Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

XV

Like the toothy maw of some great petrified beast, Sharissa thought as she stood near the base of Kivan Grath and stared up into the cavern mouth that was their goal. To some, like Reegan, it still seemed foolish to camp at the foot of the mountain when they could be exploring the cavern. To the captive sorceress, it was foolish to be anywhere near here in the first place. That she had even for a time looked forward to exploring this ancient place and the artifacts within, shamed her. If nothing else, it had detracted from the goal she should have been striving for-namely, escape for herself and her companions.

They had returned Faunon to his wagon prison. As for Darkhorse, he was still free of the box-a promise Sharissa had been surprised to see Barakas keep-but he was carefully monitored by the Tezerenee. The patriarch had allowed her to speak with the shadow steed for a few minutes after their arrival here, but no more. Darkhorse, usually vocal, had become more and more reticent. He did not like being used, especially for the tasks set for him by Lord Barakas.

The eternal’s assault in the northern mountains had been the signal by which the other Tezerenee force had known when to attack. Barakas had not said so, but it was clear that, while he could have used Darkhorse in the battle-something that might have saved some of the lives of his own followers-he did not completely trust his hold on the ebony stallion. That in itself encour-aged the young sorceress, for where there were uncertainties, there was the potential for exploitation.

But what? She had to be careful. Barakas was, in many ways, an unpredictable quantity. Much of what he did, as he had admitted, was for effect, not merely for success. If a plan of his own design meant a few more lives but misdirected the efforts of his adversaries, the Lord Tezerenee was willing to live with those extra costs.

And, for some horrible, inexplicable reason, so were his people, the very ones he was willing to sacrifice.

To her right, the warrior whose task it was to watch her this evening straightened to attention. Sharissa did not even have to turn to know who it was. Barakas would have summoned her to him, not come to speak to her. Reegan had already been to see her, evidently in a pitiful attempt to renew his bid for her hand-as if they needed her approval for that. Of the remaining Tezerenee, only one other bothered with her.

“Is there a specific reason you wanted to see me, Lochivan?”

He chuckled, and his voice rasped as he spoke. “You always amuse me, Sharissa.”

She did not look at him, preferring now the haunting image of the darkened caverns above. They were little more than dark patches in areas not quite as dark, but it was enough. Anything, so long as it and not Lochivan occupied her eyes. “Did you want something?”

“Only a few moments of your time.” The tall Tezerenee was directly behind her now. For some reason, she found his nearby presence even more chilling than of late. It was not merely because of his betrayal, but some growing change in the patriarch’s son himself. “First, your elf is well. I saw no reason to press him on any questions tonight. Thanks to you, he has been very cooperative.”

“I’m glad… for his sake… but I wish you’d stop referring to him as my elf.”

Lochivan shifted so that he now stood near her right shoulder. She could hear his breathing, a slow, scratchy sound that made her wonder if he was suffering from the altitude a little. Even ignoring the mountains, the land itself was well above sea level. One or two Tezerenee were already suffering some altitude sickness. Overall, however, it was not proving to be a problem; most of the dragon clan had grown accustomed to altitude from countless time spent riding airdrakes.

“He is your elf. I see it, and I know Reegan sees it. In fact, he wanted to speak to the elf a short time ago. Did he speak to you, by any chance?”

“Reegan was here.”

“And by your tone, he was rejected again. Tread carefully, Sharissa. Each day of life for your friend is a bonus at this point. My brother would be willing to risk father’s ire if it meant disposing of a rival… even if it’s one who has no hope, anyway.”

She did not know which part of his comment troubled her more, the threat to Faunon’s life or the fact that Lochivan saw how close the two captives were growing to one another. Perhaps it was even the personal interest he had in the situation. His tone was not that of an outsider looking in but rather someone who had a personal stake in the results and not merely because Reegan was his brother. Sharissa recalled his earlier words.

“And would you be willing to risk the patriarch’s ire, too? Does Faunon have something to fear from you?”

His hand briefly stroked her arm, causing her to tremble. The guard, of course, would be blind to all this, or else Lochivan would have never dared touch someone his father had chosen for the heir. “I am his-your-only hope.”

“What do you mean?”

His breathing had been gradually growing worse, more harsh and rasping. “It isss… is growing late. Good night, Sharissssa.”

“Lochivan?” She turned, but he was already walking away. Any thought that his departure was due to what he had hinted to her vanished as the sorceress saw him clutch his sides. His breathing had worsened even more in the few seconds since. Sharissa took a step toward him, wanting to help the Tezerenee lord despite her personal feelings.

The guard blocked her path. “Lord Lochivan desires privacy, my lady.”

“He’s ill!”

“A passing fever, Lady Sharissa.” The guard, a woman, stared through the young Zeree.

“Did he tell you that? I don’t recall him having the chance to do so.”

“No, my lady. I make my own judgments. I’ve seen similar of late. Besides, if the Lord Lochivan wanted aid, he would have requested it.” The Tezerenee sentry’s voice was mechanical; she had been trained well by her masters. If they chose not to speak of their ills, she would defend that decision to her utmost.

Lochivan was already lost in the darkness. Sharissa sighed at yet another example of clan obstinance and infuriation. If she lived among them for the rest of her days-a horrid thought that! — she would never understand them.

“It’s getting late, my lady. You should be rested for tomorrow,” the guard suggested pointedly.

She nodded, knowing that sleep would be something long in coming under the watchful eyes of Kivan Grath. Taking one last look at the leviathan that both invited and repelled her, Sharissa gave the warrior woman leave to lead her back to the rest of the camp.

The wind was picking up. To her ears, it began to sound like a mournful wail-possibly a lament for those foolish enough to believe they were going to be able to make the mountain’s secrets their own without a greater cost.

The morning came both too soon and yet not soon enough. The light of day lessened some of the uneasiness that Sharissa felt, but, as she had expected, her night had been one of tossing and turning. From the looks of the Tezerenee, who had already preceded her in rising, she was not the only one who had slept troubled. A surliness had spread throughout the camp. Many of the Tezerenee were also scratching at their throats, chests, and limbs, a sign that the rash was still running rampant. The sorceress was thankful that what with her close involvement with the dragon clan she had not contracted whatever it was that affected them. How long would her luck last, however?

Her latest guard, yet another woman, brought her some food. Simple fare even by Tezerenee standards. Food was the least of the expedition’s interests this morning; most of the Tezerenee were visibly impatient to be about the task of invading the ancients’ lair and seeing just what it was they had been fighting for. By the time she was finished, the Tezerenee were already organizing themselves for the short climb and what they hoped would be a treasure trove of power and riches.

Riches. For all he sought greater and greater power, Barakas was not one to turn down any jewels and such that might have accumulated over the millennia.

A warrior arrived shortly after her meal. He knelt as if her rank actually meant anything to his masters and said, “Mistress, your presence is requested by our lord ruler. Now, if possible.”

If possible? she thought wryly. If Barakas was requesting her presence, he expected her to comply, not dawdle, and everyone knew that. Still, Sharissa decided she would set her own pace this time. Rising slowly, she asked the kneeling warrior, “Does he say what it is he wants me for? Is it urgent?”

“He indicated that you would be among those beside him when he entered the caverns in glorious triumph.”

Of course. It would be a gesture of his so-called respect for her and a strictly symbolic gesture. The sorceress smoothed her clothing, taking special care to draw out the simple action for twice as long as necessary. By the time she was finished, the warrior had dared to look up, wondering, no doubt, what was taking this outsider so long to obey the patriarch. Sharissa gave him a regal smile and indicated he had permission to rise. He did so, but with jerking movements that revealed some of his annoyance. Like so many Tezerenee, he and her guards were never certain how she was supposed to be treated. A prisoner this one might be, but she was also a respected guest of the clan master.

It was a predicament that probably required more thought than they were used to. Sharissa kept her amusement hidden as she followed the newcomer and her own guard to the patriarch.

From a distance, she located both Darkhorse and Faunon. The latter, spellbound, sat atop a winged drake. His visage was that of one who is resigned to death and merely wishes to know the time it will occur. When he turned and saw Sharissa, however, he was able to give her a brief, tired smile. She smiled back, but her heart grew heavy.

Darkhorse was more of a distant blot, but she sensed as well as saw the eternal. The huge, ebony stallion paced back and forth as if confined to a corral, although the eagle-eyed sorceress could perceive nothing. Sharissa tried to contact him through subtle manipulation of her power, but a wall of blankness stopped her efforts each time. She might be free from her magical bonds, but the other two were not. As long as they were slaves to the clan’s power, she would be unable to contact much less help them through sorcerous means. The patriarch had planned well, completely separating the three most troublesome elements of his band from one another.

Barakas and a small group, likely his sons judging by their stances, awaited her near the northern edge of the camp. From that location, they had an excellent view of the cavern mouth.

Reegan noticed her first and whispered to his father, who had been in the midst of explaining something involving a parchment he held in one hand. The sinister box lay at his feet, a tantalizing treasure the woman knew she would never get near if she tried to take it. The patriarch turned and greeted her as if she were a prized daughter. “Aaah! Lady Sharissa! Good! Ready for this momentous day?” To one of the helmed figures, he suddenly said, “We may begin now! Ready the expedition! Those remaining behind here are to be alert and not to fear! They will share equally in what we find within! Assure them of that!”

The Tezerenee he had spoken to saluted and vanished to obey.

Walking to meet her, Reegan offered his hand. Sharissa reluctantly took it, but only because Faunon’s visage formed in her mind. If she allowed the heir small victories, he might not be so inclined to murder. Reegan smiled as if she had just granted him her love and tightened his grip on her hand. The warrior who had brought her and her personal guard both departed in silence, no longer needed. Besides so many of the ruling family of the Tezerenee, there were a number of ready sentries within sight. Only a madman would attempt something among so many deadly, skilled fighters.

Her attention drifted as she watched Barakas turn away from her, pick up the devilish box that bound Darkhorse to the Tezerenee clan master, and hand it to an expectant Lochivan. Though her eyes were on the box, she also noted how the latter stood as if pain still taunted him. He was too far away for her to tell if his breathing was still impaired.

“The demon goes first,” the Lord Tezerenee said. Lochivan nodded, glanced her way, and walked off, the artifact tucked under one arm. His pace was much quicker than she would have thought necessary, as if he wanted to be away from his father before Barakas noticed something was amiss.

“Your airdrake awaits, my lady,” Reegan whispered. Sharissa followed the wave of his other hand and saw the beasts. The sorceress had not given much thought as to how they would reach the cavern mouth, assuming that the clan had at least a dozen different methods. Riding yet another drake was not among those she would have chosen, but it was probably safer, relatively speaking. Materializing at the entrance of the cave system would, as Barakas had once pointed out, be an act of folly. The Seekers might be gone, but it was almost a certainty that they had left gifts of an unpleasant nature behind. There might even be more of them hidden in the caverns, although Lochivan’s surprisingly easy entrance during the first expedition seemed to indicate otherwise. Still, Sharissa could not help thinking that so much good luck must be a trap. It could hardly be this easy to take the aerie.

She found herself thinking that last statement again when the drakes began to land and nothing had touched them. Several warriors had landed before them and set up a line of defense, but they had nothing to show for their efforts. Not so much as one trap had been found-and the Tezerenee were nothing if not thorough when it came to their search. Ahead of them and pacing back and forth like an officer inspecting his troops, was Darkhorse. He glared at the coming Tezerenee, but would not even blink in Sharissa’s direction. Whether he was still ashamed to be in her presence or whether he was merely bitter about the offhand way his hated master was utilizing him was impossible to say at this point. Knowing Darkhorse as she did, it could have been both.

“I like this not,” Reegan muttered, but no one paid him heed save for the captives.

They dismounted and stood before their goal. Several guards rushed over to take their mounts. Only the initial party would fly up here. Other Tezerenee were already making their way up the winding, treacherous paths that had been cut into the rock long ago by some forgotten race but had fallen into disuse with time.

“Do we take the elf?” one of the figures nearest to Barakas asked, his every word and movement showing deference. Sharissa could not recall which of his offspring had come on the journey, but this had to be one of them.

“Of course, fool! Why bring his carcass along if not to make use of it!” Reegan growled.

The patriarch nodded, allowing his eldest’s outburst to go by without reprimand-this time. “Undo his feet, but see that his arms remain bound behind him.” Barakas smiled as he admired the height of the cavern maw. “I see no reason why we cannot proceed.”

He marched forward without any other preamble, catching many of his people by surprise. Lochivan snapped his fingers in Darkhorse’s direction, and the shadow steed, evidently knowing what was required of him, trotted close but not too close to the patriarch’s left side, matching his pace. Reegan and Lochivan followed and were in turn succeeded by the rest. The heir apparent paused only to signal two guards to lead Sharissa up to where he was. Faunon was also steered toward the front of the party, but closer to Barakas, which prevented the sorceress and the elf from even looking one another in the eye.

“Light,” Barakas requested with the tone of one who knows he will receive whatever he desires.

One of his faceless sons raised a hand palm upward. From his palm, tiny spheres of flame leaped to life. One after the other, they departed their birthplace and took up residence in the air above the party.

When a full dozen of the dancing elementals floated around their heads, the patriarch ordered a halt to their creation. The light bearer closed his hand, smothering a tiny sphere just bursting into being. Sharissa knew the balls were not alive, but could not help thinking of the act as akin to a nasty child crushing a butterfly in his hands. Tezerenee, like many Vraad, cared little for the tiny things in life. Such deaths were inconsequential.

“Dragon’s blood!” The stunned oath, considering what lay before them, would have seemed insufficient save that it came from the patriarch, the one among them least inclined to such shock. As for the rest of them, Sharissa herself included, they could only marvel at what the light revealed.

The cavern radiated history. It was not so much something to be seen as felt. The incredible age of the place could not be denied. Perhaps the ruined city and pocket-universe citadel of the founders held more specific knowledge, but those places dealt more with the original race itself. This citadel within a cavern, on the other hand, was a tapestry of sorts outlining the successive yet failing races of the lands now called the Dragonrealm.

While there were traces of those who had preceded them, it was the handiwork of the last inhabitants, the avian Seekers, that was most dominant. Other than a few broken medallions, she had never seen any products of their civilization. The paintings covering one smoothed wall, however, could only be Seeker in creation. Each spoke of freedom of the sky and conquests, many of them against the creatures called the Quel. There were scenes of aerie life, such as the raising of young and what appeared to be a festival. Some of the paintings were life-size, and all of them were oddly colored, as if the bird folk perceived colors differently. Angles were also askew, and Sharissa recalled how truly birdlike the avians’ eyes were.

They were, she had to admit, beautiful. Beautiful and sad, in retrospect of what had happened.

Sculptures and reliefs, mostly of Seekers in flight, also dotted the chamber. One was simply that of a head more than twenty feet in height. The subtle differences in each figure made her wonder if they represented specific folk in the avians’ history. She would probably never know. If the Tezerenee worked true to form, most of this would be replaced. The Seekers had likely acted the same centuries ago when they had taken this cavern over from the previous tenants.

So many other things drew the eyes, but what demanded the most attention in the end were the rows of towering effigies made to resemble creatures both true and fanciful. It was possible, Sharissa thought, that they even represented some of the races that had preceded the Seekers. Like a swarm of ants, the Tezerenee began to spread out as they approached the huge figures. Reegan and Sharissa followed the patriarch. Lochivan was one of the few who seemed little interested in what he saw. He seemed satisfied to stand back while the others wandered over to the massive, lifelike statues. Sharissa, noticing his reluctance, saw him touch the box. Darkhorse, still pacing Barakas, suddenly froze in mid-step. She was certain that the ebony stallion was still conscious, but the spells of the patriarch prevented her from discovering whether or not that was true. The young Zeree lost her interest in the marvels around her and tried to go to him. Reegan, seeing the object of her change of heart, refused to release his grip, however.

“Nothing’ll happen to the demon,” he muttered, trying not to disturb his father, who was lost in study of the statues. “Lochivan will just keep him out of the way.”

There was a crash from behind them. Sharissa, the patriarch, and the rest whirled around, fully expecting that a trap had been sprung at last. Instead, a fearful warrior stood beside a platform that he had bumped into. A crystal and parts of the platform itself had shattered. The fragments glowed briefly with escaping power.

Barakas stared the man down, then turned to the rest of those in the cavern. “The next man who breaks something will find himself in as many pieces! Explore, but do so with care!”

He turned his attention back to the statues. Some of them were damaged, and a few had been tipped in what had nearly been a domino effect. Barakas touched one of those standing, a figure that was tall, gaunt, and resembled one of the walking dead.

“Gods!” he shouted, pulling his hand free almost the instant after he had touched the effigy.

“What is it, Father?” Reegan asked, not so much concerned as fascinated by his father’s surprise.

“It… there’s… forget it! No one touches these until I say so! Do you all understand me?” His eyes focused on Sharissa. “Not until more is known about them.”

“We should be away from this place,” Faunon suggested, both unnerved and frustrated at being here.

“Nonsense.” Almost in defiance of the elf’s words, Barakas pointed to a series of tunnels to the left of the cavern entrance. “I want those traced for a good thousand paces. If they go further, mark your place and return here. The same with those behind this,”-the patriarch surveyed what stood behind the effigies. It was a ruined set of steps that rose for some distance and ended nowhere in particular-“this dais. Yessss, a throne must have stood here once.”

Soldiers rushed to obey, their places instantly filled by newcomers. Barakas removed his helm and watched them for a moment. The dragonlord then smiled at Faunon as if he had proved to the elf that there was nothing to fear, that he, the patriarch, had the situation under his complete control.

The Tezerenee were everywhere now, each warrior trying his or her best to please their lord and master. They skirted around artifacts and broken relics as they scoured the tall cavern chamber for anything of interest. Now and then, one of them would find something of sufficient importance that the patriarch would deign to investigate himself. Several times he vanished from sight, even daring short excursions into various subchambers.

Like a plague of thieves! Sharissa gritted her teeth. How much would be lost despite Barakas’s warning to be careful? This was a search that should have required months of careful work, not a few hours of haphazard running around.

While the Tezerenee searched, the three captives waited. Darkhorse was still frozen in place, and Lochivan, who still made no move to aid in the search, appeared to be disinclined to release him. Two guards watched over the anxious elf. Faunon flinched every time a warrior touched something or passed within arm’s length of the massive statues. As for Sharissa… she was forced to endure Reegan’s nearness and the fact that she was not being allowed to even participate, despite Barakas’s offer back in the citadel.

The latter problem became less significant as Reegan held her closer. With no one paying attention, the heir apparent was growing more and more familiar with her. He leaned near and whispered, “This will be the throne room of my kingdom, Sharissa. Did you know that?”

Rather than turn her face to his-and risk his suddenly desiring a kiss or some such foolishness-she stared at the statues. They were so very lifelike, Sharissa almost thought they breathed…

“The elf gave us a rough idea of what this continent is like. One of his fellows had a map, although we didn’t tell your friend that until we could see if he was lying-which he wasn’t, lucky for him. Father’s got the land divided between my brothers and me. Thirteen kingdoms now that Rendel’s dead and Gerrod’s as good as the same. We lost Zorain in the fight yesterday, or else there’d be fourteen.”

She had no idea who Zorain was save that he had obviously been yet another offspring of the patriarch. More to keep him babbling about something other than their would-be relationship than because she was interested, the sorceress asked, “What about your sisters and your cousins?”

He shrugged. “There’ll be dukedoms and such, not that it matters. Father has it all worked out.”

Were the eyes of the catman figure she now stared at staring back at her? Impossible… wasn’t it? “Where does he plan to rule? What kingdom will your father rule?”

His stiffening body made her glance at him despite her resolve. “He never says.”

The statues called her eyes to them once more. They had an almost hypnotic way about them, one that demanded her attention. “That doesn’t sound like the Lord Barakas Tezerenee.”

Reegan said nothing more, but another short glance showed his brow furrowed in thought. He was also scratching at his throat where the dry skin caused by the rash had spread all over his neck and probably down his chest. His unsightly appearance only made the effigies that much more inviting to gaze at.

“Lochivan! Reegan!” The patriarch’s voice echoed again and again throughout the cavern passages. Small, hideous creatures, disturbed by the loud noise, fluttered from their darkened places, realized they were in light of some sort, and scurried back to the sanctuary of the cool shadows.

“You’ll have to come with me,” the bearlike Tezerenee needlessly informed his prize. Sharissa did not argue; it would have been useless and, besides, standing around only frustrated her more. At least now she might learn something of value to her own goals.

The two of them passed close to Darkhorse. Though his cold blue eyes had no pupils, Sharissa knew that he watched her. Thinking of his predicament, she looked over to where Lochivan still stood, apparently trying to decide what to do about the eternal. In the end, he left the hapless creature the way he was, something that infuriated the sorceress further. It seemed that Darkhorse was to spend the rest of his existence trapped in one infernal torture or another and only because the Tezerenee found it useful.

Before this day was over, she would have another talk with Barakas. If it meant sacrificing some of her own liberty-small as that was-then so be it.

Lochivan joined the two, his eyes never veering from the path before him. He walked as if he wanted little to do with his brother or the woman to whom he had hinted deep affection for. This close, Sharissa could hear his rasping breath again. His gait was off as well, though not in any one way she could fix upon. It was almost as if he had broken some bones and had them reset by someone with no knowledge of what they were doing.

She noted the present location of the box, for all the good it did her. Lochivan kept it away from her, one arm cradling it much the way an infant would have been-not that she could imagine any of the Tezerenee holding a child.

“Where are you, Father?” Reegan called. The voice had come from somewhere behind the crumbling dais, but the back wall seemed pockmarked with passages, any one of which might be the tunnel the patriarch had chosen.

A warrior stumbled out of a passage and, realizing who stood before her, quickly saluted. “You were seeking the clan master?”

“Yes, is he in there?”

She nodded, stepping aside as quickly as possible. “He is several hundred paces below. The tunnel dips and finally ends in another chamber. You will find him there.”

Reegan nodded his satisfaction with her report. “Be about your duties, then.”

When the soldier was gone, Lochivan turned to his brother. He sounded no better than the last time. “Take the Lady Sharissa and go on ahead. I… I will be along in a moment.”

The other Tezerenee studied his younger brother for a moment, then nodded. “May it pass quickly.”

“It will. It is only a matter of will. As he has always said.”

It took no great thinking to understand that they spoke of the rash or disease that had afflicted so many of them. Lochivan seemed to be suffering more than the others, although she had hardly been among the Tezerenee long enough to know that for certain. Sharissa tried to take one last peek at Lochivan, but Reegan purposely steered her so that she would have to look through him to see what was happening to his brother.

Someone had lit the dry, ancient torches that stuck out from the sides of the passage. The Seekers, she recalled, were also creatures of the light, which made the torches no great surprise. What she still marveled at was why they had lived in such a place as this when they so obviously reveled in flight.

They were near the end of their trek when a figure came walking up the passage from the opposite direction, virtually blocking their path. The patriarch and his eldest blinked at one another. Sharissa, studying the clan master, was puzzled by the equally puzzled look dominating his features.

“Lochivan is following us, Father. He should be here in a few moments.”

Sharissa tried to make herself as small as possible in the hopes that Barakas would pay her no mind. A suspicion was dawning that she was uncertain as to whether to reveal or not to the Tezerenee.

“And what has he discovered?” the patriarch asked. Behind him, two warriors appeared. They seemed a bit confused about why the passage was blocked by their masters.

The question left Reegan at a loss for a moment. He finally sputtered, “N-nothing! It was you who summoned us! You called to Lochivan and me. I brought the Lady Sharissa because-”

“Never mind.” A grim expression settled onto the Lord Tezerenee’s face.

“Turn around this instant. We are heading back to the main cavern.”

“But why-”

“I did not summon you at all!” the patriarch growled in exasperation.

Swallowing hard, Reegan fairly spun Sharissa around. She allowed herself to be led ungently back up the way they had just come, her mind racing. Her suspicions had been correct, but was she in error for not saying anything? If this were some avian trap, would not she suffer as well?

They burst out of the side passage, almost catching Lochivan by surprise. His back to them, he slammed his helm down over his head and turned to see what the trouble was. The sorceress glimpsed the box lying to one side, so close but impossible to touch with so many dragon men nearby. Besides, there was still the danger of trying to destroy it without affecting Darkhorse.

“You!” Barakas shouted at his other son. “You heard me, too, then?”

“Yesss, Fath-”

“Damnable birds! What are they up to?”

Was there a hint of fear, Sharissa wondered, amidst the patriarch’s blustery anger?

They followed Barakas around the ancient dais and out into the center of the cavern. Tezerenee were filling the chamber, weapons drawn from sheer habit even though many now were more able with sorcery. The patriarch paused and searched for the enemy. Sharissa tried to join him, fearing for her companions, but Reegan pulled her back. She found his concern commendable, albeit unwanted.

Barakas turned in a complete circle, searching for some attack, some reason for the trickery played on his sons. It was clear he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, however, for the sorceress heard him swear.

She tried again to see her companions. Her view of Faunon was completely blocked by the milling, armored bodies of dozens of Tezerenee soldiers. Dark-horse, however, was another matter. Tall as he was, the top of his head was still visible despite the waves of high-helmed warriors still pouring into the cavern chamber.

As if drawn to the eternal by Sharissa’s own interest, Lord Barakas strode toward the petrified steed, his followers parting like a living sea before his wrathful form. “You!”

The shifting of the crowd bettered her view. Darkhorse, of course, did not respond to the patriarch’s angry and accusative call. He could not as long as Lochivan held him that way.

“This is your doing somehow!” he shouted. Without turning around, the clan master added, “Lochivan! Release him so he can answer my questions!”

“What nonsense are you bellowing, dragonlord?” the ebony stallion roared without preamble. His hooves scarred the floor as he vented his own frustration and anger in the only way allowed him.

Barakas faced him without fear. “What trickery do you play here, demon? Should I return you to the box?”

The physical change in Darkhorse’s manner shook Sharissa to the bone. He cringed and shook his head in an almost human manner. “I do not know what you mean! I have done nothing! I saw nothing!”

“Do you deny the summons in my name that brought my sons to me?”

Darkhorse eyed the human as if he were mad. “I do not deny it! I heard it, but it was none of my doing! You of all people should know how thoroughly tied I am to you!” He shook his head again, this time in what the sorceress recognized as disgust in himself and his captor. “I heard the call and watched them as they passed my field of vision! Ask any others here if they heard the call and then ask yourself if I could have even performed that little magic?”

“I’ve no need of asking my own what they heard!” the patriarch’s tone was as intense as Sharissa had ever heard it. He almost seemed close to a fit. She could not recall his ever acting thus in the fifteen years since the crossover from Nimth.

Barakas was losing control of himself.

He clamped his mouth shut and stared at Darkhorse for a moment longer before turning and facing his people. “None of you heard or saw anything other than my voice? No one is missing who should not be?” There were murmurs among the throng that indicated negative responses to both questions.

They’ll be turning to Faunon next, she thought. He should be safe, she knew, considering that the chains and bonds kept him from performing any sorcery as much as the box and spell did the same for Darkhorse. Still, being one more familiar with this land, the elf might be in for some very deadly questioning.

The crowd shifted again, partially revealing the area where the Tezerenee had kept the elf. Sharissa tried to find him, to at least make eye contact with him.

Where was he?

She tried to squirm around, but Reegan, his mind on what his father was about, held her tighter without even realizing it. In frustration, she leaned by his ear and whispered harshly, “You can let me be! I won’t run anywhere, you know!”

It proved to be the wrong thing to do. His attention on her now, the heir realized that she was trying to locate the elf. His jealousy apparent even through the helm, he turned to glare at his supposed rival.

He, too, failed to see any sign of Faunon.

“The elf!” Reegan roared, pulling all eyes to him. Sharissa grew numb, understanding now why she could not find Faunon.

Lochivan, one of the first to follow his brother’s gaze, completed what Reegan had been trying to relate to the others. He spoke in sibilant but clear words, his breathing growing heavier with each syllable. “The elf isss gone! He hasss essscaped!”

Her silver-blue hair cascading down into her face, Sharissa shook her head at their misunderstanding. She doubted very much that it was by choice the elf had vanished. He had been in no condition to make any escape. That meant that either someone or something had helped him to flee… or taken both Faunon and the guards for much darker, deadlier reasons.