“You know, Dru darling, you were always long-winded.” She ran her hands along the contour of her clothing. “There is so much more we could be doing.” Her hands stretched out toward him. “So many games to play.” Melenea blew him a kiss.
A force like a maddened stallion struck Dru, throwing him over the table and spilling the chess set.
Dru rose and smiled. Melenea took a step back.
“Yes, I know that was supposed to be more than an ill wind. The difference between us, Melenea, is that I can talk while I cast protective spells. You merely talk.” He picked up one of the chess pieces that had fallen to the floor. “I’ll ask this only once. Do you have Sharissa?”
“Of course!” She folded her arms and looked at him in triumph. He would do nothing to her if it meant Sharissa’s life.
Dru shook his head. “That was the wrong answer. I said I know you as well as you know me. If you had my daughter, you’d be more eloquent about it. You’d give me some of the fine points of what you’d planned for her.”
Masterrr!
Yes, Sirvak?
Sirvak is yours again! She is Melenea! Beware!
I know that, my friend.
She took Mistress Sharissa to her home! Master Gerrod helped Sirvak to free her, though she fought us, but Sirvak could not get away! Mistress did, though!
Both pleasure and cold hatred colored the spellcaster’s next words. Thank you, Sirvak. Thank you for telling me all of that.
Sirvak is forgiven? The beast feared that it would be punished for allowing itself to be taken over by the enchantress.
Of course. One more thing. Where is the one who came with me? The el—the female.
She wanders at the edge of home, seeking entrance. Masterrrr, her sorcery is strange.
Let her pass through, Sirvak. Guide her to me. I want her safe.
As you command, masterrr. The winged creature broke the link, its task clear to it.
He favored Melenea with a pleasant smile, satisfied to watch her react the way he had the day on the steps in the Vraad city. His silent conversation with the familiar had lasted all of a breath, perhaps two, at most. “You have nothing left to tempt me with, nothing left to threaten me with. Can you give me one reason why I should tolerate your presence here any longer, Melenea?”
His change had daunted her, but he knew that she was far from beaten. Melenea always had one more ploy, one more move.
She did not disappoint him. “Perhaps these?”
In her hand she held two gleaming crystals.
“Where did you get those?”
The enchantress had regained the upper hand and knew it. Dru had not expected to see the crystals he sought. They had, he supposed, been destroyed when Rendel had sprung her trap. “Dear Shari gave them to me, just before the trusting child left me by my lonesome. That was when I left my surprise and also made certain I could reenter your citadel… of course, that little mongrel creation of yours helped to a point. I should have known it would be unreliable in the end, however.”
“Sirvak is very reliable. Your mistake was not realizing how independent its mind is… not like your other self, Cabal.”
She allowed the crystals to balance precariously on the tips of her fingers. “Whatever. Well, darling? Have I met with your expectations? Do you want these little baubles? Should I let them fall?”
Her hand twitched and both stones tottered. At the last moment, she curled her fingers inward, restoring balance.
“You know, Dru, the trap was never meant for you. I was certain that faceless whelp, Gerrod, would gain entrance somehow, as tenacious as he is. I thought it would be a delicious trick on him. He’s very much like you, you know. Were you ever intimate with the glorious Lady Alcia? It would certainly explain the differences between Gerrod and Reegan.”
Dru did not dignify her with a response.
She tilted her head to one side. “No denial? No agreement? No thought at all?”
“Give me those crystals, Melenea.” He kept his voice neutral. She would not play him like an emotional puppet.
“Certainly. Here.” Melenea turned her hand palm down.
Reflex betrayed him. Hoping he did not have to fight Nimth as well as the enchantress, Dru snared the crystals with a minor spell. The action lowered his guard. It was a minuscule opening, to be sure, but the sorceress knew him as few others did. When she struck, it was more subtle, more emotional. Where an attack on his body would have likely been repulsed with little effort and most of those against the mind turned with even less, her spell touched on the least-defended part of Dru Zeree.
His memories.
“Cordalene!” he whispered. Her name had been Cordalene. Though his conscious mind had forgotten his bride’s name, the subconscious could not. She had been, to his surprise, so very interested in the same things. What had begun as a casual joining no different from any other had become a drawn affair and then a sealing of bonds. Permanent mates were a scarce commodity among the Vraad, though there had been a few now and then. She was tall, slender, and with deep blue hair that tumbled to the ground, though dust never tarnished its beauty. They were both as other Vraad, still arrogant, still vindictive. Dru had beaten off two challenges by those interested in Cordalene. She had turned them down, but typically, neither had believed she meant what she said.
Cordalene stood before him, waiting for Dru to embrace her. He tried.
She collapsed into dust. Caught in the throes of the spell, he had summoned up a likeness of her, much the way Sharissa had called up the dancers.
Somewhere, Melenea was laughing at his stumbling, laughing at his futile attempt to recapture a cherished memory. Rage burned through the struggling sorcerer and his vision briefly cleared, revealing the mocking form of the enchantress. He tried to reach her.
Dru became lost in a second memory. Sharissa as an infant. The shock of discovering that their continued care for one another now extended toward the child. Most Vraad left the care of their offspring in the hands of their magical servants, golems and such. It might be that was why the hatred between young and old developed.
Sharissa cried and Dru took the infant in his arms. She dissipated into air. Another creation of the theater that his mind vaguely recalled existed in Nimth.
“This is so perfect!” Melenea purred from beyond his vision. “A wonderful place to end the game! I thought I would only be able to enjoy the torment on your face, but now I can watch you lose everything all over again!”
His hands almost found her throat. She backed quickly away, and before he could try again, the day of the duel confronted him.
“Serkadion Manee! No, please don’t!” He could not stop it. Cordalene met with some nameless female counterpart, a Vraad who was also dead, the loser in another duel only three days after this one.
The combat itself was a swift blur; Dru had not been there to witness it. Despite his struggles, the inevitable conclusion confronted him. What remained of Cordalene was a curled ball unrecognizable as anything human. She had been turned in on herself. Dru remembered how he had secluded himself and Sharissa for months before he went seeking out his wife’s killer. His need for vengeance was left unsated.
Then he had turned to Melenea.
“Melenea,” he muttered.
She had brought back the memories and made him suffer them anew. The fog, the images—both those in his mind and the ones he had created with his sorcery—were swept away until only one figure remained. One that did not realize its mortality.
“Melenea…” His eyes impaled her.
The enchantress finally realized that her victim was no longer trapped in his delusions, but it was too late. There was no longer any means of escape. With his first coherent thought, Dru had sealed this room for the time.
“Melenea,” he began for the third time. “You twisted me during a time when I was empty. You never knew me before Cordalene. You never really thought of how much of a Vraad I truly am, no matter how I might deny it now.�
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Her smile had died. Dru felt her mind tug at forces of Nimth, trying to create a path of freedom.
“You should have never made me relive all of that so realistically. You’ve reminded me of the danger you’ll always be to Sharissa.” He shook his head in true sadness, wishing she had not released the Vraad within him. “I can’t allow that.”
Unable to escape, she struck with another spell. It was less stylish, but very deadly.
Dru deflected it easily, the cold anger that Melenea herself had created fueling his will. He understood, however, that delay would eventually take its toll on him. This had to be finished before that happened.
She struck again and again, her spells taking on all forms and intensities that would have long destroyed any other foe who did not know her so well. When she had exhausted herself to a certain point, he took her and left her without the ability to move or even breathe. She would not die; the spell prevented that. He only wanted her to know exactly how helpless she would be.
“You like games, Melenea? I do, but more subtle, more ingenious ones. Chess, for example. I have just the place for you, a place where you can join some of my past adversaries, some of those who threatened what was mine and discovered that I am not so peaceful when it comes to defending my home.”
He retrieved the chess piece again, tossing it to her as she stood frozen. At the last moment, he released her. Through sheer luck, the enchantress caught the object. She looked at it, not understanding, and then gazed once more at Dru, still defiant. She had always been able to play her way out of any circumstance. There had always been some weakness she had been able to exploit.
“Not this time,” Dru whispered to her. He indicated the piece she held. “You thought you recognized the other. How about this one?”
An arrogant smile playing on her lips, Melenea held it up and stared at the tiny, detailed visage. Her eyes widened and the smile became a circle as she gasped. The chessman fell from her hand and bounced on the floor.
“You do recognize him? Some of them I allow to have the same form, though others often get a shape more representative of their personalities. They’ll live on long after I’m gone, always pawns where they were once players, much like yourself.”
“Dru… you…” She was no longer desirable. Melenea had become a frightened creature.
He felt Sirvak’s nearing presence. Xiri was with the familiar. Sirvak tried to make contact with him, but Dru refused. Not until he had finished.
“I should think this would thrill you, Melenea, my sweet. Haven’t you always insisted that life is a game?”
Xiri could not be allowed to see him like this. Dru gestured quickly and the chess set re-formed on the glass table, the pieces all lined up in their starting positions. For the first time, it became obvious that the game was lacking one more figure. Dru smiled at that. He had not known he had been so close to completing the set.
Only a moment more. That was all he needed. A moment more of complete control of his powers. He faced Melenea, lover and nemesis, and pointed at the empty square.
“Your choice,” he said slowly, drawing out her agony as she had drawn out his moments before. “What would you like to be?”
WHEN SIRVAK AND Xiri joined him, he had just finished admiring the board and was now putting it away. The chess set was one of the few things he had decided to bring with him to the other world. It would serve better than anything else to remind him of what he was leaving behind.
“Dru!” The elf held him tight, her body shaking. He stood frozen for the first few seconds, then clutched her with equal need.
“Do elves take on permanent mates?” he whispered after he had kissed the top of her head.
“They do.” She pulled his head down so that he could kiss something other than her hair. When at last they broke, she looked around. “Sirvak spoke of danger, of this Melenea! What happened to her? Did you—?”
“I’ve introduced her to a new game. It will keep her attention for quite a long time.” He carefully ignored her questioning expression and looked up at Sirvak, who eyed him with an understanding that no other, not even Xiri and Sharissa, could ever match.
“Masterrrr,” the familiar finally dared. “The mistressss is nearrr. Master Gerrod is with herrr.”
Master Gerrod?
Low, rolling thunder shook the walls of the pearl edifice.
“The storm is finally breaking.” Deadly news for the Vraad race. They would have to risk the storm if they wanted to leave here. Still holding Xiri, Dru opened his hand and studied the crystals he had retrieved from the floor. They were, he knew, useless now. Melenea had apparently drained them of their contents. She was beyond asking questions and so whatever knowledge his former lover had possessed was now beyond them. Rendel might have aided them, what with his vast knowledge of the two realms, but his haste had made an end of him, unless…
He separated himself from Xiri. “Sirvak! Show me where Sharissa and Gerrod are.”
An image of the two on the outskirts of his domain flashed before him. Still caught up in the aftermath of his fury, it would have been a minor task to bring them to him. Yet, knowing how much worse he and Melenea had probably made the situation already, he turned to Xiri.
“Guide me.” The urge to demand more from Nimth was hard to suppress. “I want to bring them here.”
His emotion and her care brought swift results. Gerrod, openmouthed, stared at the sorcerer and his companions. His eyes were shrouded by his hood, but it was very likely that they were almost as wide as his mouth. As for Sharissa, she took one moment to drink in her surroundings, focused on her father, and then ran to him, enveloping him in her arms.
“Father! I thought that you were dead! Melenea! Did you know that she—”
He covered her mouth with one hand. “Hush, Sharissa. We’ll have time later. I’m sorry, but right now I need to speak to your friend.”
“Me?” Gerrod’s mouth, the only part of his face clear enough to judge, twisted in a guilty curve, though Dru had not accused him of anything and had never even intended on doing so. He made a mental note to ask the Tezerenee what there was to feel guilty for, but after they had dealt with the present crisis.
“You, Gerrod.” He walked over to the motionless figure and put a companionable arm around the younger Vraad’s shoulder. “We have to talk about things… like your brother, the shrouded realm, and why you are still here. Most important, we have to talk about getting out of here.”
“Out of here? You mean—”
“Yes, I think you have information, or know where to get it, that I… that all of us are in need of.” Dru paused and turned back to the others. “Sharissa. Xiri. Forgive my brusqueness. I think you can both understand. Talk to each other. I want you to know each other as much as possible.”
The two women eyed each other in open curiosity.
“Sirvak!”
“Master?”
“Your wounds. Are they—”
“I will take care of them, Dru,” Xiri volunteered. She looked at Sharissa. “With your help, if that is all right.”
“Of course.”
Dru gave Xiri a nod of approval. She was already working to make her relationship with his daughter a pleasant one. “Good. When you are healed, Sirvak, I have a task for you.” He reached into a hidden pocket and removed something. “Here!”
The familiar sat back on its hind legs and caught the object with its remaining forepaw. It peered at the tiny figurine.
“What is it?” Sharissa leaned closer. Her face screwed up into a look of absolute disgust. “It looks like Cabal! Too much, in fact!”
Xiri had also studied it. Her eyes flickered to Dru, who saw that the elf observed more than surface details. “A work of art. It almost looks alive.”
“Part of my chess set. The piece that was missing. I want Sirvak to gather the pieces together. I intend on taking it with me.”
“But you never play with it!” Sharissa protested.
Their eyes on Dru’s retreating figure, neither Sharissa nor the elf noted the pleased look in Sirvak’s inhuman visage as the familiar dropped the tiny chess piece to the floor and watched it bounce until it lay among the rest.
XXI
THE SUN ROSE above Lord Barakas Tezerenee’s Dragonrealm and the patriarch could only look at the burning sphere with bitter hatred.
The clan had barely survived. Nearly half were dead or dying, and another third were injured. Night, even with the aid of the two moons, had not been able to reveal the true cost to the Tezerenee.
Tezerenee tactics, he pondered as the light of the sun glittered off the armored corpses of his people. They knew Tezerenee tactics.
Rendel. It could only be Rendel. Among the missing, only he would have been so willing to part with the knowledge. Gerrod was, of course, lost in Nimth; he could not have been the source, regardless. Ephraim and his band, who had been the cause of the cross-over disaster, had come to mind, but this smelled too much of Rendel. Besides, Gerrod’s description of the mad state of Ephraim was enough to convince Barakas that this world had claimed its first Tezerenee blood long before this battle. That left only Rendel among the living, but not if the patriarch was ever able to lay his hands upon him. The execution would be a slow, deliberate one.
“Father!” Lochivan, still garbed for battle (though the bird creatures had apparently abandoned the war with the coming of light), knelt by the patriarch’s feet.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 62
