Act!
The thought was overwhelming, not that the frantic Tezerenee needed much urging. He was already thinking that the chamber itself was a certain sign of the progress he had made—progress that should have been immediately brought to the attention of his hosts. Turning back to the controlling crystals, Gerrod fumbled with them.
He heard the Quel stir behind him, hooting a warning that the Vraad paid no attention to. Gerrod fought desperately for domination of his hands; they strived to move in unfamiliar patterns, as if they, not he, knew what was best.
The Quel was not armed, which gave Gerrod a few more precious seconds, but the moment the huge, armadillolike beast was within arm’s reach, the warlock was dead and both of them were quite aware of that notion.
Hearing the heavy footfalls, the snarling Vraad relinquished his claim on his own hands and let them play across the pulsating gems.
The chamber grew blindingly brilliant again. Gerrod, prepared for either this or death from the neck-shattering blow caused by a Quel arm, closed his eyes.
A shrill, jagged shriek tore at his eardrums.
When the light faded and he still found himself among the living, the Vraad cautiously opened his eyes.
He was in a cavern, but not the crystalline one.
Stunned, he spun in a circle and scanned his surroundings with fish eyes. This was no image conveyed by a fantastic magical array of crystals; this was a very real and very familiar cavern. The one, in fact, where Sharissa awaited rescue.
Where is she, then? he asked himself, knowing better than to speak out or make any other sort of noise that would attract his former clan. And what do I do when I find her? Fight the combined talents of my father, brothers, sisters, cousins, and every gifted outsider they’ve dragged along?
It had, Gerrod discovered in horror, never truly occurred to him that he might actually arrive at this point. To be certain, he had assumed he would, but other than materializing, grabbing Sharissa Zeree from those who guarded her, and whisking the slim, beautiful sorceress away, the warlock had never given any consideration to a workable plan. Now, this close, he needed one desperately.
A dim light from a crack in the cavern ceiling kept him from standing in total darkness, but Gerrod decided to risk things further by supplying himself with illumination of his own. A spell of such insignificance, even though it was of Vraad sorcery in origin, could hardly affect him, could it?
He refused to consider the matter and flicked his fingers. A tiny blue flame burst into life in his palm. Despite its size, its light spread far enough to let him see more clearly what might lurk nearby. Gerrod took in his surroundings again, grateful that there appeared to be no horrific change. The cavern walls were still filled with shadows, but nothing capable of hiding some monstrous subterranean creature. The satisfied Vraad began walking around searching for a direction in which to travel.
What he found first was the Quel leader—what remained of him.
A rise had hidden him from view, but, now revealed, he was a ghastly reminder to Gerrod of what sorcery could do to those careless or accidentally caught at the fringe.
Even in the tiny blue light, the back of the Quel glittered, a tiny celestial map of twinkling stars. The shell was the only part of the earth dweller that had not been brutally ravaged by the ruler’s unexpected passage. Gerrod turned away briefly at the sight of the head, a spreading wreckage of metal and flesh. One of the Quel’s arms had been torn off and scattered somewhere out of sight. The legs were twisted over the shell as those of a rag doll might have been but not any way in which a creature with bones would have liked to experience.
Bits of rope still remained, causing the warlock to wonder what the other Quel might be thinking.
“I’d like to say I’m sorry about the sudden departure and its cost to you,” he muttered at the tattered corpse. “But the truth is that I’m not.” The pale Vraad contemplated the remains before him and added, “It could have been quicker and less disgusting, I suppose.”
Seeing the Quel had altered something within Gerrod. He had been reminded of his own mortality once too often in the past fifteen years. Not only did he face death from his present course of action, but every use of Vraad power tore at both him and the land within which he was forced to abide. Why exactly the Quel had suffered such a fate and he had not only added to his fears. How could he hope to save Sharissa when he did not even know how to save himself?
The hooded Tezerenee tried to convince himself it was only nervousness that played on his emotions, but the attempt to calm himself failed.
I can show you the way to safety… for yourself and those you care for… I can give you… life… forever…
“But—”
I brought you forth from the underworld of the Quel and guided your hands when the critical moment came. I urged you forward when you might have slipped back and failed. Yessss… I am your savior more than thrice over.
The voice in his mind, with its impelling, hypnotic tone, could not be denied this time. It was not a remnant from the legions of the whisperers, whose tale he still did not understand, nor was it his overtaxed imagination. No, this was someone who spoke to his innermost self, who sought to offer guidance that he only now realized he needed in order to preserve himself.
If you would have these things I offer you, then follow my path downward.
“Path?” he asked, though it was a certainty that his newfound companion hardly needed to hear him to know his mind.
My path… the invisible being said.
A cavern passage that Gerrod could not recall seeing earlier stood before him—no more than fifty feet from him, in fact. The tunnel was illuminated, but not by gemstones in the wall or ceiling, as the Quel had designed them, but from a narrow path in the very center of the passage floor. The warlock peered down the cavern tunnel and saw that it continued on out of sight… but not before the passage itself sank downward.
“What about Sharissa? What about the one I came for?”
All will be yours… if you follow my path…
Was there a hint of childlike eagerness in the voice’s tone? Gerrod found he did not care. The offer was too inviting, too perfect in its timing, for him to resist very much. He stepped toward the tunnel.
Extinguish the light.
“The light?” He glanced at the blue flame floating before him. “My light?” Your light… yesss… only then… yesss, that is the way of things… only then can you follow my path.
It seemed such a small, insignificant thing to ask that Gerrod merely shrugged acquiescence and closed his hand into a fist. The blue light winked away.
Now… follow.
He did, not noticing the time as he moved deeper and deeper into the depths of the cavern system. The path was always there before him, glowing with willingness to guide him. Sharissa always remained in his mind, but as something he more and more came to believe he could only achieve with the aid of that which awaited him at the end of his journey. That the notion grew the more he listened to the smooth words of the voice did not occur to him.
Time at last seemed to pull at him, slow him down. Gerrod had lost track of how many turns he had made and whether they had been to the left or the right. That he was ever descending was the only certainty he knew.
A little more… just a little more.
He came at last to the mouth of a cavern. The glimmering path faded to nothing just beyond. From where Gerrod paused, no more than five paces from that maw, he could see nothing but darkness. Pure darkness, as if light had no place being here.
You came across such darkness before, the voice, so very confident now, reminded him. Beyond that darkness was the light of the chamber that brought your release from your captors. You recall that, don’t you?
The parallels between this cavern and the crystal one were not lost upon Gerrod. Steeling himself, he walked the last few steps and passed through into the cavern.
It was still as black as Darkhorse’s
body—and almost as unnerving.
“Where are you?”
Here.
Ahead of him, the warlock caught a glimmer of something moving, something that glowed in flashes, as if not all there. It had a vague shape, somewhat animalistic in nature, but which animal Gerrod found it impossible to say. More than one, perhaps.
“Who… what are you?”
I am… your guidance.
Not quite the answer that the Tezerenee was looking for, but he certainly could not argue with his peculiar benefactor, especially whenever the comforting tones of the creature washed away his uncertainties.
As they were now. Your kin will not find you here. Their senses will not reach. You are safe.
“Shar—”
She is well. They are confused. I have played a game with them. Your friend has been very useful in that, for the ideas come from her memories.
Again, there was shifting in the darkness. Two burning coals that might have been eyes flared at the cloaked and hooded human, then vanished again.
“This would be the time to strike, to—”
Soon. Things have not yet been played to their completion. Very soon, now, however.
Gerrod hoped so. As much as he appreciated the assistance of this fantastic being, something kept nagging at him, pushing him toward flight. Why? Here, he was safe from his father.
Yesss… safe here from everyone.
The warlock shifted. He disliked having his thoughts so easily taken. It reminded him too much of the Quel.
No! roared the voice. Let your mind stay open! Do not shield it! The sheer force that struck the Vraad nearly toppled him. He stumbled back, wrapping his protective cloak tighter around his body.
Possibly realizing that it had overstepped itself, the creature in the dark returned to the smoother, calming tones with which Gerrod was more comfortable. It is essential for your protection that you do not block me from your thoughts. I will not be able to aid you should you be assaulted unless I can be with you at all times. You understand that, don’t you?
It should not have made that much sense, but, for some reason, it did. Nodding, the warlock relaxed a bit. He was still concerned over many things, however.
“What will we do? How do you plan to rescue Sharissa?”
When the time comes, she herself will aid us. There will be confusion and fear among the armored ones. Trust that they will have too many other things to consider to keep their full attention on your female.
Sharissa Zeree was not his woman, but he could not bring himself to argue the fact, not when there were so many more immediate considerations with which to deal. “The Tezerenee are not weak; their combined might allowed them to cross a vast sea by magic alone. The dragon totem might be only a symbol, but it very well represents my father. He is the dragon, in many respects.”
His words only brought low, mocking laughter from the darksome dweller. Once more, there was a flash of burning eyes and the barely visible outline of some great beast. Each time, the being looked different, as if it experimented with its appearance, seeking the most fearful and imposing.
He is the dragon, as you say… and more so than either you or he or any of his people think! The laughter rose briefly again. Much more so!
Standing alone in the pitch-black chamber, his spectral companion still chuckling, a spark of reason pushed Gerrod to wondering if perhaps he had been better off with the Quel after all.
XVII
“WATCH HER!” BARAKAS roared to Reegan, his temper, for the moment, completely out of control. The patriarch turned on his own people. “Why do you stand around? Find the elf! Tezerenee blood is on his hands!” Nothing was mentioned concerning the elven blood on the clan’s hands, which might have given Faunon a good reason for anything he did to the dragon men.
“Do you want him alive?” Lochivan, his head turned away from his father, asked in his peculiar voice. To Sharissa, it seemed he was finding great interest in the stalactites or anything else other than the Lord Tezerenee.
The patriarch, too, did not even look at his son. The two of them might have been talking to other people. “Not necessarily.”
Sharissa leaned forward, her anger held back only by Reegan’s strong hands and the ever-present box that Lochivan presently carried. “Barakas! Don’t do—”
“Take this.” Lord Barakas pulled out a small object from a belt pouch. It looked like a small crystal to the struggling sorceress, but one that had been constructed, not formed by natural means. “Use it if you trap him in a chamber with no exit other than where you stand. Make certain that there is nothing of value in there first.”
Bowing his head, Lochivan took the sinister artifact. Barakas retrieved the box at the same time, securing it in one arm. He looked thoughtfully at the still form of Darkhorse, who met the gaze of the patriarch with his own baleful eyes. Sharissa still could not see how anyone, even the patriarch, could meet those ice-blue orbs and not turn away.
“And do you want me to deal with yet another irritation to you, dragon-lord?” Darkhorse dared to bellow. “It appears I must do all the work here! Of what use, then, are all these toy soldiers of yours?”
The barb struck as true as if a mortal blow from a sword. Barakas jerked back and quickly glared away any rebellious thoughts by his people. He was perspiring, something that Sharissa had rarely noticed him doing. Each time an event went awry, a little part of him seemed to vanish. The gray that she had noticed in his hair seemed to be spreading, too, now that she took a closer look.
The others are suffering from some rash, but he suffers from aging! the Vraad sorceress marveled. He fears he’s losing control!
Many of the Tezerenee had already departed, and the patriarch’s last look had sent most of the rest running. Lochivan had been one of the quickest to depart. Only a handful of warriors, Reegan included, remained.
“You must be taught respect again, I see,” the clan master whispered, his voice cold. He reached for the box.
Darkhorse shivered at first, then his eyes narrowed as he steeled himself for the patriarch’s worst. “The one who truly needs to learn respect is you, lord drake!”
“You’ve not tasted all that this can do, demon. I think the time has come to truly reprimand you!”
“No, you won’t!” Sharissa focused on the patriarch and willed her power to the forefront.
The skin and armor of Lord Barakas crackled and wrinkled, but only a moment. He looked down at what she was doing to his form and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, the devastation to his body dwindled. The cracked skin healed itself and the armor resealed. His eyes were death as he looked up at her.
“Dragon’s oath, Sharissa!” Reegan muttered in her ear. He attached something cold and numbing to her throat. Sharissa felt as if a part of her had been torn away and knew that she had wasted her one chance to utilize her abilities. The Tezerenee had again nullified her. “You shouldn’t have done that, not at all! He let you wander loose only because he had other spells handy to keep you under control! Didn’t you ever wonder?”
She had not, and that might be proving fatal now.
“After I have punished this errant monstrosity, Lady Sharissa, I fear I will have to teach you your manners, also! I will regret that, but it will be necessary.”
He touched the box and turned expectantly to Darkhorse.
The shadow steed quivered, awaiting the pain. When he realized that nothing had happened, that he was apparently free of the box, he laughed loud. “Ohh, I have waited for this, dragonlord!”
He leaped at the startled patriarch.
For all his speed, the eternal could not reach the patriarch in time. Sharissa, struggling anew with a distraught Reegan, watched as Darkhorse slowed more and more the nearer he tried to get to his adversary. Barakas continued to draw swift patterns over the box, trying to regain some sort of control. At that moment, the best either could do was a stalemate.
A voice that sounded like Lochivan’s shouted, “Reegan, yo
u half-wit! Forget her and help Father!”
The heir apparent obeyed instantly, the Tezerenee code of serving the clan master—set down by Barakas himself, of course—enough impetus to sway him. He shoved Sharissa back toward a pair of guards standing near the ancient effigies and started forward. The sorceress doubted he even had any idea what he could do.
One of her new watchdogs reached out to take hold of her, but another armored figure caught her arm first. Both Sharissa and the warrior looked up into the helmed countenance of Lochivan.
“I’ll take the Lady Sharissa. Help get aid. We may need my brothers and sisters.”
The two guards obeyed without question, as they had been trained to do, but the young woman eyed her companion with growing suspicion. Lochivan was moving without the pain of a few minutes before and his voice was smooth, much the way it had always been before recent events. It was almost like standing next to a ghost image from the past.
“This way,” he urged.
“What are you—”
“Do not argue.”
They were walking into the midst of the towering statues, Lochivan looking as if he wanted no one to follow them. Sharissa wanted to ask where they were going, but then she lost all interest in that as something new demanded her attention.
The statues were pulsating. Not randomly, but like a massive heartbeat. The sorceress glanced at the human and inhuman visages, fully expecting to see the mouths open and the eyes blink. They did nothing of the kind, yet she knew that life did indeed reside within those forms and that it had been stirred to action by someone.
“This will be good enough.” Lochivan came to a halt in a region that Sharissa saw was approximately the center of the area surrounded by the effigies. He seemed to be waiting anxiously for something to happen.
Something was happening, but not what he wanted. The magics of the two combatants were illuminating the cavern chamber like flashing lights at a festival. Darkhorse and Barakas were still trapped in their stalemate, both powers aglow. Tezerenee surrounded them, all afraid that anything they did might accidentally throw the balance against their lord. Reegan wandered at the outer edge of the circle that had formed out of tense, armored bodies, and Lochivan, standing opposite him, was—
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 91
