for several steps before stumbling and falling.

Every oath learned under the tutelage of his father came back to him as he struck the hard soil and tumbled over and over again. Soft and comforting plant life was unheard of here. At the very least, none of it existed to ease his collisions. Only when he found a rock too large to roll over did the unfortunate warlock come to a halt.

How long he lay there Gerrod could not say. The outside world was only a blurred image when the Tezerenee forced his eyes open for a moment. He tasted blood and was surprised he was not drowning in the stuff. His body was bruised from top to bottom. Gerrod did not even want to know if he had broken anything, so he merely continued to lie where he was, hoping the pain would go away or that unconsciousness would claim him.

Someone prodded him with a heavy, blunt object, stirring him. Gerrod was aware that he had dozed, but not how long. The pain had lessened, though it was by no means insignificant. The prodding began again, this time at some of the more sensitive points of his body. Yelping, Gerrod scurried back as best he could and forced his eyes to open. At first, the same blurriness affected his vision. Gradually, however, things began to come back into focus.

Gerrod found sight did not improve his situation any.

The creature was taller than he would be if he could stand. It was also about twice as wide and none of that was soft. It was dull brown in color, although there were hints of orange. Parts of it glittered, as if someone had sprinkled it with diamonds. The blunt object turned out to be the top of a massive battle-ax.

He saw that there were at least five of the beasts, all of whom chose that moment to start hooting at one another as if discussing his fate. Gazing around at them, Gerrod could not help feeling he had been captured by some overgrown but quite vicious armadillos who had learned to walk on their hind legs just for this very purpose.

They were Quel.