Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  Pain and then total emptiness rocked her. The baffled sorceress screamed, knowing that what she had felt was death. With great effort, she forced the chilling sensation down and opened her eyes.

  The patriarch’s second force had engaged the avians, who were trying to both retreat and fight. Lochivan’s mount flew by, though she only got a glimpse of the Tezerenee himself. Of the Seeker who had been trying to communicate with her, she could see nothing.

  “He fell among the drakes yonder,” Faunon informed her, knowing who she sought. “There probably is not too much of him left.”

  His cold tone received a vicious glare from her. He stared back at her in defiance. “I saw that he was about to die. I have seen what has happened to those caught up in a linking of minds when one dies. Sometimes the survivor goes mad… or simply drops dead. That was why I was shouting at you!”

  “He was telling me… telling me…” Sharissa’s head swam.

  “Were you injured?” another voice asked, disturbing her recollection of what the avian had tried to warn her about.

  “No, Reegan, I was not.”

  “They’re trying to retreat,” the heir apparent informed her. Even though there was still combat going on, he no longer seemed to care. Sharissa was more important. Had it been Faunon or Gerrod, she would have been pleased by the attention. Not from this one, though. Never from Reegan.

  “They’re being slaughtered,” she corrected him with grimness.

  The attack had been, in the long run, a pathetic last gasp by the bird folk, and now they were paying dearly for it. Darkhorse was still out there, either killing them or—and she felt guilty for hoping it was the former and not the latter—dead from one of their spells. She did not care for what the Seekers were, but her brief contact with them had at least made them worthy of some respect. Knowing they could not hold back the invaders, one of them had tried to at least warn them of some threat.

  But what threat?

  Mountainsides were no longer safe for the avians. The airdrakes ferreted them out and, in many cases, tore them apart without any command issued by the rider. Some Seekers proved more fatalistic; Sharissa saw one female throw herself upon the nearest warrior, even though it meant exposing her undefended back to the other. She died from a drake’s slash, but not before her own talons took out the throat of her opponent.

  Barakas was coordinating the reorganization of the column, leaving the bulk of the fighting to those in the air.

  “They must have been desperate to pull such a stupid stunt as this,” Reegan added. “I expected more from them.” He laughed for no reason that Sharissa found humorous.

  Faunon shook his head. “They were desperate, yes, but never stupid. Not the bird folk. If they did this for any reason,”—he looked at Sharissa—“we will know about it before long.”

  “What’s that?” The patriarch was riding over to them. There was blood on his armor from some encounter. He was in a jovial mood, as if something he had feared lost had been found again. Sharissa noted he was breathing heavier than she would have thought. The battle, as short as it had been, had taken more out of Lord Barakas than she suspected he thought.

  This was her chance. As much as she yearned to study the treasures left behind by the founders and those who had followed them, the desire was far outweighed by the knowledge that the caverns also held an apparent evil that frightened even the once-mighty Seekers. It had, if she understood the images thrust upon her by the dead avian, brought about the downfall of their empire.

  “Barakas, this is our last chance to turn back. If you would just listen—”

  “Turn back?” The clan master was flush with enthusiasm now, which possibly meant that he had not been as confident as he had pretended to be prior to the attack. “I should say not! We’ve eliminated what little threat remained to us! There will be no more Ivors now, no more hidden threats!”

  “But there’s something in the caverns that—”

  “The elf’s tale again? I thought better of you, believing nonsense like that… or perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you’re just trying to spread fear, as he tried.”

  “I saw one of the damned birds try to attack her, Father,” Reegan offered. “It’s likely shock or some nightmare cast by the beast before it was skewered.”

  Barakas found that acceptable, stilling any further argument from Sharissa with a wave of his hand. “I’ll hear no more of it, then.”

  The two captives looked at one another. Faunon gave her a brief, bittersweet smile. The sorceress bit her lip, but knew the cause was lost for now, if not forever.

  The Lord Tezerenee had already forgotten her. He turned his eyes skyward, where two drakes were descending upon the group. One was the creature Lochivan utilized, a mottled monster larger than any of the rest by almost half. The other likely belonged to whoever had been placed in charge of the secondary force.

  “Ahh, here they are!”

  Remaining seated, Lochivan saluted his sire. “Was it satisfactory, Father?”

  “Most.” Barakas scanned the region once more, as if afraid he had missed something important the previous times he had looked around. “And still plenty of daylight with which to work.”

  The newcomer to the expedition scratched at his neck until a glare from his lord made him pause. “As you predicted, Father, the demon made a perfect signal. We could hear and see his battles from where we waited.”

  “Did you doubt it, Wensel?” One hand touched the box. “It might be a good time to call him back, I think.”

  Lochivan was squirming in his saddle. Sharissa was certain that he, like Wensel, wanted desperately to scratch, but knew better than to do so in the presence of Barakas. Possibly because he sought to keep his mind off the itching, Lochivan asked, “What are your orders, sire?”

  The box was forgotten for the moment. “I want the entire force ready in a quarter hour, save for those needed to flush out the few surviving birds. I want us moving on immediately after that time limit has expired! Do you understand me?”

  Once more Sharissa would have liked to attempt to convince Barakas of the danger awaiting them, but once more she knew that he would not listen, that her warnings would only fuel his desire to be there sooner.

  Faunon whispered, “Courage. This is something we must go through now. If they are going, it is better that we do, too.”

  “Separate those two,” the patriarch commanded, pointing at Sharissa and the elf. “His words have been twisting her resolve. Until I say otherwise, they will remain separated. Lochivan, I give you charge of the elf. Reegan, you protect the Lady Sharissa.”

  “Yes, Father!” The heir smiled at Sharissa, who turned away only to find her eyes resting on Kivan Grath.

  Barakas followed her gaze. “Yes, there it is. So very near now.” He turned his mount toward the north and the mountain, but not before adding, “With any luck, my lady, we will be camping at the foot of that mountain this very evening! Maybe even the outermost caverns, if the sun holds true!”

  “Why not fly there now?” Reegan asked. “There’s nothing to fear.”

  “And no more reason to hurry. This is our world now, Reegan. We have all the time we could ask for in which to explore its treasures and shape it to our tastes.” Barakas studied the sun. “Which does not mean we shall dawdle here any longer. You have your tasks; be about them. Reegan, you and the Lady Sharissa will come with me.”

  “My lady?” As the heir apparent urged his mount next to hers, Sharissa could not help thinking of the Seekers, who had once ruled this domain and were, in so many ways Barakas could not see, similar to the Tezerenee. They, like the patriarch, had probably once thought that time was their servant, not their enemy.

  The avians’ empire had lasted centuries, perhaps even millennia. Now, riding again toward the towering Kivan Grath, the place of the Seekers’ folly, Sharissa wondered if Barakas’ empire would even last out tomorrow.

  XV

  LIKE THE TOOTHY maw of some great petr
ified beast, Sharissa thought as she stood near the base of Kivan Grath and stared up into the cavern mouth that was their goal. To some, like Reegan, it still seemed foolish to camp at the foot of the mountain when they could be exploring the cavern. To the captive sorceress, it was foolish to be anywhere near here in the first place. That she had even for a time looked forward to exploring this ancient place and the artifacts within, shamed her. If nothing else, it had detracted from the goal she should have been striving for—namely, escape for herself and her companions.

  They had returned Faunon to his wagon prison. As for Darkhorse, he was still free of the box—a promise Sharissa had been surprised to see Barakas keep—but he was carefully monitored by the Tezerenee. The patriarch had allowed her to speak with the shadow steed for a few minutes after their arrival here, but no more. Darkhorse, usually vocal, had become more and more reticent. He did not like being used, especially for the tasks set for him by Lord Barakas.

  The eternal’s assault in the northern mountains had been the signal by which the other Tezerenee force had known when to attack. Barakas had not said so, but it was clear that, while he could have used Darkhorse in the battle—something that might have saved some of the lives of his own followers—he did not completely trust his hold on the ebony stallion. That in itself encour-aged the young sorceress, for where there were uncertainties, there was the potential for exploitation.

  But what? She had to be careful. Barakas was, in many ways, an unpredictable quantity. Much of what he did, as he had admitted, was for effect, not merely for success. If a plan of his own design meant a few more lives but misdirected the efforts of his adversaries, the Lord Tezerenee was willing to live with those extra costs.

  And, for some horrible, inexplicable reason, so were his people, the very ones he was willing to sacrifice.

  To her right, the warrior whose task it was to watch her this evening straightened to attention. Sharissa did not even have to turn to know who it was. Barakas would have summoned her to him, not come to speak to her. Reegan had already been to see her, evidently in a pitiful attempt to renew his bid for her hand—as if they needed her approval for that. Of the remaining Tezerenee, only one other bothered with her.

  “Is there a specific reason you wanted to see me, Lochivan?”

  He chuckled, and his voice rasped as he spoke. “You always amuse me, Sharissa.”

  She did not look at him, preferring now the haunting image of the darkened caverns above. They were little more than dark patches in areas not quite as dark, but it was enough. Anything, so long as it and not Lochivan occupied her eyes. “Did you want something?”

  “Only a few moments of your time.” The tall Tezerenee was directly behind her now. For some reason, she found his nearby presence even more chilling than of late. It was not merely because of his betrayal, but some growing change in the patriarch’s son himself. “First, your elf is well. I saw no reason to press him on any questions tonight. Thanks to you, he has been very cooperative.”

  “I’m glad… for his sake… but I wish you’d stop referring to him as my elf.”

  Lochivan shifted so that he now stood near her right shoulder. She could hear his breathing, a slow, scratchy sound that made her wonder if he was suffering from the altitude a little. Even ignoring the mountains, the land itself was well above sea level. One or two Tezerenee were already suffering some altitude sickness. Overall, however, it was not proving to be a problem; most of the dragon clan had grown accustomed to altitude from countless time spent riding airdrakes.

  “He is your elf. I see it, and I know Reegan sees it. In fact, he wanted to speak to the elf a short time ago. Did he speak to you, by any chance?”

  “Reegan was here.”

  “And by your tone, he was rejected again. Tread carefully, Sharissa. Each day of life for your friend is a bonus at this point. My brother would be willing to risk father’s ire if it meant disposing of a rival… even if it’s one who has no hope, anyway.”

  She did not know which part of his comment troubled her more, the threat to Faunon’s life or the fact that Lochivan saw how close the two captives were growing to one another. Perhaps it was even the personal interest he had in the situation. His tone was not that of an outsider looking in but rather someone who had a personal stake in the results and not merely because Reegan was his brother. Sharissa recalled his earlier words.

  “And would you be willing to risk the patriarch’s ire, too? Does Faunon have something to fear from you?”

  His hand briefly stroked her arm, causing her to tremble. The guard, of course, would be blind to all this, or else Lochivan would have never dared touch someone his father had chosen for the heir. “I am his—your—only hope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His breathing had been gradually growing worse, more harsh and rasping. “It isss… is growing late. Good night, Sharissssa.”

  “Lochivan?” She turned, but he was already walking away. Any thought that his departure was due to what he had hinted to her vanished as the sorceress saw him clutch his sides. His breathing had worsened even more in the few seconds since. Sharissa took a step toward him, wanting to help the Tezerenee lord despite her personal feelings.

  The guard blocked her path. “Lord Lochivan desires privacy, my lady.”

  “He’s ill!”

  “A passing fever, Lady Sharissa.” The guard, a woman, stared through the young Zeree.

  “Did he tell you that? I don’t recall him having the chance to do so.”

  “No, my lady. I make my own judgments. I’ve seen similar of late. Besides, if the Lord Lochivan wanted aid, he would have requested it.” The Tezerenee sentry’s voice was mechanical; she had been trained well by her masters. If they chose not to speak of their ills, she would defend that decision to her utmost.

  Lochivan was already lost in the darkness. Sharissa sighed at yet another example of clan obstinance and infuriation. If she lived among them for the rest of her days—a horrid thought that!—she would never understand them.

  “It’s getting late, my lady. You should be rested for tomorrow,” the guard suggested pointedly.

  She nodded, knowing that sleep would be something long in coming under the watchful eyes of Kivan Grath. Taking one last look at the leviathan that both invited and repelled her, Sharissa gave the warrior woman leave to lead her back to the rest of the camp.

  The wind was picking up. To her ears, it began to sound like a mournful wail—possibly a lament for those foolish enough to believe they were going to be able to make the mountain’s secrets their own without a greater cost.

  THE MORNING CAME both too soon and yet not soon enough. The light of day lessened some of the uneasiness that Sharissa felt, but, as she had expected, her night had been one of tossing and turning. From the looks of the Tezerenee, who had already preceded her in rising, she was not the only one who had slept troubled. A surliness had spread throughout the camp. Many of the Tezerenee were also scratching at their throats, chests, and limbs, a sign that the rash was still running rampant. The sorceress was thankful that what with her close involvement with the dragon clan she had not contracted whatever it was that affected them. How long would her luck last, however?

  Her latest guard, yet another woman, brought her some food. Simple fare even by Tezerenee standards. Food was the least of the expedition’s interests this morning; most of the Tezerenee were visibly impatient to be about the task of invading the ancients’ lair and seeing just what it was they had been fighting for. By the time she was finished, the Tezerenee were already organizing themselves for the short climb and what they hoped would be a treasure trove of power and riches.

  Riches. For all he sought greater and greater power, Barakas was not one to turn down any jewels and such that might have accumulated over the millennia.

  A warrior arrived shortly after her meal. He knelt as if her rank actually meant anything to his masters and said, “Mistress, your presence is requested by our lord ru
ler. Now, if possible.”

  If possible? she thought wryly. If Barakas was requesting her presence, he expected her to comply, not dawdle, and everyone knew that. Still, Sharissa decided she would set her own pace this time. Rising slowly, she asked the kneeling warrior, “Does he say what it is he wants me for? Is it urgent?”

  “He indicated that you would be among those beside him when he entered the caverns in glorious triumph.”

  Of course. It would be a gesture of his so-called respect for her and a strictly symbolic gesture. The sorceress smoothed her clothing, taking special care to draw out the simple action for twice as long as necessary. By the time she was finished, the warrior had dared to look up, wondering, no doubt, what was taking this outsider so long to obey the patriarch. Sharissa gave him a regal smile and indicated he had permission to rise. He did so, but with jerking movements that revealed some of his annoyance. Like so many Tezerenee, he and her guards were never certain how she was supposed to be treated. A prisoner this one might be, but she was also a respected guest of the clan master.

  It was a predicament that probably required more thought than they were used to. Sharissa kept her amusement hidden as she followed the newcomer and her own guard to the patriarch.

  From a distance, she located both Darkhorse and Faunon. The latter, spellbound, sat atop a winged drake. His visage was that of one who is resigned to death and merely wishes to know the time it will occur. When he turned and saw Sharissa, however, he was able to give her a brief, tired smile. She smiled back, but her heart grew heavy.

  Darkhorse was more of a distant blot, but she sensed as well as saw the eternal. The huge, ebony stallion paced back and forth as if confined to a corral, although the eagle-eyed sorceress could perceive nothing. Sharissa tried to contact him through subtle manipulation of her power, but a wall of blankness stopped her efforts each time. She might be free from her magical bonds, but the other two were not. As long as they were slaves to the clan’s power, she would be unable to contact much less help them through sorcerous means. The patriarch had planned well, completely separating the three most troublesome elements of his band from one another.