Looking up, Sharissa thought, Could what Gerrod said once be true? Could this world be changing us to suit its, the founders’, desires? Is that what the Faceless Ones are doing among us?
Almost as if conjured by her thoughts, a shape seemed to move across the entranceway. Sharissa squinted, but the figure, if it had been there, was now gone. Thinking of Bethken, she rose and walked carefully toward the outside corridor. At her command, the ball of light floated down from the ceiling and preceded her into the hall. Sharissa glanced left and right, but the corridor was empty.
She had no idea what the hour was, but knew it had to be very late. Returning to her notes, Sharissa started to straighten things away, fully intent on returning to them after a good sleep. Her task had barely begun, however, before her attention was caught by a flickering motion to her side.
It was the oil lamp. The sorceress smiled at the apprehension she had briefly felt touch her. Reaching over, she doused the flame.
Her hands succeeded in preventing her fall to the floor, but only just so.
If someone had asked Sharissa to describe the sensation she had just experienced, the young Zeree might have best put it as the lifting of a veil from her eyes. The night was the same, but it was now part of her existence, not merely a thing in the background.
… sa!
“Darkhorse?” She shook her head in order to clear her thoughts further. Had there been a voice in her head, one that reminded the sorceress of the ebony stallion? Sharissa waited, hoping to catch something more. The Vraad had some ability in mindtalk, but this had been no Vraad. She was not even certain there had been a voice. Perhaps it had been a stray thought of her overworked mind, but then, what had it concerned? Sa was no word she recalled, but it was the last syllable of her own name, and Sharissa had, at that instant, felt an urgency.
The nearest window gave her a view of the center of the city. She strode over to it and peered outside. One of the moons was visible—Hestia, if she recalled—but nothing out of the ordinary was revealed in the dim illumination the harsh mistress of the night offered.
“I’m a tired fool,” she muttered, smiling at her own silliness. If Darkhorse had called to her, he would certainly have tried again after having failed to reach her the first time. The eternal was nothing if not persistent. In fact, it was more likely that he would have materialized before her rather than call to her using the less-than-trustworthy method of mindtalk. For one with the stallion’s abilities, it was a simple thing. For the weakened Vraad, it was much, much more difficult. No, Darkhorse had not called her; she could not sense his presence anywhere—
Anywhere? Her mind snapped to full alertness at last.
Sharissa could not sense Darkhorse anywhere. He was in neither the city nor the surrounding countryside. When he had first come to the western shores of this continent, the sorceress had felt him almost at once. She had been the only one, as far as she recalled. If she could not find him, then it was certain that no one else could either.
Sirvak Dragoth! He has to be there! Though there was no reason to believe the eternal was in danger, Sharissa had a feeling of foreboding. She knew that he was not in Sirvak Dragoth. Even from there, Sharissa had always been able to vaguely detect his odd magical emanations, an apparently natural and ongoing process of the stallion’s nebulous “body.”
Nothing. It was as if Darkhorse had left the continent. While it was very possible he had, she could not see him leaving in so abrupt a manner, even after his petulant attitude earlier. He would have come to speak to her, to say goodbye. In many ways, the leviathan was very predictable. Sharissa knew him very well after only these past few days. His habits were ingrained to a degree that even the most predictable human could not match.
Her work completely abandoned now, Sharissa pondered what to do next. If her fears were without merit, then she was thrusting herself into a mad, futile chase. If there was merit, then what had happened to her father’s old comrade… and did her father know?
The desire for sleep was beginning to nag at her, but it was still only an infant in strength. The longer she delayed, however, the more dominant the demand would become. Sharissa began plotting her move, knowing that her time limit was short; the sorceress had already taxed herself the night before.
It was a shame, Sharissa thought, that she had no hound to follow his trail—providing Darkhorse had even left one. He moved more like the wind, and the only way she had ever been able to keep track of him was by reports from fearful and angry colonists and her own higher senses. Gathering information would take too long, and she had already tried to detect his present position.
The whimsical notion of the hound intruded upon her thoughts again, but it took Sharissa time to understand what it was her subconscious was trying to tell her. What use was a hound when she had no trail, and what did it have to do with her now useless ability to sense where Darkhorse was at this moment?
A hound followed a trail left by its prey, but there was no trail… was there?
“Not physical, but maybe magical!” she hissed, frustrated at herself for not seeing it sooner. Darkhorse was unique, being a creature whose very substance was akin to pure power given sentience. Yet, both Vraad sorcery and that of this world left a residue of sorts.
Did Darkhorse leave such a trail wherever he went?
She searched with her mind, seeing first the prismatic view of the world, then the lines of force that crisscrossed through everything. That the others who held some degree of power saw only one or the other when they sought to use their abilities always bothered her, for she wondered why she had been singled out. In fifteen years, the sorceress had never been able to train anyone to see the lifeforce of the world as she did.
To her surprise, the trail was clear. So foreign a magic was Darkhorse that he was a blight upon the otherwise colorful and organized landscape Sharissa perceived. Even after nearly a day had passed since his frustrated retreat from her scolding, the memory was still strong.
I didn’t see this? It was not so surprising, in retrospect. Did she study her shadow every day? What about the footprints she left in the soil when she went walking in the fields beyond the city? When one was astride so overwhelming a being as Darkhorse, even the world itself faded into the background.
“Sharissa?”
The voice startled her so, coming as it did after so many hours of solitude. Sharissa turned, already knowing who it was who had invaded her chambers. “Lochivan? What do you do here at this hour?”
The Tezerenee chuckled and stepped into the light. He carried his helm in the crook of one arm, allowing Sharissa to see the clan features he tended to hide more often than not. In truth, between Gerrod and his brother there was no comparison; Lochivan favored his father’s ursine features far too much to be considered handsome. “I drew a late watch. The patriarch plays no favorites, especially where his own children are concerned. When my watch was over, I could not sleep. I thought the solitude of the city would help, so I walked.” He shrugged. “I’ve known of your habit of staying up till all hours for years now, Sharissa. I thought you might be awake when you should be sleeping. When I saw the light and your figure outlined in the window at one point, I knew I was all too correct in my assumption.”
She was chagrined; it was true that this was not the first time he had stopped by. It was only that his timing could not have been worse… and his presence reminded her of who in the city would most profit by Darkhorse’s disappearance, though she found it hard to believe that the entire clan could muster the strength to threaten him.
“Is something wrong?” He had taken her silence to be, in part, an acceptance of his presence. Lochivan gazed around the vast room as he joined her, his eyes resting on Bethken’s unwanted gift. His mouth crooked upward at the ends as he put his helm on the table and examined it.
“A present from someone trying to worm his way into my favor,” she explained, then, realizing she had never answered his first question, added, �
�Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I was just about to retire for the evening.”
“What’s left of it.” Lochivan put the lamp down. “I probably shouldn’t bother you, then. I can come back during the day.”
Despite herself, Sharissa could not help feeling that there was something amiss with the conversation. She knew what she was not telling Lochivan, but was there something else that he was not telling her?
“Lochivan, what do you know about Darkhorse?”
His eyes told her she had guessed correctly the reason for his being here. It had been too coincidental, even recalling his previous visits.
He said nothing, but there was now a tiny flame, a match or some minor use of power, at the tip of his index finger. The oil lamp flickered to life.…
SHARISSA REREAD THE notes she had taken on the subterranean mapping project. Should take care of any worries, she thought. Now if they’d just do it the way I’ve described it and let me get on to something else!
Looking up from the table, the sorceress had the oddest feeling that something had passed her by, some event she should recall. Considering the many duties she had usurped from her overworked parent, not to mention her own research, Sharissa was not surprised that she might have forgotten something. Her eyes wandered the room in a distracted manner while she tried to think of what it was.
Her gaze came to rest on the oil lamp, which blazed high even after hours of use. The slim sorceress studied it further, finding some doubt in the image before her but at a loss as to explain just exactly what was out of place.
Should she douse it? A part of her saw the needless waste of oil, yet it seemed so unimportant a task, hardly worth rising for. She could always douse it when her work for the night was finished. That was not that long, was it?
Still, when she turned back to her work, her mind refused to leave the lamp to its function. It was as if the simple object was becoming the focal point of her existence.
I’ll just douse the flame and put it out of sight. It had to be getting very late if she was so concerned about a simple object. Sharissa started to rise, but then her attention wandered to a page of notes concerning a reconstruction phase that somehow involved future food production. The sorceress sat down and started to read. The plan had merit, but had she not read something similar to it? The more she perused the notes, the more the sorceress wondered at the familiarity of the recommendation.
The parchment fell from her hand. At the bottom of the recommendation was an analysis of the plan—in her handwriting and dated this very evening!
“Serkadion Manee!” she swore. Small wonder it sounded familiar to her; she recalled now reading it and making the suggestions at the bottom. How could she have forgotten it? Had the night drained her so much?
A shadow on the table flickered, as though living.
Sharissa turned and stared at the lamp—which she knew she had planned to dispose of at some point.
The sorceress rose from her chair with such fury that the glow she had cast to light the chamber grew momentarily into a miniature sunburst and the chair itself went tumbling backward as if seeking to escape her. Sharissa resisted an impulse to return to her work, to begin anew her research that she had abandoned earlier.
The closer she moved to the lamp, the stronger the flame became. The young sorceress found herself slowing more and more. She renewed her efforts instantly, knowing that if she continued to slow at the rate she had been, she would never even come within arm’s reach of her goal.
She all but closed her eyes as her fingers neared the flame, for it not only blazed as bright as her own magical light had, but the movements of the fire had a hypnotic effect.
“You’ve fooled me before! Not again!” she snarled at the innocent-looking lamp.
The flame rose high, almost causing Sharissa to pull her fingers back lest they be burned. Instead, she remembered herself and reached forward to end the battle between the devious trap and herself. “Not good enough!”
Tongues of hungry flame washed over her hand, seeking to blacken and curl her slim fingers before finally reducing them to ash. So it would have been if Sharissa had been any other person. Reflex had made her pull back the first time, but thought had reminded her that she was, after all, one of the most powerful spellcasters among her people. This pathetic thing before her was a clever but not so potent toy whose greatest strength had been its anonymity. Now that she knew the enemy’s choice of weapons, there was no difficulty. It had only been the lamp’s hypnotic gleam that had stayed her so far.
Her hand came down on the source of the flame and she cupped the mouth, holding her hand over the opening until she was certain she had ended the threat. A simple probe verified that the lamp was once more just a lamp. As long as she did not light it, it could not assault her mind. That was how she had evaded its trickery last time, only to fall victim to it again when—
“Lochivan!”
She knew her anger and her growing exhaustion were making her reckless at a time she should be thinking clearly, but that did not seem to matter the more she thought of the betrayal. Lochivan had always been her good friend, almost as much as Gerrod… who had warned her that his brother’s good company meant nothing when the patriarch gave a command.
“Lochivan, damn you!”
The Tezerenee did have Darkhorse. She remembered everything now, including the brief contact between the ebony stallion and herself. True, Sharissa could no longer sense the eternal, but she knew the trail would point to the drakes and their masters. “Lochivan, you and Barakas better pray to your Dragon of the Depths that Darkhorse escapes and gets you first!”
It would mean a spell of teleportation. She had cast such a spell only a few times over the years, her irrational fear that she would end up in some limbo similar to the Void keeping her from performing the spell on a regular basis. Darkhorse needed her aid, however. She could not know if her father had sensed his former companion’s danger, and Sharissa did not have the time to seek him out—not in her distraught mind, that is. Each moment that passed, and too many had passed already while she hesitated, made rescuing the shadow steed more and more unlikely.
She raised her arms and took a deep breath. A moment to collect her thoughts and she would be gone.
A disturbing sensation brushed her mind. Something flashed around her neck, making it all but impossible to breathe.
Behind her, a voice, Lochivan’s voice, calmly said to another unseen intruder, “Just in time. I told you not to doubt me.”
Sharissa’s world became a buzzing blur… then a shroud of silence and darkness.
VII
“GERROD.”
He looked up at his sudden guest, the enveloping hood masking any surprise he felt at the newcomer’s intrusion.
“Master Dru.”
In the light that did succeed in invading the hut, Dru Zeree was a fearful sight. Gerrod’s eyes narrowed. The sorcerer’s hair was going gray, and there were lines across his visage. He was worn out from something, yes, but Gerrod recognized something else, something that those who saw the elder Zeree every day would not pay so much attention to because they themselves were probably suffering a similar fate.
The sorcerer was aging. Not at so great a pace as the Tezerenee was, but aging nonetheless. Gerrod shivered. It was yet another confirmation of his fears about this land. Still, the warlock could not help thinking selfishly, Master Zeree has at least had the luxury of enjoying a healthy life span of a few thousand years or so. Why is it I who is cheated?
“I need your help, Tezerenee. You know him better than I, and I think you have the ingenuity that will enable you to follow him wherever he has taken her.”
The warlock shifted, knowing he looked more like a bundle of cloth than a man. He did not care. The cloak and hood allowed him to withdraw from the world for a time. His few visitors also tended to believe that his appearance was designed to unsettle them. “You might explain a little what that statement is supposed to mean to me.�
��
Dru sighed, trying to remain calm. “Barakas has Sharissa. I’m sure of it.”
Despite his best efforts, Gerrod could not prevent himself from jerking to attention. “What do you mean? Does he think he can hold her in his private little kingdom? My sire has always been mad, but not stupid! What’s happened? Is it civil war at last?”
His visitor waved him to silence. “Let me… let me explain better.” Dru visibly collected his thoughts. “At some point probably three days ago, Sharissa and Darkhorse vanished.…” He shook his head. “You don’t know of Dark-horse, do you? I suppose I have to explain him—”
“I know him. Continue on.”
A puzzled look flashed across Dru’s visage, vanishing the instant he resumed his tale. “They disappeared. No one noticed until the next day. I should have, but Sharissa often lost herself in projects lasting through the night. As for Darkhorse, the pocket universe supporting Sirvak Dragoth seems to dull my perceptions of his presence. It wasn’t until I left the citadel and returned to this world that I noticed his absence. Soon after, people began asking about Sharissa. I found she had ridden out of the city in this direction—”
“She visited me. That was how I knew of your Darkhorse.” Gerrod mouthed the words with care, not wanting Sharissa’s father to know just how upset he was becoming. The sorcerer might then wonder why this Tezerenee would be so torn over his daughter’s disappearance. They were known to be friends, of course, but still…
“She returned from that visit. I found that out later on. After questioning a few more trustworthy souls, I learned she was last known to be at work in her chambers. Someone said I should look for a man named Bethken, who had evidently sought Sharissa out for some reason, but I couldn’t find him. His quarters were empty. Anything he could have carried was gone.”
“You think he’s under my father’s protection.”
Dru took a deep breath. Gerrod knew that the worst was yet to come, and he had to admire the elder Zeree’s ability to remain coherent throughout what must surely be an ordeal of the greatest magnitude for him. “I journeyed to the eastern sector of the city, not wanting to believe the patriarch would do something so foolish, but rumors, substantial ones, kept insisting otherwise.” The sorcerer shook his head. “I’ll not go over what I discovered concerning Darkhorse, save that I think he fell to your clan also. His disappearance… total disappearance….”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 74
