Legends of the Dragonrealm Volume 2

XIX

It was well after the midnight hour when the patriarch gave in to the urgings of his people to rest the drakes before they collapsed in midrun. By that time, Sharissa was nearly asleep in the saddle. Despite the clan master’s assurance that she would come to learn how to truly rest while riding, the sorceress was more than happy to crawl off the unruly beast and drag herself to a safe and secure spot where she could try to regain at least a tiny portion of her strength. Gerrod and Faunon were not much better, nor were the Tezerenee themselves, even though they had actually had some rest at one point or another.

Only the patriarch seemed energetic, but it was the energy of the anxious, the worried. If he kept it up too long, it would drain him.

Sharissa’s sleep proved little more relaxing. She dreamed as she never had before, but there was little in those dreams to give her comfort. In one, a hand rose from the earth and seized her, twisting her like clay and reshaping her in a hundred myriad forms, all horrific. In another, Faunon and she were embracing. It was a pleasant scene, and she knew that she was about to be kissed. Then his face had become some reptilian parody, but he had still tried to kiss her. That one had woken her up and kept her awake for more than half an hour, so real had that close visage been.

There were others, but they by and by were only shadowy memories, too vague to bother her much. Only one thing about them remained with her, and that one thing was enough to make her shiver.

Throughout several of the nightmares, she could hear the sound of the insane guardian’s mocking laughter. It seemed to cross from one dream to the next. It was still ringing in her ears when a tap on her shoulder woke her again.

Sunlight burned her eyes. Faunon smiled down at her. He seemed fresher, but there were still marks of exhaustion on him. Sharissa did not care to think what she must look like. It amazed her that anyone could still find her attractive. At present, it would not have surprised her to look into a mirror and see a visage that would make a drake beautiful in comparison.

The elf extended a hand, which she took. As he pulled her to her feet, Faunon said, “It was a choice of one of them waking you or me taking on that task. I knew you were still exhausted, but I thought you might like to see my pale face a bit more than you would their metal masks.”

“Very much so.” She enjoyed the contact between them and let it linger a bit before releasing his hand. “Is there food?”

“I would not have disturbed you if there had not been.” He waved a hand at two bowls by their feet. A stew, much like the one that the Lady Alcia had once fed to her so long ago and smelling almost as good. She recalled that incident because it had seemed so out of place when dealing with one of the Tezerenee. Sometimes it was troublesome to remember that the clan’s mistress had been born an outsider, that there had been no clan until Barakas had pulled together his disjointed group of relations and welded them into the only true family among the Vraad. Not known for being familial, the concept of a clan was something known only from the early days of the race. Barakas, however, had assured that it would never be dismissed lightly-and his bride had been his other half in the struggle. She, almost as much as the patriarch, had helped to make the Tezerenee the force they were.

Sharissa found herself hoping that nothing had happened to her.

“Where’s Gerrod?” she asked, trying to put the Lady Alcia from her thoughts.

Faunon handed her one of the bowls. He hesitated, then answered, “I saw him last with his brother. They journeyed away from the camp.”

Trying to do something for Lochivan’s illness? It was the only reason she could think of. Not all of their past differences had been ironed out, but a common concern for their own people had, at least, brought them temporarily together. Had it been any other family, the young woman would have been happy for Gerrod. As it was, she hoped he was not becoming one of them again.

A shadow fell upon them. The two looked up into the dragonhelm of a Tezerenee. “My lord bids tell you that we leave shortly. Prepare yourselves.”

Her companion groaned as the warrior marched off. “I have seldom ridden so much. To think I once thought a horse a terrible animal to cope with. Merely sitting astride one of these monstrosities is worse.”

“What are you expecting to find?” she asked abruptly. Sharissa felt a need to know as much as she could, and Faunon was her only source of information. Of all of them, only he had been born to this land.

The humor of a moment before slipped away, revealing the serious soul beneath. “I do not know, my beauteous Vraad. The only thing predictable about the land’s ways is its unpredictability. I regret to say that the two of us have just as likely a chance of being correct.” He took her hand. “I am sorry I cannot help you.”

She squeezed the hand and, on impulse, leaned forward and kissed him. While he was still staring at her in open shock, the sorceress smiled and said, “But you do.”

For the second time, they rode as if the renegade guardian itself was snapping at the tails of their mounts. Gerrod and Lochivan, who had come back just before preparations for the day’s mad journey were complete, separated as if things had not changed between them. Sharissa had looked at the warlock for some sort of explanation, but Gerrod had merely pulled his hood over his head and buried himself in the all-encompassing cloak. The only thing she could tell was that he was even more worried than yesterday.

The sun was high in the sky when they departed. Again it was a mad race, everyone seeking to maintain the pace that the patriarch had set. This day’s was worse than the first, and Sharissa had a suspicion why. She was certain he had tried again to teleport to the citadel and, of course, failed. That only made it more essential that they cover as much ground as possible each day.

It was impossible to speak, but she did glance at Faunon whenever possible. He returned her looks with a tight-lipped smile. Until the coming of the Tezerenee, he would have never thought riding a drake possible. He probably still did not.

On her other side, beyond the Tezerenee guard who paced her, Gerrod stared straight ahead. Only once did he turn his eyes to Sharissa, but the hood shadowed them so well that it was as if she stared into the sightless face of a dead man. She turned away and regretted it a moment later, but, when she sought to apologize, his attention had already returned to the path ahead.

To find Lochivan, she had to crane her neck and look back, a dangerous trick to attempt for very long, which meant that she was forced to do it more than once just to get a good glimpse of him. He was riding at the back end of the column, his head down so that even if he had not been wearing a helm, she would have been unable to see his face. At the side of his saddle bounced Dark-horse’s insidious prison, apparently in Lochivan’s permanent keeping despite his betrayal. Angry at herself for not demanding the eternal’s release from the box, Sharissa swore she would bring that up with Barakas the moment they stopped. If she could convince him that Darkhorse would listen to her and not seek vengeance, then he might prove willing to allow the ebony stallion freedom. Perhaps if she mentioned the aid that Darkhorse could give them… though that depended on how strong the eternal was. He had, she recalled with bitterness, been punished hard for his attack upon the lord of the Tezerenee.

It was night again when they finally halted. Drakes were good for long bursts of speed, but then they had to rest much longer than horses. They also had to be fed, and that meant meat. For this journey, the Tezerenee had packed as much as they could carry of the special feed that they added to the beasts’ meals. Mixed in with the meat, it would greatly supplement their needs and prevent any chance, however slim, that the drakes might snap at their masters in their search for fresh food.

As she had sworn, Sharissa sought out the patriarch as soon as she had dismounted. Behind her trailed her latest silent shadow. Barakas she found speaking to one of the other guards, evidently setting the watch for the night. Barakas could delegate everything if he chose, but that was not his way. A leader, she had heard him say long ago, did not sit back and grow fat and lazy. He worked with his subjects, reminding them of why he was their lord.

Barakas dismissed the warrior just as she walked up to him. In the background, she caught the vague image of Lochivan spending an overlong period of time busying himself with his steed. He seemed to be watching his father closely, as if wanting something.

“What is it you wish, Lady Sharissa?” the patriarch asked. He sounded as worn out as she felt.

“I have a request of you, my Lord Barakas.”

“Formal, is it? Tell me something first, my lady. Are you rested enough to make good use of your abilities?”

Somehow this encounter had been turned around and he was now asking a favor of her. She kept her peace, thinking it would be best to hear him out. It might help her own cause. “I’m hardly rested, if that is what you mean. If you want to know if I can teleport to the citadel, I doubt it. All I remember with any confidence is the interior; you wouldn’t let me journey outside the walls very much, if you recall.”

“Something I think I am about to regret, yes?”

“I’m sorry.” The sorceress was. It seemed there was never anything she could do, but, in this case, it was the patriarch’s fault. “And if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to materialize inside… just in case.”

“I understand. I was attempting to appear outside the gates myself.” Barakas tugged at his graying beard. “And sorcery might not be safe yet. When I tried just before the day’s ride, I sensed something-immense, is the only way I can describe it-spreading throughout the region of the citadel.”

She thought of the land awakening and the outcast laughing, all still fresh in her mind from the dreams. “Do you think that-”

“I do not know what to think.” He dismissed the subject. “You had a request you wished to make of me.”

“It concerns Darkhorse.”

“Does it now?” In the deepening dark, she could not see his eyes now, but she knew they were narrowed, suspicious. “And how does it concern him?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve given you my word that I will help you, and you’ve given your word that you will release all of us. Until the latter happens, however, I was hoping that you would let Darkhorse out-”

“He is my assurance that you will abide by your side, Lady Sharissa.”

The young Zeree nodded. “I understand how you feel after the attack, but he will listen to me. If I ask him to abide by my decision, he will do so, I’m certain. If not…” She hesitated, wondering what the eternal would think of this offer. “If not, you can trap him inside once more and I won’t make a protest.”

There was silence for a time, then; “I will consider it over my meal.”

“You’ve bound him to the box again. He can’t do you any harm now!”

“Never underestimate an opponent, especially a wounded one. They are often the deadliest.” The patriarch nodded to her. “You will hear from me. I promise.”

He walked off without another word. Sharissa frowned and looked for Lochivan again, but the patriarch’s son had vanished.

She wondered why the lord of the Tezerenee had left his other children behind. Even Lochivan would have remained at the caverns had he not defied his father. Was it that Barakas worried about what they might face? Was Lochivan only here because he had confronted his father with the Tezerenee need for honor and redemption? Gerrod did not count; he was almost an outsider as far as his sire was concerned.

“My lady,” her shadow suddenly said, jarring her back to the here and now.

“You should get food and rest. My Lord Barakas will be demanding us to be ready when he is.”

“Very well.” She wondered when she would receive her answer. Tonight? Tomorrow?

Whenever he chooses to give it, Sharissa finally decided with a frown. She turned and wandered back to where Faunon would already be waiting with food for the two of them.

“Whenever” actually proved to be just before she lay down to sleep. Most of the others were already resting, but she had located a stream and, despite the protest of the bodyguard, washed her clothing and cleaned herself. The warrior, to her surprise, respected her privacy and kept his eyes as much as possible on the nearby foliage. As tired as she was, Sharissa would have hardly cared if he had looked. She was only happy to be clean. Amongst the items packed for her were traveling gowns much like the one she wore. Where they had come from she could only guess, but they fit her perfectly and prevented her from having to put on the wet outfit once she was finished. They accented her form quite well, and she wondered if perhaps they had been brought along on the journey from the citadel, where Lady Alcia might have had them made for her.

Heavy footfalls warned her of the approach of a Tezerenee unconcerned with silence. Faunon and Gerrod, both sleeping within a few yards of her, either did not hear the newcomer or thought best not to interfere in what they knew nothing about.

“Lady Sharissa.”

As was the way of the Tezerenee, only the patriarch had a tent. The sorceress and her companions slept in travel blankets provided by the clan, their heads resting on small mats provided with the blankets. To Sharissa, long used to expeditions exploring the ruins of founder settlements, this was heaven compared to riding a drake for hour upon hour. She was almost sorry she had to talk to Barakas now, but reminded herself it was for Darkhorse’s sake.

“I was hoping you would make use of the creek. Refreshing, was it?”

“I would have appreciated your telling my watchdog that. I had to argue with him.”

“My apologies.”

“Have you made a decision about Darkhorse?”

“I have. I will not release him. You I may trust, but not the demon.”

She felt anger stirring. “He won’t-”

He silenced her. “That is my decision. I am, however, willing to do something for you and your elf.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow, his weapons, and any you and Gerrod had, will be returned to you. Though I do not trust enough to remove your collars, I allow that you need some defense. We may need you three. You’ll also be allowed to ride with your hands unhindered.”

It was not what she had wanted, but it was better than having her request rejected and receiving nothing else. Still, she could not help comment. “You have me confused, Lord Barakas. I’m not certain whether we are prisoners or partners.”

He laughed, but it was forced. “I find many things confusing of late, my lady. Good night.”

Sharissa watched him walk off, still limping a bit. At times like this, she could feel pity for the aging dragonlord. Unfortunately, all that Sharissa had to do to wipe away the pity was recall what he did to those who failed or defied him.

Like Darkhorse or Gerrod.

True to his word, Barakas returned their weapons. Faunon took his sword back with no argument, but the look on his face made Sharissa smile for a brief time. Gerrod was far more cynical about things. As he pointed out, the odds were greatly against them if they attempted to escape. Either Barakas or Lochivan alone could take the three of them on and probably win.

Thinking of Lochivan, Sharissa searched for him in the hopes of speaking to him before the patriarch called for them to mount up. She found him already in the saddle, dragonhelm on, but bent over a bit as if his stomach pained him. The box was no longer attached to the saddle, which meant that Barakas had likely retrieved it. That did not concern her so much now as what might be wrong with her former friend.

“Lochivan? Are you all right?”

“My sssstomach turnsss, nothing more!” He refused to look at her.

“Lochivan-”

Her daily shadow rushed to her. “My lady, the patriarch bids you to mount your beast! We leave now!”

“You heard him,” growled Lochivan. “It isss time to ride!”

She allowed herself to be led away, but the sorceress kept her eyes on the ill Tezerenee for as long as possible. Lochivan was worse than he had ever been. He should have never joined them. The trek was proving too harsh for his system to endure, even despite his admirable willpower.

Gerrod and Faunon, seated on their drakes, were waiting for her. The warlock glanced back at his brother and down at her, his expression a mixture of many conflicting thoughts. When she tried to ask him what he was concerned about, the hooded Tezerenee shook his head and found other things with which to busy himself.

“Follow!” Lord Barakas called, urging his mount forward. At the rate he was pushing them, they would see the citadel late tomorrow and reach it the following morning. Not as fast as he wanted, but swift enough for the rest of the band.

Hour upon hour they rode, pausing only to move around obstacles and break for a short meal. Sharissa still found herself unable to get used to the awkward, reptilian gait of the drakes and began to wish for more padding for her saddle. Faunon, she noticed, rode almost as tight-lipped as she did. Gerrod, on the other hand, being a Tezerenee, rode with the skill and ease only one trained early on could show. He seemed lost in thought, something not uncommon with him.

With the control of her mount mostly in the hands of her Tezerenee escort, the young Zeree spent much of her time looking around, seeking anything out of the ordinary that might spell peril for their party. She also took an occasional glance back at Lochivan, who was having more and more trouble controlling his own beast. That by itself was disturbing; it might mean that Lochivan was far more ill than he was pretending to be to the others.

It was no more than an hour before sunset when she noticed him lagging behind.

Her first glimpse showed him more than a dozen lengths behind the others. The second glimpse revealed a bent-over Lochivan trying to maintain control of his drake, who was starting to run off to the side.

She signaled to the Tezerenee next to her that he should look back. Sharissa watched him stiffen when he saw the trouble the patriarch’s son was having with a simple task. The Tezerenee turned back to his charge and handed the guide rope to her. Then, urging his monstrous steed forward, he pulled up to the front of the party.

A handful of seconds later, Barakas was calling the party to a halt. By this time, Lochivan was probably at least a hundred lengths behind. His drake, in fact, had turned around and started back the way they had come.

“Lochivan!” the patriarch roared.

His son did not respond. Lochivan might have been unconscious for all he moved. Still, the patriarch tried again.

Sharissa had no patience for this. She turned her reluctant mount toward the distant figure. “If he does not come when you call, it might be because he has not the power to do so! He might be too ill to do anything for himself!”

With that, she urged her drake on, breaking through the unsuspecting Tezerenee and racing for Lochivan.

“No, Sharissa! Wait!” Gerrod cried.

Taking advantage of the confusion of the moment, Faunon ripped the guide rope from the hands of his own escort and rode off after the fearful sorceress. She gave him a look of thanks as he broke through after her, then concerned herself with trying to catch the other drake before it decided to take its helpless rider on a mad run into the wilderness.

“Lochivan!”

She saw him stir. He was still hunched over in a way that to her looked excruciating, but now he was at least acting. More than half the distance separating the party and the straggler were now behind her. She no longer had any idea if anyone was following her save Faunon. For all she knew, it went against the ways of the clan to aid someone who could not control his own illness. It would be just the draconian type of thought that the clan would choose to follow.

When only a third of the distance still remained, Lochivan suddenly straightened and glanced back. He kept most of his back to her, craning his neck just enough to see her. Even had he not worn the helm, it would have been impossible not to see his features, to read the pain that was likely near to crippling him.

She had no idea what to expect from him, but his reaction, when it finally came, so startled her that she almost reined the riding drake to a halt.

Keeping his back turned to her, Lochivan waved her away. Sharissa blinked, wondering why he would turn back the aid he so obviously needed. She had no intention of turning back anyway. Even if the Tezerenee thought he did not need help, the sorceress knew he did.

From behind her, Sharissa heard Gerrod’s straining voice. He, like his brother, wanted her to turn away.

“Lochivan!” she called. “You need help! You’re ill, Lochivan!”

“Turn away and flee!” he shouted. His voice sent shivers through her, for it was far, far worse than anytime prior. He sounded more like an animal struggling to free itself from a trap than a man.

The Tezerenee’s drake began to buck, completely confused as to what its rider wanted of it. Lochivan kept waving the reins as he sought to discourage Sharissa from coming any closer. “Leave me be! Ssssave yoursssself, you little fool! Lissssten to my brother!”

He was hunched up again, as if straining against his armor, of all things. Sharissa tried to get close enough to reach him, but her mount suddenly balked. She kicked its sides and swore at it as she had seen so many Tezerenee do, but the creature refused to go any closer, instead skittering back and forth where it was, much to her growing annoyance.

Lochivan was practically folded in two, and his pain was now so terrible that he did not even try to hold back. His shriek only made the situation that much worse, for it renewed the frenzied back-and-forth movements of the drakes. Sharissa had to hang on for dear life-and then wondered why she was bothering with the drake. It would be easier at this point to abandon the mount and run to Lochivan.

Trying not to think about what a confused creature such as the ill Tezerenee’s drake might do when she moved too close, Sharissa leaped off her own mount. From the edge of her field of vision, she saw Faunon pull up nearby and immediately abandon his own animal. To her horror, he ran directly toward the menacing jaws of the frightened drake.

“Deal with him!” the elf shouted. “I will bring the monster under control!”

She nodded, saving her gratitude for when this task was done, and cautiously made her way to Lochivan’s side.

He was shivering, his visage still turned away from her, and his armor seemed not to match the shape of his body. The leg that she could see from where she stood looked to be broken, judging by the angle at which it was bent. How that had happened on the back of a riding drake was a question Sharissa could find no answer for. When she finally pulled him to safety, she could concern herself with questions.

“Lochivan! Dismount! That monster could throw you off!” In his condition, that might prove fatal. She moved a few steps closer. Now he was only just out of arm’s reach. To her right, the sorceress saw that Faunon had caught hold of the reins, which Lochivan, in his pain, had finally lost. So far, he was keeping the drake from running amok, and that was all Sharissa could hope for.

“Get away from me!” He growled, waving one gauntleted hand at her while still trying to look away. Had the disease ravaged him so, or… could it be?

She lost hold of the frightening thought as his hand came within reach. Lunging, Sharissa took hold.

“Nooo!” With a turn of his wrist, Lochivan’s gauntlet came loose-revealing a twisted, clawed hand covered in dark, grayish scales!

He turned toward her then, his other hand reaching for the helm that seemed to no longer fit him and was, in fact, straining to burst. “I warned you, Sharissa! I wanted you to not sssssee thisss! I wanted no one to ssssee this!”

The rest of the party had arrived. Barakas was already off his mount and running toward his son when Lochivan reached up with his clawed hand and, voicing his agony again, pulled the helm back so that his visage was no longer obscured.

“Serkadion Manee! Oh, Lochivan, no!”

“Yessss, Sharissa!”

A scaled monstrosity stared back at her, toothy smile mocking the wearer himself. It was small wonder the helm had seemed tight. The nose and mouth had molded into one and were expanding even as she watched. Despite its strength, she could see that the armor was tearing apart in many places as every part of the body went through the transformation at the same time.

Lochivan had not only become what poor Ivor or those at the cavern had become, but he was already progressing beyond them.

Their true nature… The mad guardian had said something like that when speaking of what the Tezerenee would become. She could hear the elemental laughing even now. The Tezerenee had not crossed from Nimth to the Dragon-realm by physical means; their spirits had entered flesh-and-blood golems that magic had created in this world. Those bodies, however, had not been formed from flesh taken from anything human. No, in his infinite wisdom and a desire to make the drake even more a symbol of his clan, Barakas had dictated that the source of those new bodies would be the dragons discovered on this world.

And now those bodies were becoming what they should have been in the first place.

“Lochivan!” The patriarch came up beside Sharissa and reached out a hand toward his son. The other Tezerenee, save Gerrod, who kept as far away as possible, were circling drake and rider.

“I wassssn’t ssstrong enough, Father! I failed! I could not redeem mysssself!”

“Forget that! I can help you!”

“No one can! I… I have trouble even thinking of myssself assss ever being human! It… it issss… almost as if my mind changessss assss my body doessss!”

Barakas, ignoring the wild look in the reptilian eyes of his son, moved within arm’s reach. His tone was smooth but commanding. “You are Tezerenee, Lochivan! Our very name is power! There is nothing that can withstand our will! You have only to let me help you fight it! You have only to let me-”

He broke off as a hissing Lochivan sprang from the back of the drake and launched himself at the patriarch.

“Lochivan!” Sharissa started to reach for him, to pull him from his father, but Faunon, abandoning the riding drake, reached her first and pulled her away.

“Are you mad?”

“Let me go!” She struggled unsuccessfully in his grip.

“They will help their master!” He indicated the Tezerenee.

The warriors scurried toward the two struggling figures. Afraid of acciden-tally wounding their master, they sheathed their swords. Three pulled knives out.

Lochivan, still hissing, looked up as the closest man tried to grab his left arm. With astonishing speed and savageness, the patriarch’s son slashed out, ripping through armor and taking with it several layers of flesh. The warrior screamed and stumbled back, wounded but not out of it. Two more took hold of the abomination that had once been one of their lords and dragged him off of his father. Barakas quickly scrambled back. There was blood on him, but it was that of the unfortunate warrior.

“Secure him!” Gerrod, still maintaining his distance, called out. “He’s growing stronger by the-”

Lochivan tore one arm free and, before anyone could react, reached over and took hold of the man gripping his other arm. He swung the warrior around, knocking one of his other attackers to the ground, and then threw his victim to the ground headfirst. Sharissa turned away as she saw the Tezerenee’s neck snap backward as he struck the earth.

Two of the warriors tried to drag the unconscious one away, but Lochivan, never hesitating, turned and leaped at them. One who had his knife ready lunged and caught the misshapen figure on the shoulder where the armor had ripped apart. The blade dug into flesh, then snapped as it struck bone. Hissing, the bleeding Lochivan reached out and caught the man by the neck. When he pulled his taloned hand away a breath later, Lochivan carried part of the man’s throat. The Tezerenee was dead before his mutilated corpse even fell atop his unconscious fellow.

“We should leave!” Faunon whispered. “That thing is liable to kill us all at this rate! At the very least, you should leave! I can help fend it off for a time!”

Sharissa shook her head. She knew that Faunon meant well, that he was worried for her, not for him. “I have a better idea. Let me go.”

“So you can try to reason with him again? He is beyond listening now!”

“But Barakas isn’t!”

He frowned, but, seeing the look in her eyes, nodded. As soon as his grip lessened, Sharissa made her way to the patriarch, Faunon close at her heels. The elf, likely very thankful now that Barakas had given him a sword, kept himself between his Vraad and the beast in the circle.

“Barakas!” Sharissa reached the patriarch, who stood staring at his lost son and not moving at all. “Barakas! I can help you!”

That brought him back to the present. “What can you do, Lady Sharissa?”

She pointed at the collar. “There are only three here who have power enough to stop Lochivan! I know him! Let it be me!”

“Release you? You have no care for Lochivan, Sharissa! He betrayed you, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean I want him ending up like this! He may even kill all of us if you don’t!”

Barakas glanced at his son, who was trying to catch one of the four remaining adversaries unwary. The circle had moved so that the unconscious warrior was now safe, but not for long if even one more man fell.

“Very well.”

To her surprise, he simply reached over and gently removed the tiny band. “As simple as that?”

“Of course, but only I can do it.”

She whirled and faced Lochivan. In her mind’s sight, she saw the rainbow and the lines as only she of all the Vraad could see them. They were one and the same, only a matter of perceptions, but they represented the lifeforce, the power of this world. A force only she could, so far, manipulate to the necessary intensity.

Let my spell work! Let him not be too strong!

The battle had kicked up clouds of dust, and that was what she chose to use as the base of her containment spell. Faunon might think she would choose to kill the monster, but Sharissa could not do that. She was not a Tezerenee; she would imprison Lochivan if she could.

Lochivan, bloodlust evidently blocking all thought, did not notice how the dust settled thicker and thicker on his body. The Tezerenee did, however, and sought to take advantage. They were using their swords now that the clan master was safe. One of them thrust and caught Lochivan on the arm. He tried to grab the blade but missed.

“Stop! Kill only if you have to!” Barakas called. The decision was not likely to be popular, but the warriors would obey.

By now, Lochivan realized that something was wrong. The draconian visage curled up in animalistic anger, and he shot a deadly glance at the only one his mind recalled could be the source.

“Sharisssssa!”

She almost lost concentration at his call. Had she not been so worn from riding, the spell would have been completed by now. As it was, the sorceress had to struggle the nearer she came to the finish, and each second meant Lochivan was still a threat.

“Sharissssa!” He struggled toward her, moving almost in slow motion. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks, but then she realized that he was glowing. Lochivan was fighting the spell.

“No!” She threw all that she had left into it.

The misshapen form froze, an earthy statue of a beast enraged because it could not claim at least one last victim.

“The Dragon of the Depths be praised!” Barakas whispered.

“You might thank Sharissa, too!” Faunon muttered.

Sharissa smiled in relief and nearly fell into the elf’s arms. “That was too close!”

One warrior went to check his unconscious comrade. The others waited by the encrusted figure, their swords raised and their helmed visages turned toward their liege.

“What do we do, Father?” Gerrod, still atop his beast, asked.

Barakas glanced at his remaining son, at Lochivan, and then at Sharissa. His voice shook at first, but he quickly corrected the shameful error. “Mount up. Everyone. Now.”

“The dead, my lord?” one of the warriors asked.

“There is no time for them. Remember their names and that will be sufficient for their immortality.”

Sharissa separated from Faunon and moved close enough so that she could whisper privately to the patriarch. “The spell won’t hold him forever. He’s growing stronger and stronger… and his body’s growing, too.”

“Will it hold long enough for us to be far from here?”

“It should, but-”

The lord of the Tezerenee turned from her, walking slowly toward his own beast. “Then that is all I need to know.”

Gerrod rode over to Sharissa and Faunon, two riderless drakes sandwiching his own. He handed the reins to the elf and smiled grimly at Sharissa. “Do not ask me to explain his decision. I think I am just as surprised as you.”

The wounded Tezerenee was helped atop his drake. He would see to his arm as they traveled. The other warrior, now conscious, needed help in the guidance of his mount from one of his brethren, but seemed all right otherwise. By the time Sharissa had mounted, the remnants of the party were ready to ride. Barakas took one last lingering look back at the still figure, then signaled the advance.

Beyond the horizon, the citadel and its own mysteries awaited them.