Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

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The weeks that passed were tense and dismal for Sharissa. She could find no way of removing the collar; twice she had almost suffocated, although noone else was aware of that fact. Barakas Tezerenee, who had spoken to her only thrice in that time, had promised to let her speak to Darkhorse… but the promises proved insubstantial. Most of her waking hours were spent with Lady Alcia or one of the other women of the clan. Sharissa found the patriarch’s daughters as alike as most of his sons. She could not recall any of their names, and most of them even seemed to look alike. At least among the sons there was a little disparity.

Only Reegan and Lochivan seemed to matter now. Esad was also around, but his purpose in life was to carry information to his father and then scurry from sight. The rest were as identical as their sisters, cousins, and even those outsiders who had lived among the Tezerenee for a time.

He makes them all in his own image, she decided wryly when observing the Lord Tezerenee giving orders to the military expedition to the mountains. Reegan most of all is his reflection.

Three times she had been subjected to the advances of Reegan. He was pathetic in some ways, actually adoring her while he also lusted after her. His confusion kept him harmless for the most part, although he had tried to take more than her hand during the second encounter.

Lochivan, whom she had wanted never to see again, had been the one to interrupt what might have proven to be something worse. As if standing in the shadows and waiting for just such an occasion, he had come stalking toward them, two guards flanking him, and informed his brother that they were wanted. It was only after they had departed, leaving the two sentries to lead her away, that she had recalled her bitterness toward the amiable but treacherous Tezerenee.

She presently sat in her chambers, far more attractive ones than she had first received. Something was going on outside, something that had the Tezerenee stirred up. Her new chambers were on the uppermost floor of the citadel, barring the tower. This allowed her to view the courtyard and grounds and the mountains in the distance, a splendid view if not for the dragon men.

Rising and moving to the window, Sharissa peered outside. The gates were opening, and several riders were coming through. Those riding the airdrakes flew over the walls to join their brethren. To her disappointment, the expedition seemed fairly intact; the sorceress had hoped they might be decimated by some hitherto unsuspected force of Seekers.

Her eyes began to wander across the courtyard… until they focused on a figure she had been trying to see again. The elf, as usual, was accompanied by unwanted companions who dragged more than led the prisoner to a small, rather insignificant building to the left of her window. This was the first time he had been removed from the lower-level cell that had been his home since being captured. Did that mean he had finally told them what they wanted, or were the Tezerenee merely bored with him?

Suddenly she wanted out of her room. She had that much say, if little else. Sharissa departed the window, heading now for the door. It was not locked, but she had no intention of trying it. There were certain ways things were done around here, and she had come to accept them.

“Guard!”

A moment passed, a moment that seemed an eternity, before someone opened the door. One of her nameless female bodyguards stepped in, weapon ready. Sharissa had not even attempted to remember her bodyguards’ names; the guard changed so often that it was impossible to keep one name or another straight.

“You wished something, Lady Sharissa?”

“I wish to go outside and get a little air.”

“You do not need my permission to do that. I am here for your safety and to see to your needs.”

The tall, slim sorceress put her hands on her hips, her only rebuttal to the claim that the Tezerenee had just made. “I know the courtyard is open to me, but I also know that you will be watching me… for my own good. I merely thought I would inform you first.”

The guard stood there as if not sure she understood the mind of this outsider. That was as Sharissa wanted it. A touch of arrogance with a touch of confusion. Act both cooperative and defiant. She found, with few exceptions, that the clan had trouble coping with her.

Her only true threats lay in Lochivan, Lady Alcia, and, of course, Barakas himself.

The courtyard was abuzz with Tezerenee crowding around the returning force. Sharissa, wandering on the outskirts of the assembled throng, noted the positive aura of the Tezerenee. The news the expedition brought was favorable. That could only mean that they had faced no true opposition and that the aerie of the Seekers was either abandoned or so pitifully defended that nothing stood in the clan’s way of claiming it.

She caught a glimpse of Lochivan, who had, at the last moment, not led the expeditionary force. That honor had instead gone to his younger sibling, Dagos, whom she knew little about and, therefore, did not want to risk making suspicious by asking too many questions just yet. Dagos was almost a nonentity, automatically obedient to his lord and sire and having little personality to call his own. Why he had been chosen to lead was a decision she questioned, but trying to second-guess the patriarch was impossible.

As she surveyed the crowd, she kept an eye on her guard. The woman was caught between her duties and her interest. That was as Sharissa wanted it. She moved nearer the crowd, always walking away from her shadow. The guard also moved nearer, which only made her curiosity grow. The Tezerenee’s eyes lingered on Lochivan and Dagos, who were discussing something animatedly.

Sharissa, the chaos shielding her, slipped away toward the elfin prisoner.

She felt no great victory for outfoxing the sentry; the woman would find her. What the sorceress wanted, however, was a few moments of private conversation so that she might take the measure of her fellow captive. If he still had any will left, there was a chance he could aid her in truly escaping. If not, he might still be able to give her some idea about the surrounding territory and where she might go.

Another reason, and one she would not admit to herself, was that, like her father and Gerrod Tezerenee, she had an overactive curiosity about new things… or people.

She entered the building where he was held. There were no guards. They had joined the others, an indication of how important the purpose of the expedition had been to the clan. Sharissa made her way down a short corridor and peered through the first cell door she found. Being the sole prisoner incarcerated there, Sharissa was not surprised to find him on the first attempt.

It was doubtful that the elf even needed guards; after more than one thorough questioning and little food or water, he was more of a shell than a living creature. His wrists and ankles were chained, and the chains resembled her collar, which explained why he had tried no magic. His head hung forward, as if he slept, but the moment she put a hand to the bars of the cell, he looked up.

The fire was still in his eyes. They had beaten his body, but not his will.

“I remember you.” Though a bit hoarse, his voice was smooth and correct. “You look so innocent compared to the others. I suppose it works to your advantage.”

“I am not one of them.”

“You… you look like one of them, although you dress more like a woodland spirit than living death. You also walk around freely.”

She leaned forward, inspecting him with a different perspective now. “You don’t sound as beaten as you appear.”

He laughed, but it turned into more of a croak. “I am very well beaten, mistress!”

“No, I think you’re holding out better than you pretend.”

“You think I want this to go on and on? You think I enjoy this pain?”

His lips were chapped, and it was clear he was suffering from dehydration. Sharissa searched the area, but she could not find any water. Nor did there seem to be a key to his cell. She would have to talk to him from here.

“Listen to me! I’m not one of them! We’re part of the same people-”

“Which makes you a Vraad.” He took no pains to hide his distaste.

“We are not all the same! Look at this!” She nearly put her hands on the collar, but restrained herself at the last moment. Sharissa hoped he would recognize her predicament, else she would be forced to prove herself to him in a more painful manner.

He stared at her neck, but said nothing. She waited, always fearing that someone would, in the next breath, enter the building and deprive her of a chance for private conversation. After a time, the elf closed his eyes. The sorceress tried to ready herself for a demonstration that would, she hoped, convince him before it killed her.

“You could be a trickster,” he commented without opening his eyes. “The collar could be nothing more than display for my benefit.”

“I can prove it to you easily enough.” Sharissa began to tremble. It would not be an easy thing. She was brave, but no one liked the thought of accidentally choking themselves to death.

The elf’s almond-tear eyes opened, burning into her own. He shook his head as best his bonds would allow him to do. “That will not be necessary. I think… I think I will trust you on this.”

A sigh of relief escaped her. “Thank you. I was willing to prove myself, but this is hardly an experience I’ve come to enjoy.”

“I know the feeling.” He rattled his chains and pointed at his own collar. “My name, mistress-the one I give you, that is-is Faunon.”

“I am Sharissa Zeree. Definitely a prisoner like yourself.”

“I’ve seen how they treat you, mistress, and I wish they would treat all their prisoners so!”

She reddened. “I didn’t mean to downgrade what they’ve done to you! It’s true I’ve been pampered, but only because they think I will become one of them.”

His smile unnerved her. “Perish such a horrible notion! That would be like turning a flower into a weed!”

Time had to be running out. “Listen, I only came to see if you still have the will to escape. I know only tales about this region, and I’ll need your help!”

“How fortunate for me.”

“I would help you regardless of whether I needed you or not!” Ariela had never been this difficult to talk to! Still, she could not blame the elf for his rather cynical attitude. “Are you interested?”

He managed to give her a dry chuckle. “Do you think I would prefer to stay here?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back yet. There’s… there’s another who has to come with us, but I have to find where they’ve hidden him.”

The elf gave her a quizzical look, but she had no time to explain about Darkhorse. “Never mind! I promise I’ll be back soon!”

“I am in your hands. Thank you for giving me something to think about.”

For some reason, his last statement, coupled with his expression then, made her redden. The sorceress rushed to the door leading out of the building and quickly listened for any sound of movement. It had long ago occurred to her that she had been extremely fortunate so far. Was it possible that they had wanted her to meet with Faunon? It was the sort of devious plot that Barakas appreciated.

So much the better. If they were willing to give her the opportunity, she would find a way to make them regret it.

There were a few Tezerenee in sight, but none of them was facing her direction. Sharissa slipped out the door and hurried away, trying to put as much distance between her and the elf as possible. They might be watching her at this very moment, but she could play the game. If it turned out that she was incorrect and that no one knew where she was, then her precautions were appropriate.

Sharissa had a sudden desire to return to the days of her childhood, when things had been much, much more simple and straightforward.

Lord Barakas summoned her later that day. It was a formal audience, meaning she would stand and listen, speaking only when required. Her bodyguard informed her of this latter part as they walked to the audience. Sharissa hardly paid her any attention. She would not change. The patriarch expected her to be defiant, and she had no plans to disappoint him.

They were nearly there when a tall, dragonhelmed warrior stepped out of a side corridor and blocked their path. “I will escort the Lady Sharissa from this point on. You may retire for a time.”

“Yes, my Lord Lochivan.”

Neither said anything until the other Tezerenee had departed. Then, before the sorceress could build her bitterness up for a sufficient verbal volley, Lochivan removed his helm and said, “I apologize for bringing you to this place. I tried my best to leave you out of all of this, but you were too willful.”

“You mean I saw through your treachery!”

“Too late, if you recall. It was not treachery, either. You know my first loyalty is to the clan. I did succeed in convincing my father that, if you were left behind, there would be less support for Master Zeree if he chose to follow us. For you, the other Vraad would rally; for Darkhorse, they would be less inclined. You and your father were the only danger to the success of our plan.”

His manner was companionable, as usual, but Sharissa had no faith in appearances. “Whether you tried to help me or not hardly excuses what you helped to do to Darkhorse! Where is he? Again and again, I’ve asked the patriarch about him! He promised to let me see Darkhorse, then refused later!”

Lochivan scratched his throat with his free hand. The young Zeree saw that the rash had spread; the Tezerenee’s skin was red and dry, almost scaly. She almost felt a compulsion to touch her own throat, but she knew that it was not a rash that afflicted her. Only a collar.

“Matters came up.” The warrior would not elaborate on the subject, but continued, “Tonight is intended to make up for that. You will see Darkhorse at the audience.”

“Will I be able to talk to him?”

“That I cannot say.” Replacing his helm, Lochivan reached for her arm. She gave it to him with great reluctance and only because she now desired the audience. He smiled through his helm, but Sharissa turned away, choosing instead to look forward. Her companion grunted and began to escort her to the Lord Tezerenee’s court.

The two of them had barely started when another warrior came down the hall. Lochivan stiffened, and Sharissa instinctively clutched his arm tighter. The Tezerenee coming toward them weaved about as if either drunk or wounded. No blood decorated his breastplate or his dragon-scale armor, but neither did he appear to be inebriated.

Lochivan was furious. He released Sharissa and stopped before the newcomer. “What is the matter with you?”

“Painnnn…” the Tezerenee rasped. He refused to look up. One arm wrapped across his torso, while the other helped him guide himself along the corridor. Sharissa’s fear turned to sympathy. Now that he was closer, she could see that he was wracked by pain. Tezerenee or not, he needed help. The concerned sorceress reached for him, but Lochivan barred her with one arm.

“Leave him be.” To the bent-over figure he commanded, “Stand up! Remember that you are Tezerenee! Pain is not a consideration!”

Sharissa glanced at her companion, who had, while he talked, almost become his father.

“Yesss… yes, my lord!” The warrior straightened, but his body quivered. He did not look at the two, however, and Lochivan did not seem inclined to press the suffering warrior for any more.

“That is better! Have someone look at you! You may go!” Lochivan turned away with an imperious air about him, as if the warrior no longer existed in his eyes.

“By your leave,” the trembling figure managed to get out. He marched away, stumbling now and then.

Sharissa watched him vanish down another hall. She whirled on Lochivan.

“That man was practically dying! He could have found someone to look at him by now if you had not insisted on appearances!”

“I held him for only a short time. He is a Tezerenee; he is trained to live with pain.” He took her arm. “Now, come! The Lord Barakas Tezerenee awaits you!”

She allowed him to take her arm, but made it clear with her tentative touch that she loathed his very existence. Since his treachery, the sorceress had seen Lochivan in a new light. Many of his mannerisms now appeared forced, as if the true Lochivan was some creature hidden within the body that walked beside her, a creature that only played at humanity. He might as well have been a drake instead of a man.

They had walked little farther when they arrived at their destination. Two iron doors, again flaunting the dragon or drake that was the symbol of the Tezerenee, stood before them. Even as they neared the doors, guards reached out and opened the way for them. Within the chamber, someone who evidently had remained alert announced their coming.

“Lady Sharissa Zeree! Lord Lochivan!”

Sharissa was just wondering whether all the Tezerenee went by “Lord” or “Lady”-all of the patriarch’s children did-when the sheer immensity of the grand court finally struck her.

The chamber almost seemed designed to hold the entire clan, plus every outsider loyal to the patriarch. The ceiling floated so high above her head that, had it been colored the same as the sky, she would have been willing to believe that they were outside. Banners hung everywhere, almost as many as there were Tezerenee. Fully armed guards lined the walls from the entrance to the marble dais on the far end. Wary handlers kept leashed young drakes under control. On the shoulders of several of the assembled figures, both armored and not, were perched hunting wyverns.

“Come along,” Lochivan whispered. She had been so over awed by the assembled throng and the massive dimensions of the chamber that she had paused.

Ahead of them, seated on tall thrones that were, in turn, located on the uppermost level of the dais, were the lord and lady of the Tezerenee. Lady Alcia sat in regal splendor, calmly observing the two newcomers. Lord Barakas, on the other hand, leaned on an elbow and brooded over some thought. From his expression, it was clear he barely noticed Sharissa or his son.

Between and a step behind the thrones stood Reegan. His hands were behind his back, and he stood as if inspecting his legions… which, in a sense, he was doing. For the first time, she saw him as the power he would become should Barakas die. He only needed more tempering, something the patriarch wanted her to take a part in.

I might as well marry a drake!

Lochivan continued to walk her down the long, carpeted path that led to the clan master and his bride. When they were nearly halfway there, Barakas finally looked up. By the time they had reached the end of their journey, an open area just before and below the dais, his eyes had become fixed on her.

“Lady Sharissa,” Lochivan announced, at the same time falling to one knee in deference to his parents. Sharissa made no move to follow his example; she was no Tezerenee, and kneeling would be seen only as a weakening of her will. Instead, the captive sorceress nodded to her hosts, beginning with Lady Alcia.

Barakas gave her a patient smile. “My Lady Sharissa Zeree. Welcome.”

She said nothing. Beside her, Lochivan rose.

“Your reluctance to be here is understandable, and your will is admirable. You have been very patient-”

“I’ve had no choice!” the sorceress snapped.

“-and I hope that soon you will be able to dispense with that uncomfortable collar.” The patriarch went on without pause. He straightened, and turned to the rest of those assembled. “Loyalty is utmost. Obedience is rewarded and defiance is punished.”

On an unspoken signal, a Tezerenee brought forth a large box. It was elaborate in design and, although Sharissa’s senses were dulled, very likely magical in some respect. The warrior knelt before Barakas and presented it to him. Nodding, the patriarch took the object and dismissed the newcomer. Barakas turned back to Sharissa and her unwanted companion.

“Please be so kind as to step back.”

Lochivan took her arm and pulled her gently but firmly to the front row of the assembled followers. As he did, he whispered, “Say nothing! Watch first!”

Sharissa, who had been on the verge of speaking, clamped her mouth shut. She had wanted to ask again where Darkhorse was and when she would be able to see him. She had even planned on mentioning how the patriarch had promised her and then apparently broken his promise. Despite the absolute power he wielded among his clan, Barakas was a slave to his pride.

“We have come into our own once again!” the Lord Tezerenee uttered. His hand ran along the side of the box, as if he were caressing it. The young Zeree realized he was performing some sort of spell as he spoke. “Our powers are still far from their glory, but they have increased, almost as if we are linked to Nimth once more!”

The last statement made Sharissa frown. There was something in it she felt she should know about, but what that was she could not say. What concerned her more at the moment was the box and its purpose in all of this.

“I now demonstrate for our guest some of the extent of our might!”

He opened the box.

“Freeeee! By the Void! Freeee!” The near-mad voice bellowed in relief. Sharissa felt the floor vibrate as the prisoner of the box burst forth, still screaming its happiness at being released.

A thick black substance poured from the box to the floor below the dais. As it flowed, it took on shape, becoming more and more one distinct form. Sharissa needed no one to tell her who it was; his voice alone had sufficed.

“The emptiness! All alone! Curse you, Barakas Tezerenee! Only you could make a place more horrifying than the Void!”

Darkhorse stood before the patriarch and his mate, pupilless, ice-blue orbs glittering in swelling anger. His hooves tore at the stone floor, gouging valley after valley.

The sorceress could hold back no longer. She pulled free of Lochivan, who was somewhat dazed by the shadow steed’s remarkable entrance. “Darkhorse!”

“Who calls?” The ebony stallion swung around and glared her way, not immediately recognizing her. When he finally did, he was so overjoyed he laughed. Most of those in the chamber put their hands to their ears. Barakas remained unmoving. “Sharissa Zeree! At last!”

He started toward her running figure. They were almost within reach when Sharissa felt the familiar but frightening touch of her collar. She could no longer breathe. Darkhorse halted at the same time she did, but not, it appeared, because of her predicament. Rather, he was trembling, as if he, too, suffered from pain.

On her knees, she tried to imagine what to do. Her collar was choking her, but she had made no attempt to touch it. Strong hands took her under the arms. As the slim woman fought for breath, she was dragged back from her one friend.

The collar grew loose.

“You… you call me demon, Lord of the Tezerenee! You are the monster!” Darkhorse trotted a few steps farther away from the sorceress. “I might have survived, but you would have killed her!”

“She will be fine,” the patriarch responded. He remained calm, almost uninterested in events.

Leaning against Lochivan, who was the one who had pulled her away, Sharissa realized that Barakas had once more planned well. He had allowed both of them to learn in the most deadly way that they could not come within a certain range of each other, lest one or both suffer. More than likely it would be her, although the patriarch had evidently discovered many of the eternal’s weaknesses.

“Can you stand?” Lochivan asked quietly. He sounded both unnerved and ashamed. “I had no idea what he planned. I would have warned you about your friend if I had.”

She did not reply, choosing instead to break free of his grip and rise on her own. Once certain her legs were sturdy enough, she looked first at Darkhorse, who still looked to be in pain, and finally at the patriarch.

“I must apologize, Lady Sharissa. A necessary measure. The demon has been of great value, doing by himself what we cannot-as yet-do en masse.”

“I always-” She coughed, her lungs still not fully satiated. “I always thought you believed in as little sorcery as possible. Was it not you who preached of the true strength being that of the body?”

“A good warrior utilizes the best of weapons for each situation. Your demon friend gave us access to our rightful empire. While we experimented with the powers we found reemerging within us, he built this citadel with his own skills. Through his efforts, we were able to secure ourselves while we developed.”

“And this is how you reward him!” She indicated the box. “What sort of horrible trap is that?”

“This? This is merely a box.” He held it up for her to see. Across from her, Darkhorse cringed like one whipped again and again who must now stare at the very tool that had done the evil work. “There are a few minor additions, spells that make it impossible to hear all but my voice and prevent something within from speaking to any but myself. It is proof against his sorcerous being and only I can open it, but it is, in the end, still only a box. It inflicts no pain upon him.”

“It is agony incarnate!” roared Darkhorse. “I cannot move! I cannot speak! He becomes my only contact! I have been so alone!”

Careful to avoid stepping too near Darkhorse, Sharissa moved toward the patriarch’s throne. Sentries instantly appeared before their lord, their weapons ready for the sorceress.

“Away!” Barakas rose and pushed them aside with his free hand. He put the open box in the crook of his arm and surveyed the defiant Zeree. “You had something to say?”

What could she say that would not be empty bitterness? Barakas held the upper hand. He had given her this audience just to humiliate her, to show how hopeless her cause was. “Would anything I say make a difference to you, drag-onlord?”

“Very much, in fact,” he said, reseating himself. Though he now wore an apologetic expression, as if he regretted his earlier actions, Sharissa knew better. “The collar is a great travesty that you should not have to endure. Your place should be beside us!” At those words, Reegan, who had been standing quietly behind his parents, suddenly grew attentive. Feeling his eyes upon her, Sharissa forced herself to keep her own attention focused on the patriarch. She would not acknowledge the heir, her intended mate if Barakas had his way.

“I have no desire to even stand near you, Lord Tezerenee. I never will.”

The assembly broke into a fearful murmur. Others had likely died for saying less to the very face of Barakas Tezerenee. Yet, despite the implications, the patriarch seemed unconcerned about the remark. Instead, he stroked the lid of the box once, then gently closed it. Darkhorse shuffled back a few steps out of what could only be fear. Energy crackled around the subdued stallion, and he seemed to freeze. Some bond tied him to the box.

“Remove the collar.”

Renewed whispers spread through the clan. Lochivan marched up to Sharissa, who stood as lifeless as stone. What could the patriarch be planning? Did he think she would simply stand there once her abilities were hers to utilize again? She could-

As Lochivan reached up to her neck and touched the collar, Sharissa realized she could do nothing. Fight? Even if she were the greatest power among these Vraad, she could hardly expect to take them all on and win. Barakas would be the most well-protected target of all. Flee? Where would she go? What would happen to Darkhorse… or even Faunon, whom she had made a pact with? She could hardly escape without them, especially with both so helpless. Who was to say how much Darkhorse in particular would suffer?

Lochivan slipped the magical collar from her throat, but Sharissa felt no eagerness. Another collar now threatened to suffocate her. It was a collar forged from her fear for the others, notably Darkhorse. She saw now why Barakas had not taken her insult to heart; he knew she would follow him, if only because she could not abandon a friend. He might not even know about her visit to Faunon, but he certainly knew how much the ebony eternal had come to mean to the sorceress.

“Sharissa…” Darkhorse muttered, his tone indicating he also knew why she did nothing now that her powers had been restored.

She was once more alone before the clan master, Lochivan having stepped back with the deadly manacle. One hand slowly went to her throat, where she absently rubbed the skin. The act unexpectedly recalled to her the constant scratching many of the Tezerenee did during the course of the day. Sharissa let her hand drop.

“Good,” Barakas said, nodding at the same time. “You see? Your welfare means much to us, Sharissa Zeree. I want you to work with us.”

Cooperation? Work with the Tezerenee? Was there something more to this audience besides her humiliation? Had the patriarch found himself in need of her abilities?

Barakas leaned forward, as if speaking to the sorceress as a fellow conspirator in some plot. His voice, however, was loud enough for all to hear.

“There is to be a second expedition, a larger one, to the mountain aerie abandoned by the bird people. It will be led by myself and leaves in the morning.” He shot a glance at Darkhorse. Though the shadow steed moved his head and glared back, it was evident that he could still do little else. Whatever spell bound him to the box made his ability to move subject to the will of the patriarch. He might as well have been a puppet on strings.

Pretending to forget the eternal, Barakas looked at the cautious spellcaster before him and continued, “Your knowledge and skills would be invaluable to our effort, Lady Sharissa. We would like you to join us.”

Or Darkhorse will suffer? she wondered. Had the patriarch passed on to her a silent, veiled threat or had he so turned her that she now saw imaginary plots in each movement, each breath he took?

“Of what use would I be to you? Even now, shorn of your trinket and in full use of my powers, there’s nothing I can do that you cannot do.” Now it was her turn to glance at Darkhorse. “Through fair means or foul.”

Again there was stirring among the Tezerenee. A normal court under the patriarch no doubt consisted of Barakas preaching and his followers nodding in silent obedience. Even Sharissa’s rebuffs, as futile as they probably were, were jarring to the Tezerenee and their loyal outsiders.

Barakas leaned back in his throne. The time had come for the fatal thrust. She steadied herself, wondering what he could throw at her that would bring about her willing cooperation in a Tezerenee effort.

“Are not the founders a particular interest of yours?”

She said nothing, afraid what might come out.

He read her expression and nodded. “The avians are merely the latest of a continuing chain of squatters. The first and true lords, if the word brought back is true, were the founders-our accursed godlike ancestors!”

“The founders…” she whispered. Her strength began to abandon her as she realized he knew exactly how to play on her desires.

“It is one of their places of power.”

Sharissa could not, would not face Darkhorse as she bent her head earthward and replied in a quieter, resigned voice, “I’ll go with you.”

The Lord Barakas Tezerenee nodded imperiously and, looking up at his people, announced, “This audience is at an end.”

A legion of silent specters, the throng began departing the court. A hand fell softly onto the young Zeree’s shoulder. She looked up at Lochivan, but did not really see him. Her mind was back to a time, fifteen years before, when she had been manipulated time and again, mostly because of her lack of experience in dealing with her kind. Now, it appeared as if a decade and a half had never been. Once more, she was being turned this way and that like a small child. Frustration and anger smoldered within her as it never had before.

Her expression must have altered, because Lochivan quickly took his hand from her shoulder.

I will not be manipulated again! Last time it resulted in the death of a friend.

The sorceress whirled and followed the other out, not even bowing to the lord and lady of the Tezerenee as was probably proper. Lochivan, reacting late, was forced to follow behind her. She would journey with the Tezerenee to the cavern. She would do her best to unravel whatever legacies the founders and their successors had left there. She would find a way to free Darkhorse… and Faunon, too.

Most of all, she would ensure, in some way, that the Tezerenee, especially their master, would never make use of those legacies.