Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It? I am no it! I am Darkhorse, of course!” The stallion pawed at the earth, digging gullies in the hard, rock-filled ground. “Talk to me, not around me!”

  “Shhh!” Sharissa pleaded to the menacing form. “He was not being insulting, Darkhorse! You should know that by now! He can’t be blamed for not understanding what you are, can he?”

  “I suppose not.” Mollified, the beast ceased his excavation. He trotted a few steps closer to the warlock, who dared to be defiant and not back away, though he desperately wanted to. What was this monstrosity?

  “Easy,” the sorceress suggested to her companion.

  “I merely wanted to see him better!” Darkhorse studied Gerrod’s darkened visage so thoroughly that the Tezerenee knew the stallion saw through his glamour. “Why do you hide in such shadow?”

  “Darkhorse!”

  “My own desire, nothing more,” Gerrod returned, speaking a bit more sharply than he had wanted. This was not going the way he wanted it to; he had no control over the situation. Between Sharissa’s belated appearance and her unbelievable companion, the warlock could not think quickly enough.

  “Darkhorse!” The slim woman came between them, guiding her companion back to a more decent distance as she spoke. “What Gerrod chooses to do is up to him; I’ve warned you about how we Vraad are. We are very much individuals; I thought three days would have shown you that already.”

  This beast is responsible for her not coming sooner, Gerrod noted. He had assumed as much, but it was a part of his nature that he liked to have things verified for him. It also made Sharissa’s absence more forgivable in his mind. What was he compared to the mighty Darkhorse?

  As he wondered that, memories concerning the unsettling creature returned to the warlock. Master Zeree had spoken of his unusual companion during his temporary exile from Nimth, an accidental exile due to too much curiosity upon the sorcerer’s part. Gerrod had taken some of the elder Zeree’s tale as pure embellishment, finding that the concept of a being such as Darkhorse was beyond him at the time.

  Not so now. The hooded Tezerenee knew now that, if anything, Dru’s story had failed to fully emphasize the astonishing nature of the ebony stallion. Small wonder. He doubted that tale could do justice to what stood before him.

  “You apologize to Gerrod,” Sharissa was telling Darkhorse. The warlock found that amusing; she treated the leviathan as if he were no more than a child. Yet Darkhorse did look contrite.

  This creature… a child? Gerrod could not believe his own notion. “I apologize, one called Gerrod!”

  “Accepted.” It was fortunate that the hood and the glamour hid his expression; the smile on his face would have likely angered both newcomers. A child!

  “I’d wondered what became of you, Sharissa,” the warlock said, seizing control of the conversation now that he had a better idea of what it was he faced. According to Dru Zeree, Darkhorse was an eternal creature, but one that had, it seemed, a very limited experience with things. Gerrod knew how to handle such personalities. “I can see now why you might have forgotten.”

  She colored, a simple act that somehow pleased him. It was a becoming sight… not that he cared about such things. His work was all that mattered.

  “I’m sorry, Gerrod. I had to make certain that people grew used to Dark-horse as soon as possible, since he intends to remain for some time. The best way was to let him be seen in my company as I moved about the city. Whenever I needed to talk to somebody, I would introduce him to them.”

  Excuse me, have you met Darkhorse yet? Gerrod found the scene in his mind almost too much for him to handle without laughing. “And how successful were you?”

  Sharissa looked less pleased. “Too many of them are distrusting. They think my father will use him as a tool to reorganize the balance of power in our triumvirate.”

  Her last words darkened the Tezerenee’s mood. “My father being one of the chief proponents of that fear?”

  “Actually, he has not come to confront Darkhorse yet. Silesti has, however.”

  What Silesti did was of no concern to Gerrod, but what the warlock’s father did was. You’ve remained in the background, have you, Father? What, I wonder, are you up to? The patriarch was not one to sit back during a potentially volatile situation.

  “I find that interesting,” he finally responded. “Have any of my clan made the acquaintance of your friend here?”

  “Only Lochivan. The rest of the Tezerenee don’t seem interested.”

  What Lochivan knows, Father knows, Gerrod wanted to say. He knew that Sharissa enjoyed his brother’s company, but he also knew that Lochivan was an appendage of Lord Barakas. It would have been impossible to convince the younger Zeree of this fact, however. She saw Lochivan much as she saw Gerrod—Tezerenee by birth but with minds of their own. Not like Reegan or Logan or Esad or any of the others.

  “If the rest of the clan shows no interest, it’s because my dear sire is very interested.” He shifted around them, forcing the two to turn in order to face him. Better and better. He nearly had the sun behind him now. Gerrod found himself able to relax a bit more. “Never trust a sleeping drake.”

  His meaning was clear, but he saw that Sharissa did not take it to heart. “Lord Barakas can scheme all he wants. What could be possibly do to Dark-horse?”

  Many things, Gerrod wanted to say, but the ebony stallion cut him off.

  “Who is this Lord Barakas? Why should he wish me trouble?”

  “Lord Barakas Tezerenee is my father,” the warlock explained, his eyes seeing memories. “He is cruel, ambitious, and as deadly as the monster that graces the clan banner.”

  “This is your parent?” Darkhorse shook his head, sending his pitch-black mane flying back and forth. It looked like real hair… “You speak of him with disgust, possibly even hate! I do not understand!”

  “Gerrod and his father have had differences,” Sharissa offered in a diplomatic manner. “Lord Barakas is ambitious, Darkhorse. It would be wise to be careful when you do meet him. I doubt that he can cause any true problem, however. Not one of his people has the skill to match you—or even come close, for that matter—in power.”

  “I am amazing, am I not?”

  “I would rather not speak of my father anymore, if you do not mind.” The subject had stirred the warlock’s insides. He could taste the bile. To Sharissa, he said, “I assume you have finally come to see my discovery. It’s hardly as magnificent as I first thought, but there are a few fascinating items you might be interested in studying. It is late to be starting, but we can still—”

  The guilty look she flashed at him made Gerrod stop.

  “I’m sorry, Gerrod. Actually, I mostly rode out to explain to you why I was gone and how I won’t be able to come here for a while.”

  Anger and a sudden, unreasonable feeling of having been betrayed stirred the hooded Tezerenee’s baser instincts. He came within a breath of reaching out with his mind to a source of power she could not know he controlled, one that would allow him to strike out at random with sufficient results to assuage his bitterness.

  “Too much is happening right now,” Sharissa went on, oblivious to his warring thoughts. “If Darkhorse is to stay among us, he has to be made a familiar sight to the others. There’s talk among many of Silesti’s faction that my father will use him to put an end to the triumvirate. They think he plans to rule from Sirvak Dragoth as some sort of despot, if you can believe that!”

  “Your father?” The anger dissipated. How could anyone who knew Dru Zeree believe the sorcerer would ever desire to rule the Vraad? The elder Zeree was nearly as much a hermit as he was. He had only agreed to be part of the triumvirate in order to keep Silesti and Barakas from killing one another and the rest of the Vraad in the process.

  “Would that be so bad?” the demonic steed asked, his voice booming. “Friend Dru is a remarkable creature! He would only do good for your kind!”

  “It was toilsom
e enough to get them to live with one another, let alone follow another Vraad’s commands. Master Zeree is admired by many, but, in the eyes of our folk, the triumvirate guarantees that no one Vraad’s will can be law. We are a very suspicious, individualistic race.”

  Darkhorse shook his head again, a habit, Gerrod realized, that signaled the beast’s confusion.

  “I’ll try to explain later,” Sharissa said. She gave the warlock an apologetic smile. “I will be back… and you could come to see me once in a while.”

  “Perhaps,” was all he said in reply. They both knew that he would never voluntarily return to the city. That would mean contact with his clan, possibly with his father.

  Sighing, Sharissa stepped to the side of her inhuman companion. Darkhorse bent his legs in a manner that would have crippled a true steed and lowered himself so that she could mount. Gerrod saw the creature’s back ripple and shape itself to conform to the rider.

  “It won’t be too long,” the sorceress added, trying to make the best of things. “Father can only do so much. He needs my help in all this.”

  He said nothing, knowing that any words escaping his lips now would do nothing but weaken their friendship. That might make her decide never to return. Then he would be completely isolated from his kind.

  “Good-bye, Gerrod.” Her smile was a bit feeble, possibly because she could not read his shadowed face and, therefore, did not know if he was angry or merely hurt. Sharissa knew how much he looked forward to her visits, and the warlock had assumed that she also looked forward to them. At the moment, he was not so certain anymore.

  “Watch yourself,” the Tezerenee blurted. “Never trust a sleeping drake, remember?”

  “She has nothing to fear while I am near!” roared Darkhorse. He laughed at his own unintentional rhyme.

  “As you say.”

  The ebony stallion turned toward the direction of the city, reared, and was already off before Gerrod could even raise a hand in farewell. Sharissa waved back at him for a brief time, but the lightning speed with which the astonishing creature ran forced her to soon abandon that act in favor of further securing her grip on his mane. Within moments, the duo were dwindling dots in the distance. Gerrod had wondered why she had ridden all the way out to him merely to tell him she would not be able to stay, but now he saw that, to Darkhorse, the distance separating the city from his habitat was little more than a short jaunt. Their much slower arrival had been planned; a speeding Darkhorse might have been mistaken for some dire threat.

  “So understanding about some things, yet still so naive about others.” He hoped she was correct about his father. Barakas was hardly the type to sit calmly while a potential threat such as the ebony terror represented was allowed to roam among the Vraad at will.

  Knowing he was now safe, Gerrod removed both the hood encompassing his head and the glamour masking his features. It was good that Sharissa was, to a point, predictable. She had the skill and power to teleport from the city to here, but she would not make use of that ability. Her uneasiness when it came to the spell was what kept his secrets safe from her. As long as Sharissa gave him the time, he could hide what he was becoming and what he had discovered.

  She would have been shocked if she had seen his unprotected visage. Even his erstwhile parents would have likely felt some sympathy for his plight, especially as they would soon follow him… as all Vraad would.

  His hair was turning gray, and there were lines gouged into his skin that only age could have wrought. The others had never thought about how their sorcery was what so extended their life spans, but he had found out the truth the hard way. His own experiments, which had taxed his lifeforce further, had turned him into a creature older in appearance than either Dru Zeree or the patriarch. He could have been his own grandfather, the warlock thought in sour humor.

  Sharissa would have sought to aid him, but he wanted nothing of her sorcery. He would not give in to this world, become one of its creatures. Gerrod was certain that the Vraad faced either death from old age or, if they surrendered themselves completely to their new home, a worse fate. Dru had told him of how the Seekers and others like them had once had the same ancestors as he. The founders’ experiment had altered them, made them monsters. He was no more willing to fall to that fate than he was willing to let the decay of his body take him. Somehow, someway, he would save himself.

  Whatever or whoever the cost, he reminded himself as he stared at the empty horizon over which Sharissa and Darkhorse had disappeared.

  “WHAT IS THE purpose of this?” Rayke wanted to know. He was tired, and when Rayke was tired he grew incredibly irritable. The other elves kept silent, knowing that this was between him and Faunon. It was yet another tiny stab at the latter’s authority, which had grown a bit strained of late, what with Faunon’s insistence on exploring every hole in the ground, no matter how small.

  Faunon, contrary to their belief, would have welcomed interference. Rayke was making him irritable. Had they not been told to be thorough? With the bird people in disarray, this was the perfect opportunity to make a better study of the outlying cave systems dotting the southern edges of the mountain range. The one they now stood before had all the marks of once having been used on a regular basis by either the avians or someone else.

  “Try to hold your voice down to a mild eruption,” he whispered at Rayke. “Unless you are so eager for a fight you are purposely shouting loud enough for every Sheeka in the world to hear.”

  “At least that would be something more worthy than this poking around holes,” the second elf muttered, nevertheless speaking in much quieter tones.

  “This will not take long. If this one does not extend into the mountain deep enough, then the others will not, either. If they do go farther, then the council will want to know, just in case they decide the time has come to claim the cavern aerie.”

  Rayke grimaced. “The council would not sanction anything as energetic as a footrace, let alone an assault on even a near-abandoned aerie.”

  For once, they found common ground. “They would be fools not to take advantage of this. Think of what the birds must have stored in there. Look at what we found just lying scattered about the countryside!”

  One of the other elves shook a sack he carried. It was about the size of his head and quite full. The sack represented the party’s greatest treasures, the enchanted medallions that the avians generally carried or wore around their throats. The precision and power of such artifacts was legend even among the elves, but there had been few for the race to study, for the bird people guarded them jealously and most were designed to destroy themselves if their wearer perished. These had not. If Faunon was correct, they had simply been abandoned. Why, he did not know. That was for the council to decide; they enjoyed endless theoretical debate, especially when it meant they could ignore more pressing matters.

  Let them play with these while others take up the gauntlet, Faunon thought. We’ll make this world something more than merely a place we ended up. We’ll make a future for ourselves! Deep inside, he knew that he was dreaming. The elves as a race would never organize themselves sufficiently to make a difference in the world they had found. Too many believed that simply existing alongside the animals and plants was all the meaning there was to life. It was simple and it was safe.

  “Well? Are we going in, then?” Rayke, now that he had given in to Faunon again, was eager to get things over with.

  “Not all of us have to go in. Two or three should be sufficient.”

  “The two of us, then.” It was always Faunon and Rayke. Faunon went because, as leader, he felt he was responsible for everything they did. If he was leading his party into danger, it was only right that he act as the spearhead, so to speak. Rayke, of course, preferred to do anything but sit around and wait. The others, less inclined to act unless they were commanded to, were more than willing to let the duo take the risks. Traveling and exploring were fine for them, but they were now more than willing to head home.


  “The two of us,” Faunon agreed. Despite their constant arguing, both elves knew they were safest with each other. Each could depend on the other to be at his back if it came to a fight. The rest of the party tended to fight as elves always fought, as a collection of individuals, not a team.

  “Give us an hour,” he told the others. “If we are not back by then…” If we are not back by then, we will be dead or, worse yet, prisoners of the birds, he finished in his head. There was no need to tell the others what they already knew.

  Rayke had already pulled out a small glow-crystal from one of the pouches on his belt. The tiny crystal worked better than a torch when it came to producing light. Each member of the party had one. Faunon retrieved his own, and the two elves started forward. Rayke already had his sword handy, and Faunon followed suit as they stepped into the cave.

  It had definitely been hollowed out by other than natural means, he saw. The walls were too smooth, the floor too flat. That was both encouraging and worrisome. It meant the tunnel system probably did go where he believed it did, but it also meant that they were more likely to run into trouble if anyone or anything was still using the cave.

  There were a few tracks on the ground, mostly those of animals. The spoors were all old, so he did not fear that they would surprise a bear or young drake at some point. If they had, it would have informed him of one fact, that searching the cave was of no use. The avians would never let a wild animal take up residence in one of their active passages.

  “We are heading earthward,” Rayke commented. The mouth of the cave was already an uncomfortable distance behind them.

  Faunon held the glow-crystal before him and verified his companion’s words. They were heading into the earth. He suspected he had been wrong after all. The birds tended to dig upward, toward the sky they loved so, rather than down. Why would…? He smiled at his own stupidity. “This might not be the birds’ work.”

  “Quel?” Rayke had evidently picked up on the notion at the same time as he had.