Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  “SHARISSA!”

  A soft mist settled around Dru as he appeared in the central chamber of his gleaming citadel. The pearl luster of his home generally filled him with a feeling of peace, of sanctuary. Not so, now.

  “Sharissa!”

  His call echoed through the corridors. When he had created this castle centuries before, he had added a spell that would relay sounds from one room to the next. For the most part, it had protected him from several angry rivals over the years and kept his most important work secret from even the best of his counterparts. In the twenty years since his daughter’s birth, Dru had essentially used it to locate her. Two people did little in the way of filling a void so large as this structure.

  “Father?”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the theater.”

  “Stay there.” Dru curled within himself and vanished again, almost losing Sirvak, who had carelessly assumed it was safe to climb off. The familiar let out an annoyed cry and dug its talons in deeper. This time, Dru winced.

  The scene that he found himself in the midst of threw the sorcerer completely off balance. He was in a chamber filled with dancing couples. They twirled and twirled, completely ignorant of the towering figure caught in the center of the ball. To the side, a nonsensical group of animals that were also instruments played the music. A huge, furred thing, loosely related to Sirvak’s lupine half, beat on a drum in its middle while a four-legged monstrosity with a pipe-stem mouth played a merry tune.

  One of the male dancers came within arm’s reach of Dru. The spellcaster’s eyes narrowed; it was his own face, but as it might look if he had allowed it to age more. Lines crisscrossed his features and the visage as a whole had filled out. Dru quickly turned and studied another dancer. Again, it was his face, but clean-shaven and with a somewhat bulbous nose. This one was also shorter by half a foot.

  A quick scan revealed that all of the male dancers were variations on his appearance. Tall, short, fat, thin, old, and young… he was astonished at how numerous the combinations were.

  Then his attention fell on the women.

  They were Sharissa.

  It did not surprise him, not really, since she had no one but the two of them to really go by. Nonetheless, as he watched the couples sweep across the floor, Dru was struck by a feeling of dread. Looking at them, he could see her as other Vraad would see her… fully adult and ready, physically, at least, to make her mark among them.

  To use and be used, as was the Vraad way.

  With a furious gesture, he dismissed the dancers. They dwindled instantly into tiny whirlwinds of dust, puppet images drawn from the life of the world itself. Unlike golems, who had some solidity and could comprehend orders, the dancers were no more than intricate toys, an art form that occasionally amused Vraad. He had taught it to his daughter when she was only a few years old and had been pleased with her immediate skill with the not-so-simple spell.

  Dru was not so pleased now. There were too many things to worry about to keep adding to the list, though this was really part of his first and foremost fear, he supposed.

  “Sharissa!”

  “Here, Father.”

  She came to him as more of a mist than the child that he had expected. The billowing silver dress that clung to her proportions reminded him of what he had just tried to force from his mind, that, though only two decades old, his daughter was a woman. For someone three millennia old, two decades seemed hardly enough time to learn to walk.

  Tall, though she only came to his chin, Sharissa was not willowy. She had grown to fit her frame, looking exactly as she should have looked if she were a foot shorter. Her hair was silver-blue—natural, as far as Dru knew—and flowed down her backside to a point just below her waist. Like many Vraad, she had crystalline eyes, aquamarine gemstones that shone brightly when she was pleased with something. Her lips were thin, but perpetually curled upward at the ends. Even when Sharissa was angry, it was all she could do to force those lips into a straight line much less a frown.

  “What is it, Father? Did something happen at the coming? Was there a duel?”

  He stirred. Caught up in dreaming, again! “No, no duel. One, actually, but the Lord Tezerenee put an end to it.”

  “That’s no good! A duel should reach a dramatic conclusion on its own!”

  Among Dru’s earliest attempts to entertain his daughter had been tales of some of the more interesting duels he had witnessed… and occasionally been part of. Much to his regret, Sharissa had proven to have a Vraadish taste for such things. It was one of the chief reasons she had begged to go to the coming and one of the chief reasons Dru had not taken her. He was thankful that she had listened. By this stage of her powers, she could have easily ignored him and gone on her own.

  “Never mind that now! I gave you some duties to perform while I was away.” Those duties had been partly to keep her busy for a time, but some of them had had true purposes. “Did you take care of them?”

  Sharissa looked down. “Some of them… I… I was bored with them. I thought I’d finish in a few minutes.” Her eyes were wide with worry. “I only had the ball running for two or three minutes; that’s all!”

  Dru forced himself to breathe calmly. “The crystals. That’s what I want to know about. Did you adjust their settings? Did you refocus the spell as I asked?”

  “Oh, yes! I did that first because you made it sound the most important!”

  “Serkadion Manee be praised!”

  Hugging his daughter, Dru felt the first relief he had experienced since before his departure for the coming. If things were as they should be…

  “What happened? What about the Lord Tezerenee’s plan? Did something go wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you later. For the time being, we have work to do, you and I.” Releasing his daughter, Dru twisted his head around so that he could look Sirvak more or less in the eye. “To your sentinel duties, my friend. Some young drake of the patriarch’s might come looking for me. I want to know before he or they get here. I also want no one else prying into this!”

  “Masterrrr.” The familiar stretched, spread its magnificent wings, and flew off. Dru had complete faith in the creature’s abilities; Sirvak was single-minded when it came to its duties. It would monitor and protect the castle better than either the sorcerer or his daughter.

  “Come.” He took Sharissa’s hand. “This may literally prove to be a key to our predicament!”

  As one, they folded inward and vanished from the theater—only to reappear at their exact starting point a second later.

  Sharissa moaned, holding her head as if struck by some unseen assailant. Dru felt little better, finding even his legs unsteady.

  “Father… the spell… like yesterday…”

  “I know.” Yesterday, Dru had found it necessary to adjust the design of the eastern tower so as to allow for the softening of the soil beneath. From a base of rock, the earth had turned to so much mud. Despite his best efforts, however, the Vraad could not alter the composition of the ground. Mud it had become and mud it was determined to stay. In the end, Dru had been forced to create a bridge and pylon system… and that had taken two attempts. For a time, his spells had either gone awry or failed completely.

  “Why not just let the castle take us there?”

  Dru considered the plan and dismissed it. “I would rather not be caught between floors if the castle magic began to fail.”

  “We walk, then.”

  “That we do.”

  Fortunately, their trek was a brief one. Had he chosen to visit his sanctum for any other reason, it was probable that he would have walked in the first place. His excitement was leading to carelessness, something the spellcaster knew was far too dangerous at this juncture. The two of them had been fortunate that they had only returned to their starting point. Another time and they might have materialized in the midst of a wall or floor.

  A gigantic, metallic figure blocked the doorway through which Dru and Sharissa wishe
d to pass. Its features were roughly hewed and vaguely reminiscent of a hound. The leviathan stood on a pair of blocky legs and held in its two enormous hands a shield taller than its master. A stylized gryphon decorated the shield.

  Sharissa mouthed a single world. Though her voice was nearly inaudible, the golem understood. It stepped aside and went down on one knee, a supplicant before its lord and lady.

  “Did you teach it to do that?” Dru asked, eyeing the unliving servant with distaste.

  A momentary look of guilt passed across his daughter’s otherwise perfect visage. “Only this morning! I just thought it would be amusing to see such a horrible-looking creature act so civilly.”

  “It will do this no more.” The other Vraad would have laughed at him. Kneeling was one of the least commands they would have given their own golems. Dru, though, had found it too ridiculous. There was nothing magnificent about commanding a chunk of metal that could walk and kill. The golem was still no more than a toy.

  Another sign of how he had changed. Once, he too, would have laughed.

  The golem rose silently, Dru’s words now law. The two Vraad continued on, the massive doors swinging open for them as they neared.

  The sanctum of a Vraad was a far more individualistic thing than his or her outer appearance. Here, the subconscious played an active role in the design and maintenance. Here, a sorcerer’s mind was free to act and create, with varying results. In the chambers of his counterparts, Dru knew, one could expect to find anything within the realms of the imagination… and often beyond.

  Dru’s own chambers, on the other hand, were bare—bare, that is, with the exception of countless crystals of all shapes and sizes orbiting or floating all about the room.

  The spell, of which the gems were only the physical aspect, was the culmination of his work so far. Since the discovery of the realm beyond the veil, Dru had cleared out the paraphernalia from all past experiments—some of those items raising protest—and set aside everything for research into the nature of the wraith world. While others were pounding their magical might futilely against its phantom boundaries, he and a few of the more patient had sought out answers through careful study. That study had brought about, as a side result, the rediscovery—not discovery, as Barakas had put it—of the method of ka travel. The early Vraad had known of it, but for vague reasons no one could explain, they had forgotten soon after the founding generation of the Vraad race had passed on. He had discovered many other secrets as well, but all of them paled in the face of the greatest challenge. Somehow, the stubborn spellcaster still tried to believe, there was a way to travel physically to this other place.

  Perhaps now…

  Dru and his daughter stared curiously at the patterns formed by the floating crystals. The primary crystals, larger and generally fixed in one place, were, as he had hoped, arranged in the pattern he had asked Sharissa to set them in. It was something that had to be done by hand and his requested appearance at the coming had made that impossible. Sharissa, while occasionally prone to dreaming, was as excellent a helper as he could have dared hope. Soon, she would be able to conduct her own series of experiments and—

  And that would only happen if they found a solution before Nimth began to pull the Vraad down with it in its death struggles.

  The secondary crystals, which had been organized to catch the natural emanations of any sighting and record them for his later need, floated in a complex spiral cluster near the focus, a foot-wide black sphere that kept surveillance on the nearby regions surrounding his own domain. Principal study of late had been on the very area where Dru had seen the rift.

  Sightings, the sorcerer had noted early on, always occurred near unstable regions. Whether one resulted from the other—it was debatable which way that worked, too—he could not say. They just seemed to be related, like opposite ends of a magical beast.

  His eyes took in the myriad pattern of colors and shapes in the spiral, noting what changes had resulted from this latest opportunity and wondering what they would reveal. The crystals were still absorbing information, so all he could do for the moment was wait.

  An irregularity caught his eye.

  There were three crystals, two golden and one turquoise, that should not have been part of the spiral.

  “Sharissa,” he started quietly as he studied the possible ramifications of the error. “Did something happen to the spiral? Did the spell fail? Did you try re-creating it without my guidance?”

  Knowing her father as she did, his daughter waited until he had exhausted all questions. When Dru grew silent, attention still focused on the crystals swirling about, she replied, “Nothing happened to the spiral, Father. I added those three on my own.”

  He turned, unable to believe his ears. “You did that of your own volition?”

  “It makes sense, Father. See how they play off the amethyst and emerald ones below them.”

  “They cannot! To do that would mean—” Mouth still open, the gray-robed figure could only blink. The new additions were indeed playing off of the crystals Sharissa had mentioned and to far greater effect than he could have believed. But… “Impossible!”

  “It works!”

  “They should make the spiral unstable, cause it to explode!” Dru walked toward the spiral and dared to touch one of the golden gems. It pulsated in perfect harmony with the rest. “The combination has never held before!”

  Sharissa held her ground. “I saw that it would work the moment I started adjusting the primaries. You’ve always taught me to use my initiative.”

  “Not like this.” Still awed, Dru stepped back. They were functioning. Crystal work was very delicate, even for beings as powerful as the Vraad. Many of the sorcerous race could not even work that particular magic successfully. The ability to move mountains, while it tore asunder the natural laws of Nimth—what remained of them—was far and away more simple. That required only will and power. Crystal work required patience and finesse. Sharissa, to have seen what was needed, had developed a skill that would soon surpass her parent.

  There was more to this, however, than met the physical eye. Dru turned his gaze to another plane of sight.

  The world remained the same, but now he could see the jagged patterns that bound Nimth. Spirals, once neatly formed and organized, had reconnected in haphazard fashion, the world’s own natural attempt to make up for the damage the careless Vraad had done to it. Things were far beyond repair, however.

  All seemed as it had been until Dru looked closer. Then he began to notice the intruding lines, forces that came from nowhere, but bound themselves to the fabric of Nimth.

  But from where?

  Where else? Dru followed the invaders as far back as he could and found that all of them dwindled at the same point. The region where he had noted the rift.

  The Vraad had been trying with little success to break into the shrouded realm… and here it was, encroaching now upon their own!

  IV

  GERROD STOOD ON the plain where a group of Tezerenee, led by his cousin Ephraim, worked to provide the clan and those allied with it the bodies they would need in the days to come. The other Vraad as yet did not know that proving one’s loyalty to the sons of the dragon would be a prerequisite for their survival.

  He had come here to escape the wrath of his father, if only for a time, who had been livid from the moment it was discovered the outsider Zeree had left the city. Gerrod both admired and scorned the outsider. Admired him for both defying Barakas and providing the research that had been of such immeasurable value. Scorned him as an outsider and weak man when it came to certain necessities. Still, Dru Zeree had been the only man Gerrod felt safe admitting at least some of his feelings to for now. He had not told him everything, but it was safe to assume that a quick mind like Zeree’s was capable of reading much from the tone of his voice.

  The deeper truth was that unlike his multitude of obedient relations, the young Tezerenee had no desire to live in a world formed by his progenitor�
�s continually growing religious fervor. As a matter of fact, he had no desire to live anywhere his father lived, dragon spirit or not.

  Ephraim, his armor hanging oddly loose on his body, finally rose from the center of the pentagram etched in the earth. Gerrod frowned impatiently. He had stood here for nearly twenty minutes, far too long for a respectful wait. That was one of the problems. Among his own clan, he felt out of place, unnecessary except as an assistant to Rendel. This despite all the work that he had done.

  “What is it you want?”

  The voice was horribly dead of any emotion, something terribly alien in the violent Tezerenee. Gerrod studied his cousin before answering. Ephraim’s face was pale and gaunt, hardly the heavy, weather-beaten figure who had come here only three days ago. There was also a faraway look in his eyes that chilled Gerrod.

  “Did you feel it when Rendel took over the first golem?”

  “Yes. It was painful for him.” Ephraim’s eyes would not meet his but insisted on staring beyond the hooded Tezerenee’s shoulder.

  “You’ve made changes, then?”

  “We have.”

  “How soon can you begin on the others?”

  “We have nearly a dozen completed.” The pale face broke into a thin, satisfied smile.

  “Already?” Gerrod was taken aback. Small wonder that his cousin was so pale, if they were already hard at work on the hosts for the Vraad ka.

  “There seemed no reason to wait. It’s quite… entertaining.” The ghostly smile remained fixed, as if forgotten by its bearer.

  This was news Gerrod knew he would have to take to his father personally. He could ill afford to hesitate with this, despite his lack of desire for the cross-over’s success. Not just the jump on creation of the golems, but the effort being put in by the group. If Ephraim was any indication, the strain must be terrible. Barakas would have him punished if something went wrong and it could be proved that Gerrod had been at fault.

  “You’ll need help. Father will send others to replace those who cannot go on.”

  “No!” A white, cold hand reached out and snared one of Gerrod’s wrists. “We will not falter! This is our calling!”