Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  Barely audible, the worried voice of Sharissa finally broke into his reveries. “Father! Are you all right? Father?”

  The disheveled spellcaster scanned the region for the horse. There was no sign. For some reason, that did not sit right with the Vraad. His horse had to be somewhere nearby. At the very least, Dru should have been able to sense the equine. As hard as he tried, however, there was no trace. It was as if the horse had vanished….

  “Father! Did it hurt you? I think that was what I saw!” Sharissa reined her mount to a stop and leaped off. She rushed over to Dru and wrapped her arms tightly around his torso. She buried her tear-tracked features in his chest. “I was certain you were dead! It was all over you and then I suddenly remembered that it had to be a wraith just like where it came from and—”

  “Hush, daughter. Take a deep breath and calm yourself. I’m fine. Like you said, it was only a wraith. Perfectly harmless.” Though his words were for his daughter, Dru’s attention was still focused on the missing horse. Was it possible, he wondered, that the animal was no longer in Nimth? Could it be…

  “Sharissa.” He stroked her silver-blue hair. “Can you tell me what happened to my horse? Did you see where it ran off to?”

  Her emotions slowly coming under control again, the young Vraad looked up at her father. “Your horse? Can’t you find it?”

  “I find no trace.”

  “That cannot be so!” With the determination of youth, she utilized her own powers to seek out the errant steed. After a few moments, she frowned and said, “You are right! I cannot feel its presence anywhere! I think I do recall seeing it…” Sharissa hesitated, replaying the chaotic scene. “I think it… oh, Father!” Her eyes grew round. “It ran into the forest!”

  “As I thought.” Dru separated the two of them and turned to study the forest. A thin mist still permeated it, but, for the moment, it looked more real than the landscape it had replaced.

  “Is it one of those rifts you mentioned?”

  “Possibly. I have to go see.”

  Sharissa nodded. “I guess you’ll be safe if those things can’t touch you, but be careful!”

  “I will, even if it means using sorcery. I want you, though, to ride back to where I left you and stay there this time. Keep an eye on the lines… if they change, I want to know when I get back.”

  “All right.” With some reluctance, Sharissa obeyed his orders. Dru forced himself to wait until she was beyond the edge of the translucent field and then turned to face the dark woods.

  As a Vraad, he should have had no fear, yet Dru felt his heart pound wildly and could hear his own rapid breathing as if someone had magnified the sound a thousandfold. Those two sensations were beginning to become normal with him it seemed, the spellcaster thought sourly. Nevertheless, curiosity held the edge. A cautious curiosity, to be sure, but one that would not, in the end, be denied.

  Dru entered the forest.

  Just past the first trees, he paused. Becoming lost would have been the culmination of all his troubles. Reaching into a pocket of his robe, the sorcerer pulled out a small, glittering cube. It was a beacon of sorts, one that he had shaped gradually over the past few years so as to give it great strength. He had meant to give it to his daughter, but had forgotten because of his excitement. Still, knowing where the edge of the forest was would do just as well. The horse might be beyond his other sight, but not so this device. It would allow him to backtrack to this spot without error. He placed it on the ground where he had previously walked and made certain that it was secure. Feeling a bit more confident now, Dru moved on, picking up his pace and anxiously waiting for the first sign that he had finally reached the point of intersection.

  He was careful to note his path as he wandered among the tall trees. Though the cube would lead him back, it could not warn him of the obstacles that he might have to deal with, or of those things that might lurk in the forest itself. He had not mentioned it to Sharissa, but if the forest continued to grow more solid, it was more than likely that the denizens, including the avian monster that had attacked him, would follow suit. Dru had a spell handy, just to be on the safe side, but hoped he would not need it. In this place, it was possible that his spell might not even go off properly.

  Now several yards into the woods, Dru could still feel no trace of the animal. More annoying, however, was a new obstacle to his success. Here in the forest, it seemed, the lines curved, moving off to the right and bisecting trees here and there. For some reason, he could still not see the intersection. A Vraadish temper Dru had once thought he had tamed completely rose for the second time this day, bathing him in a golden aura of his own sorcerous might. That action, however, caused disruptions in his sight, distorting his view of the lines he had been following. Breathing deeply, the Vraad fought back his anger. Not now. Not so close to his goal.

  He had to be close, even with this latest twist. A few more steps and he would be there. Dru kept telling himself that, unconsciously turning it into a litany.

  It was tempting to try to walk through the trees in order to take a more direct route, but Dru decided it would be safe not to aggravate things. The gray trunks were more solid than not and he might find himself trapped within one. Not a pretty way to die and certainly not a dignified one.

  A horse neighed somewhere ahead of him. Oddly, he could still not feel its mind.

  How far had he walked now, the sorcerer wondered suddenly. The second ridge, the one in which the forest actually continued on as if the massive formation were so much air and not stubborn rock, had to be nearby, yet Dru could not find it. The canopy formed by the treetops made seeing the heavens nearly impossible. The lack of illumination made it troublesome enough to see his path… though he was not tempted in the least to alter his vision to compensate for the darkness. He might turn himself blind instead.

  One thought that he instantly dismissed was the possibility that he might have walked into the ridge. Dru was of Nimth, as was the ridge. If he needed proof of which reality he belonged to, he only had to look at the wavering, dull gray trees around him.

  Wavering? Dull gray?

  The forest was fading. Slowly, yes, but definitely fading. The Vraad cursed. He had wasted too much time with his thoughts!

  Throwing caution to the wind, Dru ran on, following the lines of power as best he could. Trees constantly blocked his way, almost as if intentional, but Dru, even knowing that they were growing more and more insubstantial by the minute, insisted on going around them rather than through. Even still, the spellcaster could see that he was drawing closer. A few of the lines had already begun to merge. Why he could still not make out his goal nagged him. Only a step or two more. That was all. Only a step or two more.

  In this one instance, his thoughts proved all too correct. Dru did find the point of intersection… or perhaps it could have been said just as easily that the point had found him.

  It sprang to life before his very eyes, a huge, pulsating thing of light and darkness. As it swelled, it burned as bright as any sun. As it contracted, it turned as black as the deepest cavern. Dru, his foot raised for his next step, was caught unawares. He twisted in surprise and lost his footing. The ground—both of them—rose to meet his face as he tumbled forward.

  Dru felt the padding of wild grass attempt to soften his fall, grass that had not existed in the landscape surrounding the Nimthian ridge.

  “Serkadion Man—” The oath died as he looked up and caught sight of the vast mass of energy before him.

  The darkness, a black far deeper than that of the forest, was growing faster than its opposite… and with each increase in size, the forest faded more.

  He had no intention of finding out what would happen to him if he stayed so close. Curiosity was one thing, but in the end survival won out. As he rose, Dru cursed his Vraadish arrogance for leading him to this predicament. There were other ways he could have dealt with this situation, only he had refused to see them, preferring to face the mystery personally.
Now, it was possible he would pay for that mistake.

  His dignity a moot point, the sorcerer fled the way he had come. This time, he ignored the unsettling presence of the trees and charged through them, hoping deep inside that he would not find one that had, for his benefit, chosen to remain solid. That would end his flight very quickly and very painfully.

  The mist was thickening even as the phantom landscape was fading. The trees were no more than shadows now, but the uninviting terrain of Nimth was just as murky. It was as if he were caught in between both of them, yet existed in neither. Full panic attempted a coup and was only barely beaten back. Dru stumbled to a halt. So far, he had not been thinking very much and that could prove more treacherous than the mists. Somewhere out there was the cube, his beacon back to reality. All he had to do was feel its presence.

  That was all he had to do, yet he could not. Seeking out the cube proved no more simple than seeking out his steed. Nothing met his heightened senses no matter which direction he turned. The sorcerer might as well have been buried deep within the earth, so thoroughly was he cut off from everything. Dru could not even sense the lines of force. It was as if he were trapped in some sort of limbo.

  He had only one choice. Though something within him warned that Vraad sorcery stood an equal chance of being either his salvation or his death, Dru had to make use of the one tool still remaining to him… if it still remained.

  Curling within himself, Dru forced the teleportation spell through. Where once he could have performed it without conscious thought, now he had to complete the spell a bit at a time, urging each successive step on.

  Slowly, the last bits of landscape—both Nimth and its wraithlike brother—dwindled to nothing, and only the mist and a peculiar whiteness that seemed like pure nothing remained. Dru, his body wracked with pain, did not relax, knowing that he was not safe until he stood on solid earth once more.

  “Father…”

  Sharissa’s voice! Encouraged, the spellcaster pressed harder. In all his existence, he had never struggled so with a spell. The sweat covered his body and every muscle was taut with pain. Only a little more now….

  Where had he heard that before?

  No! he screamed within his own mind. I will succeed! I will!

  A rocky, wind-torn land abruptly greeted his eyes, almost jarring his senses with its sudden appearance. Never before had Dru thought he would be so happy to see the unfriendly domain of Nimth.

  “Father! I’m coming! Hold on!”

  Straightening, though every muscle shrieked during the process, Dru saw the tiny figure of his daughter running toward him. He stood, it appeared, in the center of where the field had been. Not his destination, not exactly, but close enough. Just so long as he was free of that other place.

  With great relief, Dru put his hands to his face and wiped the sweat away. Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he happened to stare at his palms.

  They were fading, already translucent enough that he could see Sharissa through them.

  “No!” Something that would not be denied began pulling at him. He felt as if his body were being torn asunder. Nimth… and Sharissa… began to fade away once more.

  “Father! Run to me! You’re still too cl—”

  Her words faded away along with the rest of the world. Dru’s eyes flashed this way and that, seeking some object, however tiny, that he could fix on. There was nothing. Even the mist was gone. The only thing remaining was the white emptiness that he had noted briefly during his attempt at teleportation.

  Dru now floated alone in that emptiness… with no idea as to where he was or how he could escape.

  V

  GERROD KEPT HIS head down as he stood by his father, thankful that the bulky cloak he wore covered so much of his body. Barakas could not see—at least Gerrod thought—that his son was trembling.

  Rendel would not have been treated with such scorn. That was true as far as it went. Rendel would, however, face much worse if he did not contact the clan before long. It was not due to any problem with the spell; Rendel had either left the region where he had crossed over or simply refused to respond.

  That had only been the latest thrust. The outsider Zeree’s departure—and his refusal to return—were eating at the patriarch as nothing else had. For the first few minutes Lord Barakas had ranted and raved. Then he had fallen into one of his deathly silent moods. Gerrod, who had been the object of his parent’s anger more than once, would have preferred the ranting.

  “I wonder what he plots?”

  The question, the patriarch’s first spoken words in over two hours, caught Gerrod and the others assembled by surprise simply because they had all been resigned to waiting in silence for the rest of the evening. That was how things normally went. A change in tradition now meant disaster for someone.

  “The outsider?” Gerrod ventured.

  “Zeree, yes, who else?”

  Rendel. Perhaps Ephraim. Are you so blind, Father? The young Tezerenee wanted to shout at the clan master, but knew what results that would bring.

  “You said nothing more to him than what you told me?”

  “Nothing of importance, Father.” Nothing save his desperate words toward the end.

  “Leave it alone, Barakas dear.”

  The throaty voice belonged to perhaps the only member of the Tezerenee who could dare to speak back to the patriarch. She strode elegantly into the chamber that the clan had usurped from the city as sort of a second throne room. Clad in green scale, a living warrior queen, she stood nearly as tall as Lord Barakas himself. Her face was more striking than actually beautiful, but the grace with which she moved—or even breathed—was such that it added an entire dimension to her that most female Vraad lacked. The newcomer was desirable, but where Melenea had been a temptress, this woman was a queen.

  The patriarch moved to take her hand. “Alcia.”

  Around them, the rest of the Tezerenee, Gerrod foremost, knelt before her in obeisance. Most of the clan whispered, “Lady Alcia.”

  Gerrod and a few select others simply said, “Mother.”

  “The others are getting restless out there, Barakas. You might have another duel or dozen if you don’t let them enjoy themselves.”

  “I gave them permission.”

  “You have dragon riders perched on every roof nearby. They don’t draw the comfort from them that you do.” She smiled through perfect lips, assuring him that she, unlike the Vraad outside, did share his appreciation.

  “It will be done.” Barakas pointed indifferently toward the nearest of his people and snapped his fingers. The appointed messenger rose, bowed to his lord and lady, and vanished. “Where have you been, Alcia? Were you looking for someone?”

  “Hardly. I was accosted by that she-devil earlier, though, the one Reegan seems so fond of.” She stared pointedly at their eldest. Not all of the patriarch’s sons were hers, indiscretion a fact of life for beings with countless millennia on their hands, but the heir and Gerrod were. Rendel was also. It sometimes amazed Gerrod that he and Rendel were related to a creature like the burly Reegan.

  The heir, titled so only because Barakas felt it necessary to appoint his eldest to such a role, looked sheepish. His lust for Melenea was an open secret with the Tezerenee, made more comical in some eyes by the fact that the temptress could, when she so desired, make him look like nothing more than a great pup. Alcia did not care for her people, especially her offspring, to be made fools of even if they themselves had had a part in the process.

  “Have you been outside in the last hour?” Alcia asked her husband.

  “No. There have been complications—minor ones—with the various aspects of the cross-over. I’ve been busy sorting them out.”

  The Lady Tezerenee tensed. “Rendel! Is something wrong? Has he—?”

  “Rendel is fine,” the patriarch lied. No one dared to contradict him, although Gerrod was sorely tempted. “He proceeds with his tasks. There’s nothing to worry about. You had something you wis
hed to convey to me, however.”

  “Yes. The city is being buffeted by powerful winds. The protective spells seem to be weakening.”

  “It’s to be expected. Nimth is weakening. That’s why smooth progression of our work is so important. Gerrod!”

  The hooded Tezerenee leaped to his feet and straightened as his father whirled on him. “I await your command.”

  Barakas looked him over, as if seeking fault. Alcia, on the other hand, beamed proudly. Reegan and the rest might be her husband’s, but Rendel and Gerrod were her favorites. Unlike most of the clan, she had been born an outsider, and in those two sons, the matriarch saw her identity passed on.

  “You seem to get along with Master Zeree fairly well,” the Lord Tezerenee commented. “I give you the task of visiting his domain and bringing him back here. It looks bad when one’s partner seems… reluctant to be present at the culmination of his work.”

  “We don’t need him, Father!” growled Reegan.

  Gerrod smiled from within the shadowy confines of his hood. When Reegan spoke, it was generally to put his foot in his mouth.

  “We don’t need him!” the heir continued. “The outsider gave us everything of use! Let him take his place in the courtyard with the rest! Better yet, see that he gets left behind!”

  Barakas stood silent for several moments. Then he walked over to his eldest and slapped him across his furred visage. It was not a gentle slap, Gerrod noted with some satisfaction. The heir struck the stone floor end first, causing a yard-long crack along the surface. Lady Alcia remained stone-faced throughout the incident.

  “He was given the bond of the dragon—my bond of honor! Never speak that way again unless I permit you!” Barakas focused on his younger son. “Go, Gerrod! Leave now!” The patriarch’s voice was more of a dragon’s roar. The young Tezerenee hastened to obey, folding within himself and vanishing from the room instantly, secretly gleeful to have any excuse to be far away from the mad rabble he was forced to call his family.

  EMPTINESS.