It is his own doing. He should have never sought what we had barred from this world.
“I don’t care about that! Can you help him?”
I could. Guardians, it seemed, shared many of the same faults.
She looked up at the ceiling, ignoring the loose rocks as she shouted, “Please!”
For the daughter of Dru Zeree.
Gerrod groaned. His eyes opened. Sharissa, looking down, saw that he was as she had always known him. His strength had been returned to him with as much effort as she would have used in taking a single breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?” the warlock asked, thinking she talked to him.
I have spared you where I should have punished your impudence, Gerrod of the Tezerenee.
“You!” The warlock rolled to his feet, ready to take on what he imagined was his opponent of before.
Your link to the dead world is no more. I have reconstructed the barriers, made them far stronger than you could ever be. Also, as I told Sharissa Zeree, I am not the renegade. If you prefer, your own people gave me a name, however irrelevant it is. Let me appear to you as I did to them.
The cavern was tested by yet another tremor, albeit a much more subdued one than those prior. Where the ground had split open, gas drifted skyward. The cavern grew warmer and, to their dismay, molten earth began to spew forth.
Have no fear for your lives.
Rock, loosened by the series of quakes, broke from the ceiling. Sharissa looked up, saw one above Faunon’s head slip free, and started to shout a warning. Before she could do so, however, the fragment, as if moving of its own accord, ceased its downward motion and flew toward the growing eruption, where it was joined by more of its kind.
More rock and molten earth gathered. A shape formed, only a vague parody at first, but more and more distinct with each passing second. Sharissa was thankful the cavern was so huge; the thing before them nearly touched the ceiling itself. Fragments kept breaking off as it expanded, but nothing came within even a few feet of the trio, much less the ground itself. The fragments would return to the leviathan and merely help strengthen some other portion of its body.
When the great wings stretched, impossible wings of stone and magma that refused to obey gravity’s dictates, Sharissa was almost certain that she knew who and what stood before them.
They were all on their feet now, worn but unharmed. The sorceress frowned at the massive unliving creature, trying to keep in mind that this was merely a shell the guardian had made and nothing more. “The Dragon of the Depths?”
That is it.
Faunon was beside her. It felt good to have him near, especially after facing such chaos. He leaned close, as if whispering would not be heard by a thing that could read their minds at will, and asked, “You know this one, too?”
“He—it—can be trusted.” I hope so, she added to herself. To the new guardian, she asked, “How did you come to be here? The other one was certain it had protected itself from the danger of discovery.”
The mock dragon dipped its head. The indifference gave way to a touch of embarrassment. Most of the guardians, the great familiars of the ancients, had little in the way of separate personalities. Only a few, such as the two they had met this day, could be called individuals. It was not the outcast we sought. What drew us here was the warlock here.
“Me?” Gerrod withdrew to the confines of his cloak, giving him the appearance of a living shroud.
Somehow, the guardian made the eyes narrow, though they were only bits of stone surrounding glowing balls of fiery earth. We did not sense the renegade, for it had shielded itself well, but, with so much of its power already in demand, it could not sufficiently shield the presence of so much Nimthian sorcery.
“Then Gerrod actually did you a service,” Sharissa interjected, fearing that the warlock might still face some punishment.
The dragon head withdrew. Not by choice… but because of the magnitude of the outcast’s crime, the warlock is forgiven… for now.
Glancing at Gerrod, the sorceress’s relief gave way to renewed worry. From what she could read in his stance and his shadowed features, the patriarch’s son was not defeated. He would attempt, someday, to reestablish his link.
My time grows short, and there is much to do. I will take you from here and place you where you must be.
She was not certain she understood what the guardian meant, but decided to trust its judgment. It had befriended her father, after all. Instead, she asked, “What became of the outcast?”
That one has evaded us for the moment… but it will eventually be taught the folly of its ways.
Knowing how time meant little to these virtually immortal creatures, Sharissa wondered what damage the renegade would cause before that. She decided not to ask.
“And my clan? What about them?” The warlock walked closer, defying the entity who had stripped him of so much power. “What about the insanity your counterpart plotted for them?”
The long hesitation stirred the curiosity of all three. The Dragon of the Depths seemed to be considering its response carefully, as if even it was uncertain it cared for the answer. Sharissa walked over to where Gerrod stood and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, not even looking her way. More hurt than she cared to consider, the young woman returned to Faunon, who tried to smile in sympathy but failed.
The land will do what it chooses to do, and I will abide by that decision.
“That is no answer!” the angry Tezerenee shouted.
It is the only answer. It is the sum of my existence. If the land finds some use in the renegade’s actions, which will still not excuse that one, then the experiment will follow that new path. If not, the land, not I, will choose to reverse what was done.
“But the renegade interfered with the experiment! If what it said was true, it even dared to subdue the mind of the land!”
All true and all irrelevant now. Before their eyes, the mock dragon began to crumble. A wing collapsed and the lower jaw dropped to the cavern floor and shattered. Despite the din, the voice was still very clear in their minds. The land will decide… but you have a choice in the matter. I tell this to you, Sharissa Zeree, because of the respect with which I hold your progenitor. Whatever changes are wrought upon your kind, those who fight them will only succumb that much more harshly. You have a choice in how you are adapted to this world. The elf is proof of that. His kind have remained more or less untouched.
The three stumbled back as the body collapsed and the magma receded down the hole it had spewed forth from.
And now, I will take you to where you must be.
“What do you mean ‘must be’?” Faunon, who had stayed silent most of the time, shouted at the last moment. Understanding his sudden worry, Sharissa would have lent her voice to his—but the cavern and the guardian had vanished and they were now elsewhere.
“Well,” came a familiar voice, one that hinted at no sleep for days and terrible stress suffered during those waking hours. Any arrogance was little more than mockery now. “Welcome back… and you, too, my son.”
Elsewhere was the main cavern that Sharissa and Faunon had been plucked away from by the mad guardian. The voice belonged to the patriarch, who sat upon a high-backed throne now standing atop the dais and looked down at the three stunned gifts that had been placed before him.
XVIII
“IMUST ADMIT that I had not thought to see you—any of you—again since your escape, what is it, five days ago?”
“Five days?” Faunon leaned his head toward Sharissa’s. “We were not down there more than an hour!”
“So we thought, but the first guardian hinted that we might have been talking longer than it appeared. Who can say what they’re capable of? That means the damage could only be worse if—”
“I would appreciate it,” the patriarch interrupted. He straightened. His armor was covered in dust and—she squinted—blood? “Yes, I would appreciate it if you would recall who it is you
face. I am, after all, lord of this domain.”
“This sounds very familiar,” Gerrod muttered. His father, possibly understanding what he said, focused on him. The warlock retreated into his cloak.
“You. For all that you have disappointed me, I am pleased to see you. I suspect, however, that you have not come here because you seek admittance into the clan again.”
Gerrod shook his head. Some of the Tezerenee present stirred at that. Sharissa, scanning the cavern, thought that there were less of them than she recalled from last time. Many of them were wounded, too. What had happened since her untimely departure?
“Reegan.” At Lord Barakas’s summons, the heir separated from the others and hurried up the steps. The patriarch gave him a hand. Reegan took hold and aided his father in rising. “Nonetheless, I am still pleased to see you, if only because I might require your intuitive skills.”
“What happened here, Father? Is everyone… is everyone the same?”
“An interesting way to put it. I might find it even more interesting to find out where you have been that you would ask such a thing.” With Reegan’s aid, he traversed the steps, stopping when he was at the bottom. “For now, however, I think it would be best if I told you what has happened. We’ve been busy of late.”
As the patriarch began, Sharissa looked around for Lochivan. There was no sign of him, and she wondered whether it was his blood that stained the Lord Tezerenee. Also missing was the infernal box prison. “Where’s—”
Barakas snapped his fingers. Guards belatedly surrounded the trio. Gaunt-leted hands stumbled to attach small collars to the necks of each. There was a bit of a struggle as Gerrod fought to keep his hood on. When it was at last down, he looked at the others as if expecting horror. Sharissa realized he did not know what the Dragon of the Depths had done for him. Knowing that despite his status he was still one of their lord’s offspring, the guards replaced the hood when they were finished.
The patriarch shook his head at the warrior’s obvious inefficiency. “Things are falling apart… and if you speak before I allow it, I will have them silence you. You don’t want that, Lady Sharissa. None of us is in a very pleasant mood.” To his clan in general, he commanded, “Bring forth one of the changelings!”
There was some scurrying, and a pause in which Barakas took time to steady himself. He became aware of Sharissa’s questing eyes and quietly said, “All in good time, my lady. All in good time.”
At that moment, the ranks of disheveled warriors gave way to four others carrying a bundle the size of a body. Gerrod took a step forward, but the patriarch shook his head. The newcomers waited, fascinated to be sure, but also prepared for the worst.
They were not disappointed. Sharissa had been waiting for this and was not surprised at what rolled out of the blanket that the Tezerenee lowered to the floor before them. Faunon nodded his head; he had also expected this. Only Gerrod was truly taken aback.
“What sort of abomination is that?”
“It was a cousin of yours once,” the clan master informed him. “There were seven others besides this one. It took us all this time to hunt them down, and more than twice as many warriors to kill them.”
The corpse was of a creature resembling the unfortunate Ivor as he had been those few moments Sharissa had confronted him, only this one was even more reptilian than that hapless soul. The shape was not even quite humanoid anymore, but almost truly like that of a drake.
“It looks like a Draka,” Faunon commented.
“Draka?” Reegan asked.
“They have many names, many of which sound similar. Some think they ruled here long before the avians and the Quel. They serve—served—the bird folk. Of late, they’ve grown far more savage than they should be.”
“I’ve seen them. Unimportant.” Pulling himself free, the patriarch limped over to the disconcerting body. “This was one of my people, not some monster! I want to know what happened and who was responsible!” He gave the elf a long, appraising look. “Perhaps I should have had Lochivan question you more thoroughly.”
Sharissa could not hold back. “Where is Lochivan now?”
“He is ill… and it is he who watches the demon’s prison.” That was all he would say on the subject, although she was certain there was more he was not telling.
Gerrod pulled free of his guards and, despite his father’s warning, moved closer to examine his former cousin. He touched the leathery skin and removed some of the tattered bits of armor that still hung to the corpse. From what Sharissa could see from her vantage point, the shapeshifting Tezerenee had torn part of his armor off and literally burst through the rest. How much pain had that entailed? How much pain did the transformation itself entail?
The guards moved to bring the warlock under control, but Lord Barakas suddenly waved them back. To his estranged son, he said, “I will want to know how you come to be on this continent later, but for now I would appreciate whatever you can read from this… this horror.”
He received no response, but that was Gerrod’s way. The hooded Tezerenee probed for a moment or two longer and then looked up in the direction of, but not exactly at, his progenitor. “I’d like Sharissa to see this.”
Reegan whispered something to his father, but Barakas shook his head. He looked at the waiting Zeree. “Go to him, but be careful about what you say or do. There will be no second escape. Especially for your elf.”
In response to an unspoken command, one of Faunon’s guards put a knife to the elf’s throat. Sharissa gritted her teeth in order to keep from saying something that her captor would hardly appreciate. Escape was hardly one of her concerns at this time; she lacked the strength for anything so strenuous as that.
Joining Gerrod, she inspected the corpse. As she expected, he wanted to do the talking.
“This is what I’ve feared all these years—this and the fact that we are aging far more quickly than we were prone to back in Nimth.”
“What are you mumbling?” Reegan asked, suspicious of anyone, it seemed, who was on better terms with Sharissa than he was. That included a vast number of people, as far as she was concerned.
Gerrod stared at his elder sibling with disdain. “I was wondering when the first of these appeared.”
“There was one during the journey here,” Sharissa offered. That first one had likely been one of the more magically sensitive Tezerenee. Or perhaps he had been a test for the outcast guardian, a way of assuring that what it sought to do was possible without killing the victim.
“There wasss another,” announced a hissing voice. From one of the passages, an armored figure that could only be Lochivan stumbled forward. Despite the patriarch’s claim that his son was ill, Lochivan wore full armor, even a full helm. He also carried the box, which was evidently making it difficult for him to maintain his balance, but he refused the aid of two warriors who came to his side.
“You are not supposed to be here,” Barakas told him. Nonetheless, he was visibly proud of the fact that Lochivan would not give in to whatever was affecting him. “You should be resting.”
“In thissss place? I heard the voicessss and came to sssee. Gerrod’s question, however, desservess asss complete an answer as possible if we are to deal with thisss matter.”
“When was the first one?” Gerrod acted as if he had never left the clan.
“During the first expedition. He killed another man before we could ssstop him. That wasss why I wasss ready for Ivor. I recognized the sssigns.”
Barakas looked a bit troubled. “You told me they died when one of the drakes went wild.”
Lochivan laughed, harsh and almost inhuman in his manner. He was now at the edge of the circle of nervous bodies surrounding the prisoners, the patriarch, and the poor, twisted form on the floor. “I thought the sssituation under control, even with Ivor’sss appearance. I thought I had made a pact that would sssave usss!”
“What are you talking about? You must be feverish!”
“He’s not.” Sharis
sa understood. Lochivan had known what was going to happen to her. That was what he had meant that one evening. He had made a pact that included her safety… so he supposed. In a sense he had been correct. Unfortunately, Lochivan had also been dealing with a being that chose to interpret the pact in whatever way suited it.
The patriarch turned on her. “What’s that you say?”
“Tell him, Sharissa!” Gerrod urged. “Tell him, or by the claws of the drake I’ll do so!”
She nodded. It would be best for them if the Tezerenee knew. It might even make them abandon this place as the Seekers had chosen to do. “We’ve met the one you made the pact with, Lochivan.” She paused to let that sink in. “I think what you’ve seen is its way of fulfilling that pact.”
“Impossible! I worked for the ssssurvival of the clan! These horrorsss are not what I desssired!”
“Ivor and the others were how the guardian thought your clan would best survive this land.”
“Stop right there!” Barakas roared. He pointed an accusing finger at the unsteady figure. “You will tell your tale later, and the truth had best be spoken!” The patriarch kicked at the rubble as he strode toward Sharissa and Gerrod, both of whom rose at his coming. “First, we will hear your story!”
Sharissa willingly related it. Gerrod and even Faunon also contributed, recalling as much as they could. All three were in unspoken agreement that if the Dragon of the Depths had dropped them here, it was to their interest to convince their captors of the urgency of their plight.
The Lord Tezerenee listened in silence, his only reaction to glance on occasion from one of his prisoners to another. The time difference interested him enough to provoke a question or two, but the rest was heard unhindered.
When Sharissa concluded with the second guardian’s decision to send the three here, Lochivan spoke up despite the threat of punishment from his father. “Their tale tells most of it… but I thought the scourge was the land’s doing, not this outcast abomination.”
“I am still not certain on that,” the patriarch said. “But that is neither here nor there.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 93
