Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

XIII

“She sleeps, Sire.”

“Good.” They stood in his tent, the three of them. He used the tent as his base of operations, which was why he felt justified in having it when the rest of his warriors slept outside. The patriarch was only partly clad in armor, it having taken him longer than normal to dress. He found it a bit disturbing, but laid aside that minor annoyance in the face of the outrageous incident with the abomination.

Reegan, fully clad and more than a little angry at the loss of sleep, asked, “What did you do with its carcass, Lochivan?”

His brother, still kneeling, replied, “It is being buried discreetly. Father, the monster is none other than one of our own. Reegan, you know of Ivor?”

“It was Ivor?”

One of our own, the Lord Tezerenee wondered. They have struck down one of our own in the very midst of my camp and despite my precautions! The entire area had been carefully laced with defensive spells. He had always eschewed such things in the past, preferring to rely on the readiness of him and his people, but of late he had not moved as swiftly as before and his clan appeared more hesitant than they had during their first days here.

“Three other men died. All adopted outsiders.”

A small loss, but a loss nonetheless. Some of the other Vraad who had joined his clan would be growing nervous. The patriarch needed things to stay on course in order to assuage their fears. The expedition would have to be more alert than they had been.

“What happened to him? What sort of change?”

Lochivan bowed his head. “I do not know. It was suggested that the Seekers might have done this.”

“Suggested by whom? The elf?” Reegan sneered. “Of course he’d blame them! He’s covering for his-”

“Reegan, be silent!” The patriarch tugged at his beard and mulled over the possibilities. “If it was the elf or his friends, I imagine they could do just as well if he were rescued. They would not leave him to our mercy. Tell me, Lochivan, does he seem like the suicidal sort?”

“He’s a warrior, father, and willing to risk himself, but I think this would be asking too much from him. His death would serve no purpose.”

From out of the corner of his eye, Barakas saw his eldest building himself up for another tirade. The patriarch turned in time to stall the outburst. Reegan frowned, but remained silent.

“Ask those who knew Ivor better if he has acted differently of late.” A thought occurred to the Lord Tezerenee. “He was a member of the first expedition?”

“Yes, sire.”

Could it be that Ivor had discovered or touched something he should not have? Did some trap lie in wait for the Tezerenee? Barakas thought of the box and its unwilling occupant. He had been wise to bring along the dweller from that emptiness that Dru Zeree had called the Void. Taking the caverns might not be so simple after all.

“What do you intend, Father?” Reegan dared to ask. “We will continue on at the same pace. Losses are always to be expected. More may fall before this is ended. Even one of you may succumb.”

Reegan and Lochivan shared an expression of anxiety. It did not occur to the patriarch that he himself might succumb. He was the clan, after all.

“Let it be known tomorrow that Ivor and the others died honorably. Ivor especially. You are both dismissed.”

His sons bowed and quickly departed, no doubt first intending to alert their siblings as to what had been discussed before obeying his other commands. Barakas, meanwhile, forewent removing his half-worn armor for a time, instead continuing to ponder the incident that had claimed the lives of the warriors and almost that of Sharissa Zeree, too. In a sense, he almost envied Ivor one thing. The hapless warrior had come closer than anyone to truly knowing the glory of the dragon that was the clan’s totem. His only trouble was that he had not had the will to master whatever spell had affected him.

Had it been himself, the patriarch decided, he would have turned the transformation to his own desires. He had the will that Ivor had lacked. He, lord of the Tezerenee, would have become the living symbol of the clan.

Barakas started to scratch himself, but, realizing what he was doing, forced his hand down. In the past few days, the rash and dry skin had begun to recede. Soon, he would be rid of the irritation. The more it was fought, the less it became.

It was, as he had preached so often, merely a matter of will.

They talked and talked, yet what they struggled to say escaped his ears. Most were difficult to focus upon after a time, as if the more he tried to define their features the more murky they became.

Gerrod could only stare at them, caught up in some inexplicable spell of fascination that would not allow him to turn from them and search for the way out of this madhouse. Every move that the warlock succeeded in making toward that effort only brought him to new and equally disturbing visages.

“Dragon’s blood!” he whispered for what was either the first or the hundredth time-Gerrod could no longer keep track. He barely knew himself anymore, much less what happened around him. A drake could have stalked him at its leisure, taking him as he stood there like a fool. Yet, it was impossible to pull away.

With a mixture of fear and childlike awe, Gerrod stretched a tentative hand forward and touched one that most resembled him.

A difference he could sense but not see spread throughout the room. Something began to tug on his cloak, but, caught up in his dreaming, the warlock barely even noted it. He heard a faint sound that might have been a summons or merely the wind, an insignificant noise that Gerrod quickly forgot.

The hood of his cloak was pulled down over his eyes.

Gerrod struggled, seeking to return to his gazing even though a part of him knew the danger of that. He could not remove the blinding hood, however, for powerful arms caught him as a pincer might have, preventing him from even raising a hand in his defense.

The siren whispering of the faces in the crystal was overwhelmed by excited hooting in his ears. He was dragged backward by one or more powerful forms.

The whispering ceased. The compulsion to stare at his twisted reflections dwindled away to near nothing.

His captor released him. Gerrod fought for breath that had been denied him for some time, although he had not realized it until now. The warlock turned around and faced the one who had dragged him free.

It was the apparent leader of the Quel. The armadillolike creature looked at the Vraad with what seemed to be open concern.

“I… I will be fine in a moment,” Gerrod told it, reacting to what he thought was a question. He hoped the crystal translated his words and thoughts properly.

The Quel hooted in an unintelligible manner and pointed at the human before it, ending the gesture with a shake of one clawed paw. Gerrod looked at himself and frowned in confusion until he recalled that he could no longer understand the Quel’s hoots. What had happened to the crystal was beyond him; he could not recall dropping it in the chamber or, for that matter, leaving it anywhere.

Gerrod cursed, utilizing his father’s name as part of the bitter epithet. Now of all times was a situation demanding explanation, and he had lost track of his only means of communication. He wanted to know what the purpose of the chamber was and who had built it. The warlock could hardly recall the events just prior to his reluctant entrance into the mad cavern. Had the Quel built it, or had they found it? From the way they acted, he thought the latter might be a better choice, but his mind was too fogged to be trusted.

Despite the ordeal he had suffered, Gerrod wanted to go back. Not in a haphazard fashion, as his first journey had entailed, but carefully, with full respect and preparation for the power within.

He was about to indicate with his hands that he desired to return to the crystal cavern when the world spun around him. Gerrod watched the ground rush toward his face, only to have the collision halted by the ready arms of his armored companion, who seemed to be expecting just such an incident. The warlock had no time to think why that might be so, for he passed out the next instant.

When he awoke, the Quel were huddled around him, passive in their interest in his condition until they saw that he was conscious. Then, like players donning masks, the earth dwellers grew excited at his recovery. Gerrod frowned, hoping they would take his expression for concern over his own condition-which it was in part-and not because he was suddenly suspicious of their interest in him.

They had brought him to another chamber, one that barely passed human standards for survival. He was on a mat of some sort that smelled too much of his hosts and cold earth. The warlock slowly rose, fending off assistance by the Quel with a shake of his head. The massive creatures backed away far enough to give him room. It was impossible to say whether they once more played at emotions, but Gerrod thought they seemed a bit surprised at the speed of his recovery. No doubt their own kind had entered the chamber of crystal before him, but what had happened to those unfortunates was something they had not revealed to the Vraad so far.

Far worse than me, he decided. Far worse if their fear of that place is real. He was certain it was; the Quel, whatever their purpose was, would have been better served if they had pretended confidence rather than fear, which added to Gerrod’s supposition that they were frightened of what they had discovered.

What did they see in that place?

“I need-” The warlock stopped as the leader gave him a crystal, either the same one or one identical to it; Gerrod had no idea.

Mind intact… the fear not eaten… question?

So that was it. Those who had preceded him had lost their minds to some sort of fear. Whatever the Quel saw, it was too much for them. Yet, someone had pulled him free. How?

While he pondered that, the armadillolike being repeated its question.

“I’m fine.” Not quite the truth, but good enough for them. Gerrod had no intention of telling them about the voices-his voice-that still whispered inside his head. The voices wanted him to return to the chamber, to come back and listen once more to what they had to say.

He would. Of that he was certain. Even if the Quel decided otherwise, the warlock would return to the chamber.

Food consumed… time passing… question?

The alteration in the course of the conversation took him by surprise, but it took him only a moment to puzzle out the meaning. He was being asked if he required food; how much time had passed since his fainting spell?

“How long have I been unconscious?”

The answer was nothing monumental; he had been unconscious for what was, if he had Quel time standards figured out, no more than two hours, maybe three. The blackout had actually done him more good than bad; Gerrod had not been given a chance to recover from the trek earlier in the day. He still coveted a full night’s slumber, but crumbs were always better than nothing at all. For once, life as a Tezerenee paid off. Under his father’s rule, each clan member had learned to work at his optimum with only the least bit of sleep.

His stomach argued that food was another commodity that he had, of late, dealt little with. Gerrod wondered whether the food here would be as unappetizing as the mash the patrols had carried. Perhaps, but he would eat it nonetheless. For the task lying before him, a task he was not even certain he understood, the Tezerenee would need his strength.

As if already sensing his acknowledgment, a newcomer, smaller than the rest but still almost the human’s height, brought him a bowl of some soupy substance. Gerrod, his eyes on the tinier Quel, sniffed the contents… and shivered. He broke his gaze and looked down at the bowl.

The mash would seem a delicacy in comparison.

When he looked back up, the tiny Quel was gone. He wondered if he had finally met a female. None of the other Quel were inclined to respond to his casual thought, but Gerrod was certain he was correct in his assumption. If so, then those with him were almost certainly males-unless, of course, the newcomer had merely been a juvenile. The Vraad could not accept that, however, and reinforced his newfound belief by thinking of his present companions in male terms as much as possible, despite their otherwise identical appearance to the smaller Quel.

Under the unblinking observation of the inhuman assembly, Gerrod ate. The meal went down quickly, partly because they had given him no spoon, thus forcing him to tip the bowl and gulp down mouthfuls of the disgusting muck. He swallowed faster after the next wave of noxious scents fluttered up his nostrils during the first taste.

“No seconds, please,” Gerrod muttered as he handed the nearly empty bowl to one of the other creatures, who promptly threw it aside as if no one would ever wish to use it now that the human had. That reminded the warlock of his true situation. For all their act of friendliness, these Quel were no more companionable than the sentries who had brought him here. They had thrust him willingly into a situation that had broken the minds of one, possibly more, of their own kind. If not him, an elf or the representative of some other race would have done just as well. The Quel did not care; it was more important to find out about their discovery.

The leader chose that moment to hoot deep and long to his fellows. Without protest, the others began to shuffle out of the chamber. No one paid any more attention to the lone Vraad, not even the commanding Quel, who stood by in silence while the others departed. Only when the two of them were alone did the massive beastman turn to his guest.

The mask slipped then, revealing some of the true mind behind the inhuman visage. A savage yet calculating mind as deadly in its way as those of the Tezerenee’s own folk. Had not Gerrod been able to remind himself that he was, as far as he could see, the Quel’s only key to the crystal cavern, the warlock would have feared for himself right there and then. They needed him, else they would not have taken care of him while he recovered. Despite the physical danger that the Quel before him represented, the warlock was able to smile.

Perceptions of the chamber… statement!

The odd voice/images in his head jarred him, but he quickly recovered. “You want to know what I saw, is that it? You want to know why I still have my mind?”

Agreement… statement!

Would there be any harm in telling the truth? Gerrod doubted it and so he told the creature everything he had observed, heard, and felt. It seemed perfectly acceptable to do so, despite his present status. Throughout it all, the Quel leader remained motionless, as though hypnotized by his tale. Occasionally, he would project a question, mostly about some minor detail. The Vraad learned little from the questions save that there had to have been more than one victim of the chamber. How many Quel had tried to conquer the fear within and failed? More than once he sensed the very edges of what the Quel had discovered, but each time his captor buried the images and emotions before too much slipped by.

All too soon, the story ended. Gerrod was struck by sudden anxiety. Was he wrong? Had he given them what they needed? Was he no longer of use?

The sole remaining Quel leaned forward, his breath more fetid than the haunting aroma cast by Gerrod’s recent repast. Cooperation… continued existence… statement!

The warlock nodded, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart. “I like living. I’ll cooperate.”

Purpose of crystals… weapon against enemy/foe bird folk… statement!/question?

“What? Oh.” Gerrod nodded, yawning. “It might be a weapon you could use against the Seekers.” He had no idea how it might be used as such, but Gerrod was certain it could be turned into a weapon. By that time, he hoped to turn it on his captors instead.

A neglected part of his mind summoned up the fate of Sharissa, recalling to him his original purpose. He fought it down, convincing himself that this crystal chamber would aid him in that respect, if only by giving him time to plot his escape. That he would have been drawn to the cavern regardless was a point he tried not to dwell upon. Forsaking Sharissa for his own interests, even for a time, was something he would have expected of his father.

Period of rest… statement!

“I…” Gerrod could not recall what it was he had wanted to say. He yawned-long and hard this time. A sleeping potion in his food. Why had he not thought of that? The warlock laid his head back and yawned again. Did it really matter? He could begin his escape plans when he woke. Yes, that sounded better. He would be well-rested after this, and any plan required his utmost strength and concentration.

Agreeable… passive be… statement! came the projection from the Quel beside him. Gerrod nodded. Whatever his host wanted, so long as it meant sleep. Come the morrow-or whenever he finally woke-the Tezerenee would begin his plotting.

As he began to drift off, Gerrod thought he heard someone chuckle. It was not a sound that Quel were capable of imitating properly, and he knew it was not his own voice he heard. For a time, the warlock struggled to stay awake, waiting for the sound to reoccur. He was still straining to hear it again when he finally lost the struggle with the god of sleep and faded away.

Escape, he found later, would not be so simple. Two days-estimated, since he could not see the sun-passed. It was not merely the efforts of his companions that kept him in the underground world, but his own overwhelming sense of discovery. There was too much that beckoned him in a way akin to the chamber of crystal, albeit not with such consistent attraction. Though they were by no means the masters of crystal sorcery that the builders of the chamber had been, the Quel were not without skill. Gerrod had yet to see, much less inspect, the thing that they called the “gatherer,” but he imagined it to be a gem of astonishing proportions if what the lender conveyed to him was true. How it was able to absorb and distribute the magical forces for use by the Quel was a thing beyond him. It was, besides the ancient cavern, the only place they would not allow him to roam.

Walking with the leader, who was male after all, the warlock fingered some of the small gemstones in his belt pouch. They were akin to the one that allowed him to speak with the Quel and probably could be turned to that use, but he had other ideas concerning them. It was surprisingly easy to obtain them; they were mined in such vast quantities that he had been stunned when first shown. Each young Quel was brought here soon after birth. They were identical in almost every way to the parents, save for the soft almost unfurrowed shells that would change and harden over the years. The crystals of understanding, which was as close as Gerrod could comprehend the title, were among the first and foremost received by the young when the shells grew ridged. The hard skin would eventually grow to cover most of each crystal, forever making it a part of the creature and ensuring that, at least from the Quel side, communication of a sort would always be maintained.

Stealing three from a hill of thousands had been childishly easy. So easy, in fact, that Gerrod wondered from time to time whether his companion had wanted him to take the gems. No matter. They represented the first inklings of a plan of escape, a plan that would only take place once he had returned to the cavern and confronted the truth behind the faces-not to mention whatever other secrets lay within.

Let us not forget Sharissa! he chided himself. It was becoming too easy to lose track of his situation. Not just Dru Zeree’s daughter, either. It was also too easy to forget what his true visage resembled-an aging, doddering fool of a Vraad. That was what Gerrod saw every time his reflection caught his eye.

A nervous Quel rushed up to the leader and the two began a series of rapid responses to one another. Even with the crystal, the warlock could make no sense of what they said. The images he received were murky, almost as if the Quel were making an effort to prevent him from understanding. It did not surprise him; he knew that his time with them was limited to his usefulness. He also knew what they would do when the secrets of the crystal cavern were theirs.

The leader whirled on him, dark eyes narrowed. He hooted low and quick, a sign of anger and worry as Gerrod read it. The surface… spy in the sky… observation of intention… statement!

The Tezerenee was dragged along while he was still attempting to decipher the message. Something was happening on the surface, a scout or someone… in the sky?

A Seeker?

The three of them entered yet another chamber that Gerrod had not come across before. How extensive was the domain of the Quel? He had been given to believe that they held only a remnant of their former power. If so, then their empire had rivaled that of the Seekers in scope.

A handful of Quel surrounded an image. The warlock, peering over tall, rounded shoulders, watched as a tiny figure fluttered over a miniature land no larger than Gerrod’s forearm. The entire scene was being projected through a crystal that stood on a tripod in the middle of the room.

It was indeed a Seeker. Gerrod did not recognize the landscape, but from its rocky and nearly barren appearance, he felt safe in assuming it was part of the peninsula that was the Quel’s home.

The Seeker paused in midflight, its wings beating rapidly to keep it in the air. The image was too small to identify it as male or female; as with the Quel, the two sexes were too similar to identify readily.

One of the watchers grunted and touched a side of the crystal. The scene magnified. It was a female, the Tezerenee saw, though the information made no difference. He still did not know why a lone Seeker would risk death to come to the land of its hereditary enemies.

Reaching to her neck, the avian tugged at a chain. Gerrod squinted and saw the medallion hanging by a chain around her throat. The medallion was almost the Seeker equivalent of the crystals the Quel utilized; it generally protected its wearer and contained some vicious spell. Not a few of his clan had died facing weapons such as this. The Tezerenee moved as close as he could to the image. Beside him, the Quel leader glanced his way, but ignored him further when he saw what the tiny human was about.

The Seeker removed her medallion-and promptly dropped it into the dirt far below her.

Among the Quel, there was a stirring of confusion.

The leader gave a command, again something that Gerrod could not make out. He knew by now that he was being purposely blocked out.

Some of the Quel turned to their superior with a sense of confusion evident in their movements. One bleated, the questioning note undeniable.

Shoving the hapless Vraad to one side-and almost against the far wall-the leader faced his questioner and repeated his command.

Dipping his head, the questioner returned to the crystal and, under the watchful gaze of all present, including the recovered Gerrod, touched another face of the crystal.

During the brief encounter, the Seeker had remained where she was, still hovering. Only as the one Quel touched the gemstone did the Vraad realize that the avian had been offering a truce. She would have to know that the Quel controlled this region. Her life had been offered in exchange for a meeting.

The Quel leader chose to decline that offer.

Blinding brilliance filled the image, forcing many of the huge, armadillolike creatures to shield their eyes and momentarily stunning the unprepared human. Gerrod blinked time and time again until at last some semblance of vision returned to him. He looked up, trying to see around the swimming spots that dotted everything in sight. The image, too, had cleared, and the warlock was able to make out glittering hills and the occasional tough plant. Of the Seeker, he saw no sign.

The same Quel who had controlled the crystal before now touched it again. Gerrod watched the scene shift, abandoning the sky view for one that observed more of the surface. The leader hooted, his tone and stance smug.

When he saw what remained of the ambassador of the Seekers, the Tezerenee was relieved that he could not smell it as well.

The Quel were well-defended. The lone avian never had hope. In what reminded Gerrod of a horrible parody of many a fine meal he had eaten, her charred corpse lay sprawled on the hard ground. The female’s face, what was left of it, was buried in the soil, saving the warlock from seeing her accusing eyes. She had come in peace-unless his captors knew otherwise-and they had burned her to death.

Their weapon had been the land itself. Many of those gleaming fragments seemingly scattered about the countryside actually served another purpose. Like the array of gems that brought light to this world beneath the surface, these had been arranged just so. With their knowledge, the Quel merely manipulated a few at a time to create a beam of intense light. It was a horrific application of the childhood habit of burning bugs with a simple lens.

Our people are truly related, he thought in disgust. Such a trick would have appealed greatly to many of his fellow Vraad. His father would have found it a marvelous toy to add to his arsenal.

Around him, the various Quel began to lose interest now that the crisis was past. Only Gerrod seemed concerned over what the Seeker had wanted in the first place. It was not likely she would sacrifice herself. Something had concerned her and her kind enough for them to take this chance. He wished he had studied her closer. What condition had the avian been in before her death? Was it only his imagination or had she seemed worn, defeated in purpose?

Madness… bird people… death… statement!

The Quel who always accompanied him had returned to his side. The message was garbled, but at least they were communicating with their “guest” again. Gerrod understood enough; his host thought the Seeker had to have been insane to do what she had done. As for whose “death” the huge creature referred to, Gerrod could not say. There were too many interpretations that made sense considering the enmity between the two races.

Certain that he and his companions would be departing, Gerrod turned toward the chamber’s mouth and took a step. A heavy hand belayed that thought by catching at the shoulder and twirling him about until he came to face the leader again.

The Quel leaned close-too close, as far as the warlock was concerned. He covered his nose.

Tomorrow… cavern of crystal… Gerrod/elf/Vraad searching… Seekers dying… statement!

The hooded figure could only nod wordlessly as his eyes met and broke away from those of the Quel master. Something had come of this after all. He would finally be returned to the cavern. At last, he could study the ancient wonder and find the reason for its existence, for those damnable faces. In the process, he would turn it to his own needs, not those of the armored monstrosities who held him.

Yesss…

The short, sibilant response was not Quel in origin, yet neither did it seem human. Gerrod hesitated, not certain whether he had imagined it or not. The Quel moved about as if nothing were amiss. Beside him, the leader indicated that it was now time to depart. Gerrod obeyed without question, but his mind still searched for a repeat of the brief yet chilling statement.

Nothing. A figment of his imagination, most likely. He could come up with no other satisfactory explanation, yet even that one felt weak. What else could it be, though?

Gerrod was quietly but soundly urged toward the corridor by the same massive paw that had halted his progress a moment before. Just as he reached the mouth of the cavern chamber, however, he paused again, unable to relieve his mind of this peculiar burden. If only a figment, why did it seem so real, so familiar? Why could he not dismiss it, a simple one-word phantasm of his mind?

And why did he now, without warning, fear to enter the very cavern he had so desired to return to for the last two days?

The Quel urged him on again. As he walked, the warlock could not help wondering once more just what it was the Seeker had wanted and what possible threat ignorance of her message would bring down upon his captors… not to mention himself?