It was unfortunate, then, after all that had been planned, that the avians attacked while the Tezerenee were still organizing themselves.
The new keep was little more than a dark, morbid box around which a pathetic, half-grown wall stood. As with the drakes, it was all the clan sorcery could provide under present circumstances. There was only one room, a communal hall. Most of the Tezerenee were presently occupied with matters outside. Esad, chosen for the dubious honor of being one of the three dragon riders, was working with his mount, letting the large green beast familiarize itself with his scent. He and the other riders had the task of taking out whatever sentries the avians had posted. They were also supposed to prevent too many of the birds from gaining a flying advantage. Esad had his doubts about his ability to perform his task, but his fear of his father prevented him from doing anything about it.
He looked up and barely saw the winged silhouette in the thin sliver of the pale moon.
“Dragon’s blood!” The Tezerenee abandoned his mount and went rushing to the keep. He kept silent, hoping that he could spread the word through contact and give the clan some slight advantage of surprise yet. Esad knew that if he died before he was able to alert someone, the blame for the deaths that followed would fall to him.
An armored figure, female, nearly collided with him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and whispered, “The birds attack any moment! Spread the word, but do it quietly!”
She nodded her understanding and started to move away.
A bolt of blue lightning caught her in midstep… and left only a thin trail of smoke to mark her passing.
The time for silence, Esad realized in horror, was over.
“Defend yourselves! We are attacked from above!”
The air was swarming with black shapes that fluttered into and out of the dim light of the two moons.
THEY HAD LET him watch. Watch as they began what would, it seemed, be the end of the Vraad race. He was treated well, since it was his knowledge of the tactics of the Tezerenee that the avians had used and might still need, yet he was still a prisoner, not the ally they pretended he was. Bereft of his powers and watched over by fierce companions, it was a wonder the avians even made the pretense of calling him an ally.
Despite all that, Rendel was quite satisfied, though he knew better than to show it. It was not the destruction of his kind that pleased the sorcerer, but rather that his own plans still moved on unimpeded. The cavern was virtually empty of its inhabitants, Rendel’s practiced words—images?—impressing upon the aerie’s overlord that nearly every able fighter was needed. It was a lie not that far from truth. Even with the advantages of first strike and dominance in the night sky, the birds would take hard losses. The Tezerenee would not die without a fight… and would not even die, if things went as planned.
After all, he preferred human subjects to feathered monsters like his captors.
The young who had been deemed too untrained to fight and those responsible for their care had retreated to lower caverns on the off chance that some danger might threaten the aerie. That fear had been planted, albeit surreptitiously, by the Vraad during his communications with what he still liked to term the council of elders for lack of a more defined description. To the avians, it seemed a reasonable precaution. As with now, he had barely been unable to suppress his pleasure. Rendel had succeeded in assuring that he would be left with only a few guards to watch over him.
In fact, there were three. A few others were scattered about the mountain and the mouth of the cavern, but the arrogant creatures actually believed that they had tricked their captive. Glancing at those standing around him, Rendel marveled that this race had become the dominant one in the Dragonrealm. Two were tall, muscular warriors, one of whom the Tezerenee believed was the leader of the patrol that had taken him prisoner. His remaining watchdog was the balding elder who had spoken out during the offer of alliance. The overlord was not here, having chosen to lead the attack, something that would have earned Barakas’s respect, but received only silent amusement from Rendel. It had never made sense to him to dangle such a prize as a leader before an enemy. Let the lessers take the damage. There were always more of them.
The male he believed was his original captor squawked something. Rendel turned completely from the glittering crystal that acted as his eyes in the attack and allowed the avian to touch him, establishing the link between the two of them.
The vision of two birds falling prey to a dragon rider’s mount was followed by a wave of anger. Rendel surmised that the image he had been shown was only one example of how the clan was fighting back. His erstwhile allies could evidently see in the dark better than he could, either that or the mind link was even stronger than he supposed, for the Vraad could not recall any such image in the viewing crystal. That did not matter; he believed the avian when it spoke of the dragons and their deadly strength. Much larger than either a Vraad or bird man, the three flying drakes were wreaking havoc. The invaders, Rendel was informed, were refraining from using their medallions for fear of striking down their own. Drakes were swift and agile despite their girth. It would require a practiced aim and great daring to bring down the beasts without adding a few feathered misfits, too.
Rendel shot back the image of his people as warriors, leaving an unformed question concerning the avians’ abilities in the same role. As he had expected, it made the huge figure furious. He removed his hand from Rendel’s forehead and pulled the hapless sorcerer forward so that the razorlike beak was within snapping range of the spellcaster’s pale visage. The Tezerenee stumbled at the last moment, falling against his irate captor. The creature pushed the cloaked figure back. With its great strength, Rendel fairly flew, landing several paces from where he had stood. To his surprise, the two warriors dismissed him from their attention, refocusing on the scene in the crystal. They apparently felt they had no more use for his knowledge, something he was not ready to dissuade them concerning. Only the elder still eyed him.
Rising to his feet, the sorcerer pretended to brush himself off. The damnable, half-plucked bird was still staring at him when he finally gave up the effort. Rendel put one hand to his mouth and coughed, starting back to the trio at the same time.
The elder’s attention strayed back to the images of the battle before it evidently occurred to him that their prisoner was a thing not to be trusted despite the dampening of his sorcery. A watery but wary eye looked Rendel’s way.
It was a decision made a breath too late. The unsupervised moment was all the Tezerenee needed. The one thing Barakas had taught him that Rendel had come to appreciate was to use anything possible as a means to an end. He had planned something similar to the provoked attack by his one guard, but a bit later. Circumstances had, however, worked to his benefit.
He had the medallion focused on the trio even as the ancient one became aware of the threat the Vraad intended.
Rendel had palmed the medallion knowing only that it had been designed to kill. He neither knew nor cared what sort of deadly force had been trapped inside by its maker, only that it would suffice as a means of removing the three tensed figures before him. The avians had assumed he did not know how to utilize it, but the spellcaster had used every glance to study the artifacts, noting how the markings were fingered and how it had to be focused. Now, his studies had rewarded him. He concentrated, willing the spell of the medallion to come forth and looking forward to the pathetic cries of those who had dared to make him their slave.
Nothing happened.
The amusement in the eyes of the one he had stolen the magical item from told the story. Rendel’s prize was an empty vessel, a useless ornament. They had allowed him to betray himself, to pick the time of his own demise. As his face reddened in anger—anger at himself for being so easy a pawn—Rendel thought how like the clan of the dragon these creatures were. How often had Barakas employed similar methods?
The patrol leader strode toward him, needle-sharp claws waiting to rend, beak open in the
closest the avian could come to a cold smile. A low, reverberating sound issued forth, laughter of a sort.
Rendel did the only thing left to him—he ran. The entrance to the caverns themselves was blocked by his executioner. That left only one path. He would have to hope he could escape to the lower tunnels and lose himself.
A malevolent form swooped down before him. The avian had flown over his head and blocked his way. Rendel swore and ducked among the stone leviathans, wishing he knew how to tap into the power he felt within them. Yet the birds had tried countless times and they had not succeeded. It was why they had sent explorers overseas. There likely lay the key to understanding and utilizing the elemental forces sleeping deep inside each figure.
Claws struck stone just inches from his throat. Rendel let out a yelp and scurried to a different effigy, this one a muscular, horned beast that looked as if the artist had caught it in the midst of contemplating its own mortality. The figure wobbled when the Tezerenee fell against it, the ground beneath broken from some past tremor.
It was not fair, he thought in bitter fear. At his best, the Vraad would have taken his attacker apart with the simplest of spells. The avians had refused to release him from the enchantment that dulled his abilities, their reason being that he had to prove himself first. Rendel had thought he had planned for even that hurdle, but once more he had overplayed a bad hand. Now, it would be he who was torn asunder, ripped to bloody gobbets by a freak of the heavens.
He screamed as a pair of taloned feet scored his backside, tearing apart the cloak and shirt in the process. They had disposed of his dragon-scale clothing and given him simple cloth ones for the time being. He now knew why. Talons alone would have been inefficient weapons against the likes of dragon scale and a long, torturous death was evidently what they had chosen for him.
As the avian rose for what was certainly the final assault, Rendel threw himself once more against the stone figure, trying in desperation to push through or climb over it… he could not say what it was he wanted to do, not now.
The ancient carving teetered, then started to collapse on its side.
It was debatable as to who was more horrified, Rendel or his captors. Impending death could not take from the frantic sorcerer’s mind the fact that he was destroying the very things he had risked himself for. Rendel grasped the nearest edges of the statue in a foolish attempt to right a massive stone artifact with only his own physical strength.
“No!” The Tezerenee was thrown forward as the effigy came crashing down on its neighbor, shattering that figure as well. A horrible sensation of pain and loss flowed like a wave over the central chamber. The avians fluttered back, acting as if they had been physically buffeted by the death throes of the dwellers within. Rendel pictured a terrible domino effect in which more than half of the artifacts were reduced to rubble and his mind was ravaged by an undeniable flood of agony that he would be forced to share as one after another of the elemental spirits, if that was truly what they were, died.
He was fortunate. The second statue collapsed in a dust-enshrouded pile without so much as nicking the one next to it. The Vraad fought for breath and heard harsh, choking sounds from somewhere above him. He peered through the cloud that had risen and saw the other two birds rushing his direction in rather unsteady movements. The time for games was over. Despite the loss he had brought about, Rendel knew he could at least die with the satisfaction that these three would be made to pay for the damage he had caused in his desperate attempt to escape. The laws by which the avians lived were simple and harsh.
Dust continued to fill his lungs. Why was the cloud not settling? Rendel stood, hoping to evade his executioners for at least a little longer, when the rubble began to move. It was not merely a tremor, though. The broken statues were moving of their own accord, not merely being jostled by the quaking earth… and what tremor localized itself so precisely?
Hope and fear vied for Rendel, neither emotion able to gain the upper hand. His first thought was that the things within had survived and were coming to the aid of the one who had released them. That was impossible. Rendel had felt the deaths and knew that what now stirred was not the same. The battered Tezerenee stumbled back as the mound began to rise higher and higher.
An elemental force permeated the huge chamber, living and not living. It was and was not dissimilar to those he had accidentally destroyed, but it was certainly far more, too. Rendel found he did not really care what it was; he only knew that here surely must be what he had sought.
“Mine! You’re mine!” the weary yet triumphant spellcaster shouted. The pain that coursed through his system was forgotten. “Come to me! Fill me with the power that is mine!” He had summoned it, accidentally the sorcerer supposed, but that must make it his to control.…
Despite his demands, the force appeared disinclined to obey. Earth and fragments of the statues flew upward, nearly striking the top of the cavern and bringing light that frightened off numerous tiny forms. The avians, who had frozen at the sight of it, began to stir. Rendel was ignored. They, too, had sought whatever treasure the ancients had left here. Whichever one of them mastered it would become the new overlord, not merely of this region but of the entire land.
Is there no end to the chaos your kinds bring? A vague, animallike shape formed. Molten earth burbled from the inner depths of the world, joining the dirt and stone in creating the image of life. Despite so much flying about, not one particle of dust or one drop of melted earth so much as touched the Tezerenee. Even the statues, so close to the center, remained unaffected.
Is there truly hope for such as you?
Though no one looked in his direction, unless those were eyes in the midst of the jumbled pile, Rendel knew it was he who had been asked the question.
“Cease your prattle! I am the one who commands! I am the one who judges!” Rendel’s doubt added a quiver to his voice.
Fiery wings spread, composed almost entirely of burning earth. What had once been the mouth of the horned beast was now the mouth of an entirely different monster, but one growing all too familiar in shape with each passing breath.
You have daring… and nothing more. My obedience is not yours to demand. Nor theirs, either.
It spoke of the avians. Rendel started, wondering how he could have forgotten the onrushing creatures. He looked around, but the three had vanished.
They have been redirected elsewhere until something can be done with them. It is you who I have come for, Vraad, at the command of those who rule here.
“You can’t take me from this! Not now! It’s why I worked so hard to make the cross-over work! It’s why I risked all, coming here alone though I knew there was the threat of danger!” Rendel knew he was babbling, but it was buying him time. His mind raced, seeking some solution to his predicament. He had been rescued from death for… for what he did not know, save that it would separate him from what was his by right.
Manling, I found much to admire in one of your kind, but I see little of those traits within you. Do not stir me to measures that I will be forced to regret… later. I have already interfered more than I am supposed to. Your destruction of this place, of those who preceded my kind in the aid of our masters—elementals, you might call them—was accidental, but your desire to abuse their purpose was not.
Rendel no longer had any thoughts concerning the glory that was to have been his. Instead, he wondered whether he was going to leave this place alive.
The mock dragon dipped its macabre head, the burning earth giving it the appearance of a fire-breathing beast. It filled the Tezerenee’s entire field of vision.
You have no more need to wonder, manling.
The false jaws opened.
Rendel shut his eyes and screamed.
XVIII
“IS THIS WHAT it all comes to? Does nothing but ruin follow the Vraad?”
Dru could not respond to Xiri’s question, not at first. The portal, through either the whims of its creators or, as he personally bel
ieved, its own, had returned them to Nimth near the Vraad communal city. Though it was night, a dim glow from above left the land in the equivalent of sunset, enabling them to see. Even from the slope on which they had materialized, it was evident that some catastrophe had struck. From what he could see, Dru knew already that the catastrophe had not been natural. The destruction was too well organized. Someone had wanted to destroy the only thing that had ever linked the individuals of his race together. The Vraad swore quietly, both saddened and ashamed.
“I’ve never seen such a green before,” the elf whispered. “I feel as if it eats the soul of Nimth.” She was gazing skyward, watching the maelstrom above. A massive storm was forming, one that looked to cover everything, for it stretched as far as the sky itself. Dru did not want to be caught outside when it broke; what rained down upon Nimth would not be so simple and harmless as water.
“Take my hand again.”
She did, squeezing it tight. The sorcerer drew some comfort from having another person to touch during this period of chaos.
“Do you plan to teleport?”
He nodded. “At least try, anyway. I have to chance it. Time is short. Nimth won’t die today, but we might.”
Xiri looked up again. “The sky?”
“This glow from the clouds is a new phenomenon… very new, I think. There is also a storm brewing. It won’t be a normal rain like you might expect. We’ve not had a rainstorm for years. If it strikes, it will be magical.”
“Which means it could produce anything. Will it necessarily be bad?”
He swept his arm across what lay before them. “Look around you. Do you see anything good coming from what the Vraad have done so far?”
His point was obvious, but something seemed to disturb her. “Will not your spell aggravate conditions? Is there not a chance it will act as a catalyst?”
“It might, but our choices are few. I either use my sorcery or we walk.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 57
