Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

XVIII

“I must admit that I had not thought to see you-any of you-again since your escape, what is it, five days ago?”

“Five days?” Faunon leaned his head toward Sharissa’s. “We were not down there more than an hour!”

“So we thought, but the first guardian hinted that we might have been talking longer than it appeared. Who can say what they’re capable of? That means the damage could only be worse if-”

“I would appreciate it,” the patriarch interrupted. He straightened. His armor was covered in dust and-she squinted-blood? “Yes, I would appreciate it if you would recall who it is you face. I am, after all, lord of this domain.”

“This sounds very familiar,” Gerrod muttered. His father, possibly understanding what he said, focused on him. The warlock retreated into his cloak.

“You. For all that you have disappointed me, I am pleased to see you. I suspect, however, that you have not come here because you seek admittance into the clan again.”

Gerrod shook his head. Some of the Tezerenee present stirred at that. Sharissa, scanning the cavern, thought that there were less of them than she recalled from last time. Many of them were wounded, too. What had happened since her untimely departure?

“Reegan.” At Lord Barakas’s summons, the heir separated from the others and hurried up the steps. The patriarch gave him a hand. Reegan took hold and aided his father in rising. “Nonetheless, I am still pleased to see you, if only because I might require your intuitive skills.”

“What happened here, Father? Is everyone… is everyone the same?”

“An interesting way to put it. I might find it even more interesting to find out where you have been that you would ask such a thing.” With Reegan’s aid, he traversed the steps, stopping when he was at the bottom. “For now, however, I think it would be best if I told you what has happened. We’ve been busy of late.”

As the patriarch began, Sharissa looked around for Lochivan. There was no sign of him, and she wondered whether it was his blood that stained the Lord Tezerenee. Also missing was the infernal box prison. “Where’s-”

Barakas snapped his fingers. Guards belatedly surrounded the trio. Gaunt-leted hands stumbled to attach small collars to the necks of each. There was a bit of a struggle as Gerrod fought to keep his hood on. When it was at last down, he looked at the others as if expecting horror. Sharissa realized he did not know what the Dragon of the Depths had done for him. Knowing that despite his status he was still one of their lord’s offspring, the guards replaced the hood when they were finished.

The patriarch shook his head at the warrior’s obvious inefficiency. “Things are falling apart… and if you speak before I allow it, I will have them silence you. You don’t want that, Lady Sharissa. None of us is in a very pleasant mood.” To his clan in general, he commanded, “Bring forth one of the changelings!”

There was some scurrying, and a pause in which Barakas took time to steady himself. He became aware of Sharissa’s questing eyes and quietly said, “All in good time, my lady. All in good time.”

At that moment, the ranks of disheveled warriors gave way to four others carrying a bundle the size of a body. Gerrod took a step forward, but the patriarch shook his head. The newcomers waited, fascinated to be sure, but also prepared for the worst.

They were not disappointed. Sharissa had been waiting for this and was not surprised at what rolled out of the blanket that the Tezerenee lowered to the floor before them. Faunon nodded his head; he had also expected this. Only Gerrod was truly taken aback.

“What sort of abomination is that?”

“It was a cousin of yours once,” the clan master informed him. “There were seven others besides this one. It took us all this time to hunt them down, and more than twice as many warriors to kill them.”

The corpse was of a creature resembling the unfortunate Ivor as he had been those few moments Sharissa had confronted him, only this one was even more reptilian than that hapless soul. The shape was not even quite humanoid anymore, but almost truly like that of a drake.

“It looks like a Draka,” Faunon commented.

“Draka?” Reegan asked.

“They have many names, many of which sound similar. Some think they ruled here long before the avians and the Quel. They serve-served-the bird folk. Of late, they’ve grown far more savage than they should be.”

“I’ve seen them. Unimportant.” Pulling himself free, the patriarch limped over to the disconcerting body. “This was one of my people, not some monster! I want to know what happened and who was responsible!” He gave the elf a long, appraising look. “Perhaps I should have had Lochivan question you more thoroughly.”

Sharissa could not hold back. “Where is Lochivan now?”

“He is ill… and it is he who watches the demon’s prison.” That was all he would say on the subject, although she was certain there was more he was not telling.

Gerrod pulled free of his guards and, despite his father’s warning, moved closer to examine his former cousin. He touched the leathery skin and removed some of the tattered bits of armor that still hung to the corpse. From what Sharissa could see from her vantage point, the shapeshifting Tezerenee had torn part of his armor off and literally burst through the rest. How much pain had that entailed? How much pain did the transformation itself entail?

The guards moved to bring the warlock under control, but Lord Barakas suddenly waved them back. To his estranged son, he said, “I will want to know how you come to be on this continent later, but for now I would appreciate whatever you can read from this… this horror.”

He received no response, but that was Gerrod’s way. The hooded Tezerenee probed for a moment or two longer and then looked up in the direction of, but not exactly at, his progenitor. “I’d like Sharissa to see this.”

Reegan whispered something to his father, but Barakas shook his head. He looked at the waiting Zeree. “Go to him, but be careful about what you say or do. There will be no second escape. Especially for your elf.”

In response to an unspoken command, one of Faunon’s guards put a knife to the elf’s throat. Sharissa gritted her teeth in order to keep from saying something that her captor would hardly appreciate. Escape was hardly one of her concerns at this time; she lacked the strength for anything so strenuous as that.

Joining Gerrod, she inspected the corpse. As she expected, he wanted to do the talking.

“This is what I’ve feared all these years-this and the fact that we are aging far more quickly than we were prone to back in Nimth.”

“What are you mumbling?” Reegan asked, suspicious of anyone, it seemed, who was on better terms with Sharissa than he was. That included a vast number of people, as far as she was concerned.

Gerrod stared at his elder sibling with disdain. “I was wondering when the first of these appeared.”

“There was one during the journey here,” Sharissa offered. That first one had likely been one of the more magically sensitive Tezerenee. Or perhaps he had been a test for the outcast guardian, a way of assuring that what it sought to do was possible without killing the victim.

“There wasss another,” announced a hissing voice. From one of the passages, an armored figure that could only be Lochivan stumbled forward. Despite the patriarch’s claim that his son was ill, Lochivan wore full armor, even a full helm. He also carried the box, which was evidently making it difficult for him to maintain his balance, but he refused the aid of two warriors who came to his side.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Barakas told him. Nonetheless, he was visibly proud of the fact that Lochivan would not give in to whatever was affecting him. “You should be resting.”

“In thissss place? I heard the voicessss and came to sssee. Gerrod’s question, however, desservess asss complete an answer as possible if we are to deal with thisss matter.”

“When was the first one?” Gerrod acted as if he had never left the clan.

“During the first expedition. He killed another man before we could ssstop him. That wasss why I wasss ready for Ivor. I recognized the sssigns.”

Barakas looked a bit troubled. “You told me they died when one of the drakes went wild.”

Lochivan laughed, harsh and almost inhuman in his manner. He was now at the edge of the circle of nervous bodies surrounding the prisoners, the patriarch, and the poor, twisted form on the floor. “I thought the sssituation under control, even with Ivor’sss appearance. I thought I had made a pact that would sssave usss!”

“What are you talking about? You must be feverish!”

“He’s not.” Sharissa understood. Lochivan had known what was going to happen to her. That was what he had meant that one evening. He had made a pact that included her safety… so he supposed. In a sense he had been correct. Unfortunately, Lochivan had also been dealing with a being that chose to interpret the pact in whatever way suited it.

The patriarch turned on her. “What’s that you say?”

“Tell him, Sharissa!” Gerrod urged. “Tell him, or by the claws of the drake I’ll do so!”

She nodded. It would be best for them if the Tezerenee knew. It might even make them abandon this place as the Seekers had chosen to do. “We’ve met the one you made the pact with, Lochivan.” She paused to let that sink in. “I think what you’ve seen is its way of fulfilling that pact.”

“Impossible! I worked for the ssssurvival of the clan! These horrorsss are not what I desssired!”

“Ivor and the others were how the guardian thought your clan would best survive this land.”

“Stop right there!” Barakas roared. He pointed an accusing finger at the unsteady figure. “You will tell your tale later, and the truth had best be spoken!” The patriarch kicked at the rubble as he strode toward Sharissa and Gerrod, both of whom rose at his coming. “First, we will hear your story!”

Sharissa willingly related it. Gerrod and even Faunon also contributed, recalling as much as they could. All three were in unspoken agreement that if the Dragon of the Depths had dropped them here, it was to their interest to convince their captors of the urgency of their plight.

The Lord Tezerenee listened in silence, his only reaction to glance on occasion from one of his prisoners to another. The time difference interested him enough to provoke a question or two, but the rest was heard unhindered.

When Sharissa concluded with the second guardian’s decision to send the three here, Lochivan spoke up despite the threat of punishment from his father. “Their tale tells most of it… but I thought the scourge was the land’s doing, not this outcast abomination.”

“I am still not certain on that,” the patriarch said. “But that is neither here nor there.”

“We’ve told you the truth about everything, Father!” Gerrod insisted.

To the surprise of all, Lord Barakas smiled. “And I am certain that you have! If so, then the danger is past! You said yourself that the renegade fled from the Dragon of the Depths! He has saved us again!”

Sharissa grimaced. This was not going the way it should. “Have you forgotten what the Dragon of the Depths said? There is no guarantee that this is over or that something worse is not yet to come!”

He indicated the corpse. “The first of those appeared the day you vanished; the last, three days later. There have been none since, and I would say there will be none again!” Looking down at the remains of what had once been one of his subjects, the patriarch added, “Someone drag that away and bury it. Let him and the others be remembered with honor, victims of a foe now fled!”

“Typical!”

“What was that, Gerrod?”

“Nothing, Father! Only that you’ve not changed! I prayed that, at least for mother’s sake, you might have!”

“Alcia!” All triumph faded from the clan master’s rough-hewn visage. “The citadel!”

“Citadel?” Gerrod looked at Sharissa for clarification.

“Your father forced Darkhorse to help him build a glorious citadel to the south of here.” She pointed at the box that Lochivan carried. The bitterness could not be held back. “That is Darkhorse’s reward for his efforts, his prison!”

“My mother and the others are not here?”

“Alcia.” Barakas raised his hands above his head. “I sent a message announcing our imminent entrance into the caverns, but… nothing since then! They won’t have known! I must go to her and see!”

He stood there for several seconds, his eyes closed. The room was filled with a sense of expectation. Sharissa was the first to wonder why the patriarch still stood where he was when it was obvious he had intended to teleport to his lady.

That thought had also occurred to Barakas, for he lowered his hands and stared at her in wonder. “The power! I had it! Now… there is still some, but I cannot summon sufficient for the task!”

“You won’t find that power at your beck and call anymore!” It was Faunon who spoke, to the surprise of Sharissa. At a nod from Barakas, the guards released their hold. He purposely joined Sharissa and put an arm around her waist. She was a bit shocked at first, but found almost immediately afterward that she wanted him there.

“We are the only spellcasters here now, and our strength is not sufficient at this time to be of any aid.”

“Step away from her!” Reegan bellowed. He drew his sword and started toward the couple.

“Reegan!” The voice born to command froze the heir in place. Barakas then added, “Continue, elf! What great revelation have you to make?”

“Sharissa probably knows,” Faunon said, “but I spoke up without thinking, so it’s my duty to tell you.”

“Then be on with it, before I decide to let my eldest further denigrate himself!”

“Father-”

“Silence!”

Sharissa caught the barest hint of a smile on the elf’s lips before he spoke. “The tales of our ancestors speak enough about the way of Vraad sorcery for me to recognize it. The sorcerous stench is enough to make me wish I had no ability to sense its presence. She also spoke of it during our time together-how it had suddenly returned to you.”

“My link!” Gerrod looked at Faunon with a mixture of surprise and respect.

“When one makes a hole, things tend to leak out.”

“The Dragon of the Depths resealed the barrier, made it stronger,” Sharissa finished. “You’re back to the way it was before.”

Crystalline eyes narrowed. “You will take me there! One or both of you!”

Faunon snorted. “Even if I desired to, Vraad, neither of us has the strength, not after what we’ve been through. I am not even certain if it is safe to do so. My folk have lived here for far longer than you, and we have stories-”

“More blasted tales!”

“We have stories,” he continued, relishing his role even though Sharissa could see that he understood the risks of pushing the patriarch too far, “about the times when the land is woken… as it has been by the renegade guardian.”

“And what do thossse ssstoriesss sssay?” Lochivan asked. He had the box in both hands now, as if he intended to present it to Sharissa. Had Darkhorse known the Tezerenee was manipulating him? Had the eternal nearly sacrificed himself in order that Sharissa might be free? She hoped there would come time for the answers. She hoped there would come time for Darkhorse.

“That those who bring notice to themselves in such turbulent times may find they will soon not know themselves. That is what they say.”

“Reegan,” Barakas began, a fierce anger spreading across his features. “If the elf will not speak plainly on his next attempt, you have my permission to put him to the sword.”

“Faunon,” Sharissa warned.

He took her hand with his free one. “You remember what the second guardian said, that we could control the change. It’s been so in the past. When the land is awake, there is wild sorcery. Those who make too much use of their power become more malleable, more sensitive to… change.”

Barakas studied the ancient cavern. In a quieter voice he said, “I had decided to make this the citadel from where I would coordinate the rule of this land, a fitting choice since it would have been within the domain of my heir.” Sharissa was interested to see that Reegan did not seem too pleased with that decision. He had hoped for a kingdom of his own, not one in which he would have little more status than before. The patriarch did not seem to care. “It seems it will have to wait a while, but it will be mine! Reegan! Attend me!”

Erasing the bitter cast, the heir apparent came to his father’s side. “Sire?”

“You will remain here and continue efforts to ready this place. Be alert.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I also want the swiftest drakes readied for travel. Two dozen-no, one dozen! No more than necessary!” The patriarch turned to the trio. “You three will accompany me!” He waved off all protests, including one from Reegan, who hardly cared for the thought of Sharissa being taken away from him. Focusing on the sorceress, Barakas continued, “If I thought I could trust you, I would have those bands removed. As it is, they will remain around your throats. Do not think to remove them without my permission; you will find that they can bite!”

Sharissa started to speak, to say that this was something they all had to be concerned about, but she knew that the clan master would never believe she would ride willingly with him.

Lord Barakas Tezerenee looked around at his people. “Well? What are you standing around here for? There is much to do!”

The dragon warriors scattered, save for those few whose task it was to either protect their master or await further commands that might arise. Reegan remained, although Lochivan and the box, much to Sharissa’s distress, had vanished. The hurried expedition to the Tezerenee citadel would only take her farther from the eternal.

“We will leave within the hour,” the lord of the Tezerenee announced to his prisoners, “and ride until the drakes can run no more. We will sleep until they are sufficiently rested and then ride until exhaustion takes them again.”

“And what of us?” Gerrod asked. “We are already worn out… as you must be.”

“We are Tezerenee, Gerrod. The name Tezerenee is power, in case you have forgotten. We will endure what we must for the sake of the others! These two”-he indicated Sharissa and Faunon-“will just have to struggle along.”

The warlock snorted, muttering something about speeches and beliefs, but his father had already turned away.

Although they were not given much opportunity for rest, the patriarch was true to his word when he had said that they would be leaving within the hour, the three did receive some food. Their lost days had wreaked havoc with their inner clocks, though, so the meal was first eaten in hesitation. Only when food began to warm her did Sharissa feel the pangs of hunger. From then on, she ate in eagerness, noting that her companions did the same.

Sentries watched them to make certain no one fiddled with the collars. Barakas had warned them of the danger of doing so, but evidently knew that here were three who could most definitely be trusted to try escape at some point. They would need their full abilities to do so.

They sat where they had been standing earlier, no one apparently having thought seats a necessity in this place. Only the patriarch’s throne-where they had gotten that monstrosity, she could not guess-resembled anything designed for sitting, and that looked much too uncomfortable for most people. It was the type of throne she would expect from Barakas, a thing that required patience and stubbornness to endure.

For the brief time remaining, the sorceress concentrated on the stone leviathans mere yards away. Even with her powers muted again, something that seemed to be a habit of late, she could sense the life stirring within them. Why no one else did was beyond her. Faunon did look up now and then as he ate, almost as if he noticed something from time to time but could not place it. Was she that much more in tune with this world than they were? Sharissa had accepted her new home without question, marveling in the natural beauty that she, too young, had never known in Nimth. Perhaps that was one reason that she had learned to manipulate the binding forces of the world as none of the others had yet.

That did not explain why the powers within the effigies were growing greater in intensity with each passing minute.

What would happen when the land truly awoke? Was this the first sign?

Her thoughts died as Barakas returned to the central chamber. He still limped, but concern for his bride and his fledgling empire was making him ignore all but the worst pain. Reegan trailed behind him, looking like a hatchling drake that had been reprimanded by its mother. No doubt he had been trying, without success, to convince his father to either leave her here or let him journey with them.

The patriarch nodded to her. “You have been properly fed, Lady Sharissa?”

He seemed to use a title only when he wanted something, she realized. Steadying herself, she replied, “Fair enough for now. We could still use some rest.”

“When you are with us long enough you will learn to sleep while your steed keeps going.”

“I hope not to be with you long enough for that.”

Barakas gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Honesty. It is a commendable trait, albeit a useless one right now.”

“Father-”

“Silence, Reegan. You have duties, if I recall. Perform them as is fit for the future clan master… the future emperor.”

The hulking Tezerenee glanced longingly at Sharissa, who made a point of not looking his way. Dejected, Reegan saluted his father and departed.

For one of the few times in her recent memory, the patriarch removed his helm. Sharissa was shocked to see that the gray in his hair was spreading. There were grooves in his face that only time and weariness could have carved. It reminded her somewhat of Gerrod’s visage after his near catastrophe with Vraad sorcery down in the mad guardian’s cavern.

Lord Barakas Tezerenee was not getting old; he was old.

“He will be emperor before long,” the patriarch assured them. He met his estranged son’s gaze and saw the emotion in there. “Yes, I am growing old at last. The dragonlord is nearing his end. Probably a few more decades and nothing else.”

“At least you have lived all those millennia,” the warlock returned. He indicated his own face. “There will be lines on this face soon enough. This world likes to kill those who will not bow to it.”

The armored monarch cocked his head to one side as he studied Gerrod. Then, smiling a mocking smile, he shook his head and turned his attention back to Sharissa. “I have something I want of you.”

“I’m hardly surprised.”

“Hear me out. If you aid me, I will no longer pressure for a marriage between you and my eldest. You and the elf can go off wherever you please.”

“Everyone always wants to throw us together,” Faunon commented. Food, even this food, had done much to restore his humor, even if he and the others were still prisoners.

He was ignored by the clan elder. “Well?”

“You haven’t told me what you want of me.”

Gerrod leaned forward before his father could speak and warned, “Be careful of any promise made! Even oaths can be broken!”

“There will be no breaking of oaths!” Barakas seemed ready to kick his son back in place, but possibly knew how it would make him look to the sorceress. “This concerns your family, especially your mother and siblings!”

The warlock tried to pretend he did not care, but Sharissa already knew that, despite his abandoning the ways of his father, Gerrod had no desire to see his former folk come to harm.

“What is it you want?” she asked, in part trying to turn the patriarch’s focus away from his son. Each time it turned there, the chamber grew noticeably colder.

He scratched his throat, but, unlike so many of the other Tezerenee, Barakas no longer suffered from the rash. “I want your cooperation-and theirs-for the time needed to ascertain what may or may not have befallen those at the citadel-and especially the Lady Alcia.”

It was a bit of a rambling answer, but the thrust of it moved her as she thought not possible. Barakas might be her adversary, but his concern for his bride outweighed even his drive for power.

“I will swear by the spirit of the drake that you will gain your releases when I am satisfied that we face no threat. Well?”

“All of us?”

“All of you.”

She studied him for several seconds, organizing her thoughts. There was one more thing Sharissa wanted of him, and now was the only moment she had a chance of getting it. If she let this pass… “Darkhorse must be included.”

His altering expression almost made her regret her demand, but she could not leave the shadow steed under his control.

“You want the demon?” He struggled to regain composure and succeeded-in part. “Take him! Even with our sorcery reduced, we will prevail!”

“Then you have my cooperation.” Her words were said in a simple and straightforward fashion.

Her quiet response made him halt his tirade. Barakas took a deep breath before saying, “My gratitude, Lady Sharissa. You will find I will keep my word in this, despite my sons and their opinions otherwise.”

Meaning Gerrod and Reegan, she thought.

“Now that it is settled,” the patriarch continued, “I may tell you that the drakes are ready for us. Guards!”

In quick order, they were brought to their feet and marched through the cavern until they came to the entrance that Sharissa and the Tezerenee had entered by almost a week ago. To her surprise, the patriarch bypassed several powerful flying drakes and started down the side of the mountain to where the wingless riding drakes awaited.

“We’re not going by air?”

Gerrod, who understood the workings of his clan better than did his companions, explained. “It is Father’s evident opinion that we would be too conspicuous from the sky. Besides, for the speed of this journey, travel by land will be swifter. An airdrake must rest more often, especially if it is carrying someone.”

“That explains our relatively slow pace coming here,” Faunon suggested. “He wanted time for his second force to reach here and be rested.”

Aside from their guards, a handful of other Tezerenee were supposed to accompany them. Sharissa was surprised but relieved to see that Lochivan was one of them and that he still carried the box with him.

Barakas noticed his ill offspring. “Who told you to be here?”

“I mussst redeem myssself.”

The patriarch looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted all the eyes around him to be looking anywhere else but at him and Lochivan. “Your illness…”

“I will keep it under control,” the tall figure said in his strange voice. He did his best to allow no one else to see his face, possibly because he was so ravaged it would have disgusted some of his folk.

“I wonder…” Gerrod muttered.

“You wonder what?” she asked.

He turned, not having realized that he had spoken out loud. “Nothing. Just a thought.”

The conversation between the patriarch and Lochivan grew muted. After a short exchange, Barakas finally nodded. It was difficult to read Lochivan by his movements, but he seemed very relieved.

“We’ve lost much of the day already,” Barakas said to the others. “Please mount up.”

They obeyed. When everyone was ready, the patriarch turned in his saddle and faced those of his people who would remain here. One of the Tezerenee held high a staff upon which the banner of the clan waved in the wind. Under the fluttering flag, the rest of the warriors, Reegan included, knelt.

“I shall return shortly. We have defeated threats both physical and magical, and this cavern, this natural citadel, will be the base from which an empire spanning this entire continent will be ruled. I have designated kingdoms for each of my most loyal sons,”-Barakas did not even glance in Lochivan’s direction-“and my eldest, Reegan, will co-rule here until my death, when he becomes emperor. Thirteen kingdoms and, within those, twenty-five dukedoms for those deserving!”

“Another grand and glorious speech,” Gerrod whispered in sour humor to Sharissa.

The patriarch did not hear him-or chose not to. “We have been separated from our people, and there is concern for their safety! In my mind, there is little to fear, but it behooves me to ride there in person! Once I have satisfied myself that things are in order, I shall return with more of our brethren and we shall began the true process of making this land ours!” He stared at Kivan Grath, as if it represented the entire continent. “We will shape this domain to our will!”

Barakas folded his arms, the signal that his speech was at an end. The Tezerenee rose and cheered as they were supposed to. Reegan unsheathed his sword and raised it in salute.

“Pomp and circumstance,” Gerrod muttered.

“We ride now,” the patriarch informed them, glaring at his unrepentant son.

Not completely willing to trust the outsiders, the patriarch left the managing of their drakes to the guards who rode beside them. One of those sentries took the guiding rope of Sharissa’s mount and began to lead it, but slowly so as to allow the clan master’s animal to move ahead. It was mandatory that the Lord Tezerenee lead, if only as a symbolic gesture.

The remnants of the expeditionary force continued to sound their approval and allegiance as the party moved out. Had she not been so exhausted already-and thinking about how tired she would be when they finally stopped-the sorceress would have admired their enthusiasm much more. As it was, she only hoped that they would still have such enthusiasm a month from now.

One of the Tezerenee standing nearest to where she was removed her helmet and began to scratch at an ugly patch of dry, red skin covering most of her throat and part of her chin. Sharissa stared at it briefly, but then the warrior guiding her drake pulled on the rope and the animal turned, putting the warrior woman and the others behind the young Zeree. Exhausted as she was, she did not bother turning around to get a second glance.

Besides, there were too many more important matters to consider. Far too many to worry about an annoying but evidently insignificant rash.