Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

XVII

“Watch her!” Barakas roared to Reegan, his temper, for the moment, completely out of control. The patriarch turned on his own people. “Why do you stand around? Find the elf! Tezerenee blood is on his hands!” Nothing was mentioned concerning the elven blood on the clan’s hands, which might have given Faunon a good reason for anything he did to the dragon men.

“Do you want him alive?” Lochivan, his head turned away from his father, asked in his peculiar voice. To Sharissa, it seemed he was finding great interest in the stalactites or anything else other than the Lord Tezerenee.

The patriarch, too, did not even look at his son. The two of them might have been talking to other people. “Not necessarily.”

Sharissa leaned forward, her anger held back only by Reegan’s strong hands and the ever-present box that Lochivan presently carried. “Barakas! Don’t do-”

“Take this.” Lord Barakas pulled out a small object from a belt pouch. It looked like a small crystal to the struggling sorceress, but one that had been constructed, not formed by natural means. “Use it if you trap him in a chamber with no exit other than where you stand. Make certain that there is nothing of value in there first.”

Bowing his head, Lochivan took the sinister artifact. Barakas retrieved the box at the same time, securing it in one arm. He looked thoughtfully at the still form of Darkhorse, who met the gaze of the patriarch with his own baleful eyes. Sharissa still could not see how anyone, even the patriarch, could meet those ice-blue orbs and not turn away.

“And do you want me to deal with yet another irritation to you, dragon-lord?” Darkhorse dared to bellow. “It appears I must do all the work here! Of what use, then, are all these toy soldiers of yours?”

The barb struck as true as if a mortal blow from a sword. Barakas jerked back and quickly glared away any rebellious thoughts by his people. He was perspiring, something that Sharissa had rarely noticed him doing. Each time an event went awry, a little part of him seemed to vanish. The gray that she had noticed in his hair seemed to be spreading, too, now that she took a closer look.

The others are suffering from some rash, but he suffers from aging! the Vraad sorceress marveled. He fears he’s losing control!

Many of the Tezerenee had already departed, and the patriarch’s last look had sent most of the rest running. Lochivan had been one of the quickest to depart. Only a handful of warriors, Reegan included, remained.

“You must be taught respect again, I see,” the clan master whispered, his voice cold. He reached for the box.

Darkhorse shivered at first, then his eyes narrowed as he steeled himself for the patriarch’s worst. “The one who truly needs to learn respect is you, lord drake!”

“You’ve not tasted all that this can do, demon. I think the time has come to truly reprimand you!”

“No, you won’t!” Sharissa focused on the patriarch and willed her power to the forefront.

The skin and armor of Lord Barakas crackled and wrinkled, but only a moment. He looked down at what she was doing to his form and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, the devastation to his body dwindled. The cracked skin healed itself and the armor resealed. His eyes were death as he looked up at her.

“Dragon’s oath, Sharissa!” Reegan muttered in her ear. He attached something cold and numbing to her throat. Sharissa felt as if a part of her had been torn away and knew that she had wasted her one chance to utilize her abilities. The Tezerenee had again nullified her. “You shouldn’t have done that, not at all! He let you wander loose only because he had other spells handy to keep you under control! Didn’t you ever wonder?”

She had not, and that might be proving fatal now.

“After I have punished this errant monstrosity, Lady Sharissa, I fear I will have to teach you your manners, also! I will regret that, but it will be necessary.”

He touched the box and turned expectantly to Darkhorse.

The shadow steed quivered, awaiting the pain. When he realized that nothing had happened, that he was apparently free of the box, he laughed loud. “Ohh, I have waited for this, dragonlord!”

He leaped at the startled patriarch.

For all his speed, the eternal could not reach the patriarch in time. Sharissa, struggling anew with a distraught Reegan, watched as Darkhorse slowed more and more the nearer he tried to get to his adversary. Barakas continued to draw swift patterns over the box, trying to regain some sort of control. At that moment, the best either could do was a stalemate.

A voice that sounded like Lochivan’s shouted, “Reegan, you half-wit! Forget her and help Father!”

The heir apparent obeyed instantly, the Tezerenee code of serving the clan master-set down by Barakas himself, of course-enough impetus to sway him. He shoved Sharissa back toward a pair of guards standing near the ancient effigies and started forward. The sorceress doubted he even had any idea what he could do.

One of her new watchdogs reached out to take hold of her, but another armored figure caught her arm first. Both Sharissa and the warrior looked up into the helmed countenance of Lochivan.

“I’ll take the Lady Sharissa. Help get aid. We may need my brothers and sisters.”

The two guards obeyed without question, as they had been trained to do, but the young woman eyed her companion with growing suspicion. Lochivan was moving without the pain of a few minutes before and his voice was smooth, much the way it had always been before recent events. It was almost like standing next to a ghost image from the past.

“This way,” he urged.

“What are you-”

“Do not argue.”

They were walking into the midst of the towering statues, Lochivan looking as if he wanted no one to follow them. Sharissa wanted to ask where they were going, but then she lost all interest in that as something new demanded her attention.

The statues were pulsating. Not randomly, but like a massive heartbeat. The sorceress glanced at the human and inhuman visages, fully expecting to see the mouths open and the eyes blink. They did nothing of the kind, yet she knew that life did indeed reside within those forms and that it had been stirred to action by someone.

“This will be good enough.” Lochivan came to a halt in a region that Sharissa saw was approximately the center of the area surrounded by the effigies. He seemed to be waiting anxiously for something to happen.

Something was happening, but not what he wanted. The magics of the two combatants were illuminating the cavern chamber like flashing lights at a festival. Darkhorse and Barakas were still trapped in their stalemate, both powers aglow. Tezerenee surrounded them, all afraid that anything they did might accidentally throw the balance against their lord. Reegan wandered at the outer edge of the circle that had formed out of tense, armored bodies, and Lochivan, standing opposite him, was-

Lochivan?

“It happens! Hold tight!” her companion warned her just as she looked up, realizing now that he was not the son of the patriarch but… but what?

Her question vanished as instantly as the cavern itself did. One moment they were standing in the center of a growing field of power, the next they were standing in darkness.

Doppelganger or not, she held tight to him. There was a coldness about the dark that she cared little for. It reminded her of a tomb or some other place where death was dominant. Even noting that her ability to utilize her powers had returned did not ease her mind.

Come to me, my children. Enter my court and be safe from those above.

They did, Sharissa almost without choice. Her body moved forward before she had even come to a decision. The false Lochivan was beside her, matching her pace. She could not see him clearly enough, but the sorceress was certain he was almost as confused and frightened as she was, a peculiar thing since it was he who had brought her to this place.

There is no need to fear. I will protect you. I have given my oath on that.

She could, of course, question the fact that she did not know how trustworthy their unseen protector was; if Sharissa was correct in her assumptions, then this was the evil that Faunon had spoken about so often in the past.

Evil is… evil is sometimes power misunderstood. Yesss, that is the way of it.

It was reading her mind too well. Sharissa strengthened her mental shields.

It chuckled. Allow me to relieve your fears. Elf, your lady is here.

“Sharissa?” Faunon’s voice cut through the darkness. A dim glow, reddish in color, formed an aura around a figure moving toward her. When it was nearly within arm’s reach, she could see that it was Faunon. Sharissa almost leaped into his arms when she recalled that the Lochivan beside her was a copy. How did she know that this one was not?

Tell her who you are, elf. Prove to her that she is among friends.

From the expression on Faunon’s face-if it was Faunon-he did not completely share the unseen speaker’s opinion. Nonetheless, he tried to convince her. “Touch my hand, Vraad. Carefully if you like.”

Separating from the false Tezerenee, she reached out a tentative hand. Her fingertips grazed the top of his left hand. As she started to pull away, he grabbed hold of her wrist. His grip was gentle but firm. The sorceress felt a tingle run through her.

“Faunon!” She started to reach for him, then recalled her other companion. “But who is this, if not Lochivan? I know you! I could tell that much the way I could tell this was Faunon.”

“You do know me, Sharissa.” The armored figure also wore a dim, red aura, something she had not noticed before. Sharissa gazed down at her hands and saw no such thing surrounding her, yet it should have been impossible to see her fingers in this darkness.

What magic was afoot in this place… wherever it was?

Lochivan’s treacherous form faded into a cloaked figure whose face was half-buried in the confines of a deep hood.

“Gerrod?” She was more ready to believe it was just another trick. Gerrod was across the seas to the east.

“It is me, Sharissa. Master Zeree came to me, suspecting that I could follow you where he could not.” The warlock spread his hands in a gesture of embarrassment. “I went astray for a time, but I’ve found you at last.”

“Gerrod!” She hugged him tight, so pleased to see someone with a link to home. The hooded Tezerenee stood with his arms open, uncertain as to whether to return the hug or not.

All is well now. Friends are together at last, came the voice.

Her initial euphoria died as Sharissa recalled the present. She stepped back and looked up into Gerrod’s countenance. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“As near as I can tell, we are deep below the mountain my late and unlamented brother Rendel called Kivan Grath.”

“Then the dragonlord and his people are above us!” Faunon blurted out.

They will not come here. I have seen to that.

“Who is this, Sharissa?” the warlock asked, indicating the elf. She could sense a growing tension between the two and feared that it was she who was the root of it. Never before had she suspected Gerrod of such jealousy, but it was evident in his words and his stance. How long had he loved her? She cared for him, yes, but… did she care for Faunon more?

“This is Faunon. An elf. A prisoner of your father.”

“This is a Tezerenee?” Faunon searched himself fruitlessly for a weapon. Someone, likely their unseen savior, had released him from his bonds. Seeming to recall this, the elf steadied himself in a manner of someone summoning up the will to cast a major spell.

She quickly intervened, for it appeared Gerrod was about to counter Faunon’s attack with one of his own. “No! Stop it, you two! Faunon! Gerrod despises his clan almost as much as you do!”

“Almost?” the warlock snorted.

“How does he come to be here?”

“Simple enough to tell.” Only meeting Sharissa’s eyes, Gerrod related his experiences, including his confrontation with Darkhorse’s counterpart, the Quel city, and the crystal cavern. Faunon took much of it in with skepticism, but the unseen entity, who remained silent during the actual telling, finally acknowledged the truth of it.

Even as I took you and your guards, elf, so too did I bring this one… and your lady. There was no mistaking the pride it carried.

“And what are you?” the elf demanded, turning to face where he believed the unseen being must be.

The laughter that assailed their minds was a bit too uncontrolled for Sharissa’s tastes. Yet, there was something familiar about the creature… something…

She recalled what it was. “I know you! I know what you are!”

Do you?

“I do!” She looked at Gerrod, who would understand what she was about to say. “He-it-is one of the servants of the founders, one of the guardians!”

Gerrod was skeptical. “They abandoned this plane. There was argument over whether they should obey the dictates of the Faceless Ones or even if the founders’ experiment should be continued. There was apparently one that-”

“That broke from their ranks!” Sharissa peered into the darkness, searching for something to focus on. She thought she saw two glittering specks, eyes, perhaps, but could not be certain. “You’re the outcast, the renegade!”

Faunon was about to ask what she spoke of, but her last words had struck a nerve-if it had nerves-of the being.

I am outcast and renegade because I see the future as it must be! I will not be servant to dusty memories! I will be the future!

“And lo, a god was born…” muttered the elf.

Yesss, I like that! I will be a god as they were!

It was time, Sharissa decided, to turn the conversation to another direction. The guardian was building itself up to a megalomaniacal outburst of truly godlike proportions and had to be brought down. “And what about us? Why are the three of us here? Why bother rescuing us?”

Hesitation. Then, I remember Dru Zeree. I remember his knowledge. You are his off-spring. You possess the same traits. When I sensed you among the Tezerenee, I knew that I must take you. Use you.

“He told me something of the same sort,” whispered Gerrod.

“And me?” asked Faunon, not at all sounding as if he really wanted to know.

You are here because of her, but I’m certain you will make yourself useful.

Sharissa was drawing conclusions from what had been said, but she needed more. The sorceress hoped her thoughts were sufficiently obscured, else she was playing directly into the mad guardian’s hands-not that it had any. “What about Darkhorse? Why not bring him here?”

This time she was positive she felt the entity stir in growing anxiety. He has no place here.

“But he, like Faunon, is a friend. A good friend!”

Twin coals, fully ablaze, burst forth from the darkness. They glared at the trio, the eyes of a would-be god, but Sharissa, at least, felt more like a child was trying to make a scary face at her than that she was being menaced by a fearsome being with the power to do anything it wished. How godlike was the guardian? Was it bluffing?

He has no place here. Not in my world.

“What are you going to do with us?” Gerrod wanted to know. He looked weary and disgusted with himself.

Do? Nothing! I am your friend. I am friend to you all. You will witness my experiment and the culmination of my vision. I have succeeded where the founders failed! I will bring to this world the successors they failed to create! There will be so much to do-

“And you want us to guide you!” At last Sharissa understood their place in the outcast’s vision. It had broken away from the others after countless millennia of absolute loyalty. “The Vraad manipulated their world for generations, but you, for all the time you’ve existed, have little or no experience at this! All your existence you have served the founders’ wishes!”

Faunon found this incredible. “He wants us to help him control the lands!”

You will help me… or I will let you leave.

The trio stood there for several seconds, waiting for some clarification, but the guardian was silent. Finally, her patience already thin, Sharissa took it upon herself to ask the fatal question. “What sort of threat is that? What waits for us out there?”

The eyes were joined by the vague outline of a tremendous beast-possibly a wolf. From the way it winked in and out of existence, it was obvious that the outcast was testing forms, trying to find one that pleased it. While we have talked-for longer than you think-the new kings of the land are being born.

Her eyes widened. She had thought that their conversation had been delaying the work of the guardian.

Your thoughts, Sharissa Zeree, and those of your companions, are mine as well. It chuckled again, taking amusement in their confusion and realization.

“What’s happening above?” Gerrod demanded. “What’s happening to my people?”

Concern? For them? I am merely bringing out their true nature-both here and in the splendid citadel they have built. They were worthy of rule before, but now their success is guaranteed!

While Gerrod stared without seeing, his mind on his brethren and the fate the renegade had cast for them, Sharissa sought some way to turn back what had been set in motion. “Your own kind will not permit this, guardian! The land itself, the legacy of your masters, will stir at this affront! You’ve broken the most sacred of laws set down by the founders!”

She had hoped to stir uneasiness, but the entity was gloating, not fearful. The land sleeps for as long as I will it and those others like me have left this plane. They will not know what occurs until after it is done and I have proved myself!

The warlock, meanwhile, had stirred himself to life once more. He took a step toward the barely seen outline in the dark and shouted, “Damn you! I’m asking again! What have you done to them?”

The laughter again. We will see how well they truly follow the totem of the drake. Gerrod turned around, seeking the entrance to this cavern. “I’ve got to go to them! Warn them!”

“You hate them!” Faunon quickly reminded him. Nonetheless, the elf, too, looked as if he wanted to find any path leading away.

The hooded Tezerenee did not deign to reply, but Sharissa understood. Gerrod cared for his clan, for individuals within it. His hatred was for those who ruled it-his father, Reegan, Lochivan-and he was not even willing to consign those three to whatever fate the guardian had in mind.

There is no way out of here, came the triumphant voice in their heads. And you would only suffer the same fate as they.

“It’s true,” Faunon whispered to Sharissa. “I cannot find a passage anywhere!” A living fury came among them. Gerrod, looking all too much like the drake that his people looked to as their symbol, confronted the elemental. There was a stirring of power like none that the sorceress had felt in fifteen years. In fact, it reminded her of only one thing, but the intensity of it was beyond what should have been available to the warlock.

Vraad sorcery. Oh, Gerrod! She shook her head in disbelief and reached out with her senses to verify the horror before her. You’ve broken the barrier between worlds! You’ve let the foulness that we created seep into our midst!

She understood some of why he had performed the unthinkable, but that did not forgive him-even if this proved to be enough to aid them in escaping.

A quake rocked the cavern as the warlock unleashed a tangle of glowing, scarlet tendrils at where the guardian supposedly was.

“The curse of the Vraad!” Faunon snarled, emotions in turmoil. He had told her that his legends spoke of the way of the Vraad race, yet she knew that while he loathed what Gerrod represented, he, like her, hoped it would at least do some good.

Gerrod’s spell did not stop. He continued to feed the lifeforce of Nimth into it, twisting that world a little further and doing untold damage to the Dragonrealm at the same time. Even with all of that, there was still no reaction from the target of his wrath save that the dim image had vanished. It was still there, however. All three of them could feel its overwhelming presence.

By now, the tendrils filled the space before the threesome, illuminating the chamber as it had never been illuminated since their arrival. Sharissa silently verified that there was, indeed, no passage out. This cavern was a bubble in the mountain rock.

Gerrod screamed as his body finally gave in to the rigors of his sorcery. He collapsed to the floor.

The tendrils pulsated with such intensity that the sorceress and the elf had to cover their eyes.

Silence lingered for more than a minute, by Sharissa’s reckoning.

Slowly and so quietly that they at first thought that they had imagined it, the laughter of the mad guardian rose and reverberated around them.

The tendrils winked out of existence.

Gerrod looked up, his face drawn and far older than his father’s. The toll of unleashing so much destructive sorcery had drained more than his strength; it had drained a part of his life from him, too.

A fitting position to be in, it said, and they all knew it referred to Gerrod’s sprawled form. He had only risen to his knees by the time it added, Fitting for one who faces his new deity!

Faunon was shaking his head in dismay, but Sharissa was not satisfied with the outcome. Was it her imagination, or did the presence of the outcast seem just a little bit less oppressing than it had been before the attack?

It did not reprimand her for the traitorous thought, another interesting note.

Still, the guardian was enjoying its latest victory. The two fiery eyes returned, focusing on the trio as a whole. I think perhaps I would like you two to join your poor companion! Sharissa felt an unstoppable urge to kneel. Despite the uselessness of doing so, she fought it all the way to the ground. I think it is time to give your god the dues deserved!

Her head was just being forced downward-mortals were not supposed to look up in the presence of gods, of course-when another voice entered her head and commented, Rest assured, outcast, you will receive all that is due to you.

The cavern exploded into turmoil. The two humans and the elf fell flat in the hopes of avoiding what seemed like the world itself at war. Even the tremors caused by Gerrod’s spell had not rocked the cavern like this. Sharissa glanced up and saw that the ceiling was cracking in places. She hoped that none of the pieces that chose to fall would be above them. With no passage out, they were trapped. Trying to teleport out during such madness would have a greater chance of making them part of the mountain than sending them to safety. That their best odds lay in lying still and hoping for the best was not something the younger Zeree cared to contemplate.

A bolt of purple lightning flashed across the cavern. Something roared in the dark. The floor cracked next to Faunon, who quickly rolled over to Sharissa when it became apparent the fault would continue right underneath his original position. Large chunks of rock and earth broke free of the ceiling and plummeted downward, one landing within a few yards of the frozen sorceress. She muttered ancient Serkadion Manee’s name and tried not to think about where the next fall would land.

As quickly and violently as it had begun, the tempest died. The three were plunged into darkness, not even their auras remaining to give them some sense of light.

“Sharissa?” Faunon’s voice was like a beacon. “Are you hurt?”

She coughed, clearing some of the floating dust from her lungs, and, in the same quiet tones, replied, “I think so. I won’t trust that until I can see myself. Gerrod?”

There was no answer. His last image burned into her thoughts, Sharissa stirred herself to movement.

“Where are you going?” the elf asked.

“I need to find out what happened to Gerrod.”

Would light aid you in this?

She froze at the return of a voice to her mind. “I don’t need your mockery now. If he’s dead, it’s your doing! What happened?”

The voice was almost indifferent, a great contrast to earlier conversations. I think you mistake me for the other. Is that so?

“What do you mean?”

I am not the outcast, the one who would be a god. I have been called such by others of your kind, but I have never yearned for that which was not my calling.

“You’re another guardian?” She wished there was light, even though she still would have seen nothing. Unless they willed it, the guardians were always invisible.

The chamber lit up so bright that Sharissa was blinded. An angry curse from behind her told the Vraad that Faunon, too, had not been prepared.

Gerrod was not affected by the light; he lay on his stomach, his cloak and hood obscuring most of his body. She quickly moved to his side.

I am.

“What?” Her question came back to her. “Oh. I see. Are you… you must be…” She could not think, being busy in checking the Tezerenee’s condition. Sharissa gasped when she pulled back the hood. Gerrod was an old man, wrinkled and dying. “No!”

It is his own doing. He should have never sought what we had barred from this world.

“I don’t care about that! Can you help him?”

I could. Guardians, it seemed, shared many of the same faults.

She looked up at the ceiling, ignoring the loose rocks as she shouted, “Please!”

For the daughter of Dru Zeree.

Gerrod groaned. His eyes opened. Sharissa, looking down, saw that he was as she had always known him. His strength had been returned to him with as much effort as she would have used in taking a single breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” the warlock asked, thinking she talked to him.

I have spared you where I should have punished your impudence, Gerrod of the Tezerenee.

“You!” The warlock rolled to his feet, ready to take on what he imagined was his opponent of before.

Your link to the dead world is no more. I have reconstructed the barriers, made them far stronger than you could ever be. Also, as I told Sharissa Zeree, I am not the renegade. If you prefer, your own people gave me a name, however irrelevant it is. Let me appear to you as I did to them.

The cavern was tested by yet another tremor, albeit a much more subdued one than those prior. Where the ground had split open, gas drifted skyward. The cavern grew warmer and, to their dismay, molten earth began to spew forth.

Have no fear for your lives.

Rock, loosened by the series of quakes, broke from the ceiling. Sharissa looked up, saw one above Faunon’s head slip free, and started to shout a warning. Before she could do so, however, the fragment, as if moving of its own accord, ceased its downward motion and flew toward the growing eruption, where it was joined by more of its kind.

More rock and molten earth gathered. A shape formed, only a vague parody at first, but more and more distinct with each passing second. Sharissa was thankful the cavern was so huge; the thing before them nearly touched the ceiling itself. Fragments kept breaking off as it expanded, but nothing came within even a few feet of the trio, much less the ground itself. The fragments would return to the leviathan and merely help strengthen some other portion of its body.

When the great wings stretched, impossible wings of stone and magma that refused to obey gravity’s dictates, Sharissa was almost certain that she knew who and what stood before them.

They were all on their feet now, worn but unharmed. The sorceress frowned at the massive unliving creature, trying to keep in mind that this was merely a shell the guardian had made and nothing more. “The Dragon of the Depths?”

That is it.

Faunon was beside her. It felt good to have him near, especially after facing such chaos. He leaned close, as if whispering would not be heard by a thing that could read their minds at will, and asked, “You know this one, too?”

“He-it-can be trusted.” I hope so, she added to herself. To the new guardian, she asked, “How did you come to be here? The other one was certain it had protected itself from the danger of discovery.”

The mock dragon dipped its head. The indifference gave way to a touch of embarrassment. Most of the guardians, the great familiars of the ancients, had little in the way of separate personalities. Only a few, such as the two they had met this day, could be called individuals. It was not the outcast we sought. What drew us here was the warlock here.

“Me?” Gerrod withdrew to the confines of his cloak, giving him the appearance of a living shroud.

Somehow, the guardian made the eyes narrow, though they were only bits of stone surrounding glowing balls of fiery earth. We did not sense the renegade, for it had shielded itself well, but, with so much of its power already in demand, it could not sufficiently shield the presence of so much Nimthian sorcery.

“Then Gerrod actually did you a service,” Sharissa interjected, fearing that the warlock might still face some punishment.

The dragon head withdrew. Not by choice… but because of the magnitude of the outcast’s crime, the warlock is forgiven… for now.

Glancing at Gerrod, the sorceress’s relief gave way to renewed worry. From what she could read in his stance and his shadowed features, the patriarch’s son was not defeated. He would attempt, someday, to reestablish his link.

My time grows short, and there is much to do. I will take you from here and place you where you must be.

She was not certain she understood what the guardian meant, but decided to trust its judgment. It had befriended her father, after all. Instead, she asked, “What became of the outcast?”

That one has evaded us for the moment… but it will eventually be taught the folly of its ways.

Knowing how time meant little to these virtually immortal creatures, Sharissa wondered what damage the renegade would cause before that. She decided not to ask.

“And my clan? What about them?” The warlock walked closer, defying the entity who had stripped him of so much power. “What about the insanity your counterpart plotted for them?”

The long hesitation stirred the curiosity of all three. The Dragon of the Depths seemed to be considering its response carefully, as if even it was uncertain it cared for the answer. Sharissa walked over to where Gerrod stood and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, not even looking her way. More hurt than she cared to consider, the young woman returned to Faunon, who tried to smile in sympathy but failed.

The land will do what it chooses to do, and I will abide by that decision.

“That is no answer!” the angry Tezerenee shouted.

It is the only answer. It is the sum of my existence. If the land finds some use in the renegade’s actions, which will still not excuse that one, then the experiment will follow that new path. If not, the land, not I, will choose to reverse what was done.

“But the renegade interfered with the experiment! If what it said was true, it even dared to subdue the mind of the land!”

All true and all irrelevant now. Before their eyes, the mock dragon began to crumble. A wing collapsed and the lower jaw dropped to the cavern floor and shattered. Despite the din, the voice was still very clear in their minds. The land will decide… but you have a choice in the matter. I tell this to you, Sharissa Zeree, because of the respect with which I hold your progenitor. Whatever changes are wrought upon your kind, those who fight them will only succumb that much more harshly. You have a choice in how you are adapted to this world. The elf is proof of that. His kind have remained more or less untouched.

The three stumbled back as the body collapsed and the magma receded down the hole it had spewed forth from.

And now, I will take you to where you must be.

“What do you mean ‘must be’?” Faunon, who had stayed silent most of the time, shouted at the last moment. Understanding his sudden worry, Sharissa would have lent her voice to his-but the cavern and the guardian had vanished and they were now elsewhere.

“Well,” came a familiar voice, one that hinted at no sleep for days and terrible stress suffered during those waking hours. Any arrogance was little more than mockery now. “Welcome back… and you, too, my son.”

Elsewhere was the main cavern that Sharissa and Faunon had been plucked away from by the mad guardian. The voice belonged to the patriarch, who sat upon a high-backed throne now standing atop the dais and looked down at the three stunned gifts that had been placed before him.