“We’ve told you the truth about everything, Father!” Gerrod insisted.
To the surprise of all, Lord Barakas smiled. “And I am certain that you have! If so, then the danger is past! You said yourself that the renegade fled from the Dragon of the Depths! He has saved us again!”
Sharissa grimaced. This was not going the way it should. “Have you forgotten what the Dragon of the Depths said? There is no guarantee that this is over or that something worse is not yet to come!”
He indicated the corpse. “The first of those appeared the day you vanished; the last, three days later. There have been none since, and I would say there will be none again!” Looking down at the remains of what had once been one of his subjects, the patriarch added, “Someone drag that away and bury it. Let him and the others be remembered with honor, victims of a foe now fled!”
“Typical!”
“What was that, Gerrod?”
“Nothing, Father! Only that you’ve not changed! I prayed that, at least for mother’s sake, you might have!”
“Alcia!” All triumph faded from the clan master’s rough-hewn visage. “The citadel!”
“Citadel?” Gerrod looked at Sharissa for clarification.
“Your father forced Darkhorse to help him build a glorious citadel to the south of here.” She pointed at the box that Lochivan carried. The bitterness could not be held back. “That is Darkhorse’s reward for his efforts, his prison!”
“My mother and the others are not here?”
“Alcia.” Barakas raised his hands above his head. “I sent a message announcing our imminent entrance into the caverns, but… nothing since then! They won’t have known! I must go to her and see!”
He stood there for several seconds, his eyes closed. The room was filled with a sense of expectation. Sharissa was the first to wonder why the patriarch still stood where he was when it was obvious he had intended to teleport to his lady.
That thought had also occurred to Barakas, for he lowered his hands and stared at her in wonder. “The power! I had it! Now… there is still some, but I cannot summon sufficient for the task!”
“You won’t find that power at your beck and call anymore!” It was Faunon who spoke, to the surprise of Sharissa. At a nod from Barakas, the guards released their hold. He purposely joined Sharissa and put an arm around her waist. She was a bit shocked at first, but found almost immediately afterward that she wanted him there.
“We are the only spellcasters here now, and our strength is not sufficient at this time to be of any aid.”
“Step away from her!” Reegan bellowed. He drew his sword and started toward the couple.
“Reegan!” The voice born to command froze the heir in place. Barakas then added, “Continue, elf! What great revelation have you to make?”
“Sharissa probably knows,” Faunon said, “but I spoke up without thinking, so it’s my duty to tell you.”
“Then be on with it, before I decide to let my eldest further denigrate himself!”
“Father—”
“Silence!”
Sharissa caught the barest hint of a smile on the elf’s lips before he spoke. “The tales of our ancestors speak enough about the way of Vraad sorcery for me to recognize it. The sorcerous stench is enough to make me wish I had no ability to sense its presence. She also spoke of it during our time together—how it had suddenly returned to you.”
“My link!” Gerrod looked at Faunon with a mixture of surprise and respect.
“When one makes a hole, things tend to leak out.”
“The Dragon of the Depths resealed the barrier, made it stronger,” Sharissa finished. “You’re back to the way it was before.”
Crystalline eyes narrowed. “You will take me there! One or both of you!”
Faunon snorted. “Even if I desired to, Vraad, neither of us has the strength, not after what we’ve been through. I am not even certain if it is safe to do so. My folk have lived here for far longer than you, and we have stories—”
“More blasted tales!”
“We have stories,” he continued, relishing his role even though Sharissa could see that he understood the risks of pushing the patriarch too far, “about the times when the land is woken… as it has been by the renegade guardian.”
“And what do thossse ssstoriesss sssay?” Lochivan asked. He had the box in both hands now, as if he intended to present it to Sharissa. Had Darkhorse known the Tezerenee was manipulating him? Had the eternal nearly sacrificed himself in order that Sharissa might be free? She hoped there would come time for the answers. She hoped there would come time for Darkhorse.
“That those who bring notice to themselves in such turbulent times may find they will soon not know themselves. That is what they say.”
“Reegan,” Barakas began, a fierce anger spreading across his features. “If the elf will not speak plainly on his next attempt, you have my permission to put him to the sword.”
“Faunon,” Sharissa warned.
He took her hand with his free one. “You remember what the second guardian said, that we could control the change. It’s been so in the past. When the land is awake, there is wild sorcery. Those who make too much use of their power become more malleable, more sensitive to… change.”
Barakas studied the ancient cavern. In a quieter voice he said, “I had decided to make this the citadel from where I would coordinate the rule of this land, a fitting choice since it would have been within the domain of my heir.” Sharissa was interested to see that Reegan did not seem too pleased with that decision. He had hoped for a kingdom of his own, not one in which he would have little more status than before. The patriarch did not seem to care. “It seems it will have to wait a while, but it will be mine! Reegan! Attend me!”
Erasing the bitter cast, the heir apparent came to his father’s side. “Sire?”
“You will remain here and continue efforts to ready this place. Be alert.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I also want the swiftest drakes readied for travel. Two dozen—no, one dozen! No more than necessary!” The patriarch turned to the trio. “You three will accompany me!” He waved off all protests, including one from Reegan, who hardly cared for the thought of Sharissa being taken away from him. Focusing on the sorceress, Barakas continued, “If I thought I could trust you, I would have those bands removed. As it is, they will remain around your throats. Do not think to remove them without my permission; you will find that they can bite!”
Sharissa started to speak, to say that this was something they all had to be concerned about, but she knew that the clan master would never believe she would ride willingly with him.
Lord Barakas Tezerenee looked around at his people. “Well? What are you standing around here for? There is much to do!”
The dragon warriors scattered, save for those few whose task it was to either protect their master or await further commands that might arise. Reegan remained, although Lochivan and the box, much to Sharissa’s distress, had vanished. The hurried expedition to the Tezerenee citadel would only take her farther from the eternal.
“We will leave within the hour,” the lord of the Tezerenee announced to his prisoners, “and ride until the drakes can run no more. We will sleep until they are sufficiently rested and then ride until exhaustion takes them again.”
“And what of us?” Gerrod asked. “We are already worn out… as you must be.”
“We are Tezerenee, Gerrod. The name Tezerenee is power, in case you have forgotten. We will endure what we must for the sake of the others! These two”—he indicated Sharissa and Faunon—“will just have to struggle along.”
The warlock snorted, muttering something about speeches and beliefs, but his father had already turned away.
ALTHOUGH THEY WERE not given much opportunity for rest, the patriarch was true to his word when he had said that they would be leaving within the hour, the three did receive some food. Their lost days had wreaked havoc with their inner clocks, though
, so the meal was first eaten in hesitation. Only when food began to warm her did Sharissa feel the pangs of hunger. From then on, she ate in eagerness, noting that her companions did the same.
Sentries watched them to make certain no one fiddled with the collars. Barakas had warned them of the danger of doing so, but evidently knew that here were three who could most definitely be trusted to try escape at some point. They would need their full abilities to do so.
They sat where they had been standing earlier, no one apparently having thought seats a necessity in this place. Only the patriarch’s throne—where they had gotten that monstrosity, she could not guess—resembled anything designed for sitting, and that looked much too uncomfortable for most people. It was the type of throne she would expect from Barakas, a thing that required patience and stubbornness to endure.
For the brief time remaining, the sorceress concentrated on the stone leviathans mere yards away. Even with her powers muted again, something that seemed to be a habit of late, she could sense the life stirring within them. Why no one else did was beyond her. Faunon did look up now and then as he ate, almost as if he noticed something from time to time but could not place it. Was she that much more in tune with this world than they were? Sharissa had accepted her new home without question, marveling in the natural beauty that she, too young, had never known in Nimth. Perhaps that was one reason that she had learned to manipulate the binding forces of the world as none of the others had yet.
That did not explain why the powers within the effigies were growing greater in intensity with each passing minute.
What would happen when the land truly awoke? Was this the first sign?
Her thoughts died as Barakas returned to the central chamber. He still limped, but concern for his bride and his fledgling empire was making him ignore all but the worst pain. Reegan trailed behind him, looking like a hatchling drake that had been reprimanded by its mother. No doubt he had been trying, without success, to convince his father to either leave her here or let him journey with them.
The patriarch nodded to her. “You have been properly fed, Lady Sharissa?”
He seemed to use a title only when he wanted something, she realized. Steadying herself, she replied, “Fair enough for now. We could still use some rest.”
“When you are with us long enough you will learn to sleep while your steed keeps going.”
“I hope not to be with you long enough for that.”
Barakas gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Honesty. It is a commendable trait, albeit a useless one right now.”
“Father—”
“Silence, Reegan. You have duties, if I recall. Perform them as is fit for the future clan master… the future emperor.”
The hulking Tezerenee glanced longingly at Sharissa, who made a point of not looking his way. Dejected, Reegan saluted his father and departed.
For one of the few times in her recent memory, the patriarch removed his helm. Sharissa was shocked to see that the gray in his hair was spreading. There were grooves in his face that only time and weariness could have carved. It reminded her somewhat of Gerrod’s visage after his near catastrophe with Vraad sorcery down in the mad guardian’s cavern.
Lord Barakas Tezerenee was not getting old; he was old.
“He will be emperor before long,” the patriarch assured them. He met his estranged son’s gaze and saw the emotion in there. “Yes, I am growing old at last. The dragonlord is nearing his end. Probably a few more decades and nothing else.”
“At least you have lived all those millennia,” the warlock returned. He indicated his own face. “There will be lines on this face soon enough. This world likes to kill those who will not bow to it.”
The armored monarch cocked his head to one side as he studied Gerrod. Then, smiling a mocking smile, he shook his head and turned his attention back to Sharissa. “I have something I want of you.”
“I’m hardly surprised.”
“Hear me out. If you aid me, I will no longer pressure for a marriage between you and my eldest. You and the elf can go off wherever you please.”
“Everyone always wants to throw us together,” Faunon commented. Food, even this food, had done much to restore his humor, even if he and the others were still prisoners.
He was ignored by the clan elder. “Well?”
“You haven’t told me what you want of me.”
Gerrod leaned forward before his father could speak and warned, “Be careful of any promise made! Even oaths can be broken!”
“There will be no breaking of oaths!” Barakas seemed ready to kick his son back in place, but possibly knew how it would make him look to the sorceress. “This concerns your family, especially your mother and siblings!”
The warlock tried to pretend he did not care, but Sharissa already knew that, despite his abandoning the ways of his father, Gerrod had no desire to see his former folk come to harm.
“What is it you want?” she asked, in part trying to turn the patriarch’s focus away from his son. Each time it turned there, the chamber grew noticeably colder.
He scratched his throat, but, unlike so many of the other Tezerenee, Barakas no longer suffered from the rash. “I want your cooperation—and theirs—for the time needed to ascertain what may or may not have befallen those at the citadel—and especially the Lady Alcia.”
It was a bit of a rambling answer, but the thrust of it moved her as she thought not possible. Barakas might be her adversary, but his concern for his bride outweighed even his drive for power.
“I will swear by the spirit of the drake that you will gain your releases when I am satisfied that we face no threat. Well?”
“All of us?”
“All of you.”
She studied him for several seconds, organizing her thoughts. There was one more thing Sharissa wanted of him, and now was the only moment she had a chance of getting it. If she let this pass… “Darkhorse must be included.”
His altering expression almost made her regret her demand, but she could not leave the shadow steed under his control.
“You want the demon?” He struggled to regain composure and succeeded—in part. “Take him! Even with our sorcery reduced, we will prevail!”
“Then you have my cooperation.” Her words were said in a simple and straightforward fashion.
Her quiet response made him halt his tirade. Barakas took a deep breath before saying, “My gratitude, Lady Sharissa. You will find I will keep my word in this, despite my sons and their opinions otherwise.”
Meaning Gerrod and Reegan, she thought.
“Now that it is settled,” the patriarch continued, “I may tell you that the drakes are ready for us. Guards!”
In quick order, they were brought to their feet and marched through the cavern until they came to the entrance that Sharissa and the Tezerenee had entered by almost a week ago. To her surprise, the patriarch bypassed several powerful flying drakes and started down the side of the mountain to where the wingless riding drakes awaited.
“We’re not going by air?”
Gerrod, who understood the workings of his clan better than did his companions, explained. “It is Father’s evident opinion that we would be too conspicuous from the sky. Besides, for the speed of this journey, travel by land will be swifter. An airdrake must rest more often, especially if it is carrying someone.”
“That explains our relatively slow pace coming here,” Faunon suggested. “He wanted time for his second force to reach here and be rested.”
Aside from their guards, a handful of other Tezerenee were supposed to accompany them. Sharissa was surprised but relieved to see that Lochivan was one of them and that he still carried the box with him.
Barakas noticed his ill offspring. “Who told you to be here?”
“I mussst redeem myssself.”
The patriarch looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted all the eyes around him to be looking anywhere else but at him and Lochivan. “Your illness…”
“I wi
ll keep it under control,” the tall figure said in his strange voice. He did his best to allow no one else to see his face, possibly because he was so ravaged it would have disgusted some of his folk.
“I wonder…” Gerrod muttered.
“You wonder what?” she asked.
He turned, not having realized that he had spoken out loud. “Nothing. Just a thought.”
The conversation between the patriarch and Lochivan grew muted. After a short exchange, Barakas finally nodded. It was difficult to read Lochivan by his movements, but he seemed very relieved.
“We’ve lost much of the day already,” Barakas said to the others. “Please mount up.”
They obeyed. When everyone was ready, the patriarch turned in his saddle and faced those of his people who would remain here. One of the Tezerenee held high a staff upon which the banner of the clan waved in the wind. Under the fluttering flag, the rest of the warriors, Reegan included, knelt.
“I shall return shortly. We have defeated threats both physical and magical, and this cavern, this natural citadel, will be the base from which an empire spanning this entire continent will be ruled. I have designated kingdoms for each of my most loyal sons,”—Barakas did not even glance in Lochivan’s direction—“and my eldest, Reegan, will co-rule here until my death, when he becomes emperor. Thirteen kingdoms and, within those, twenty-five dukedoms for those deserving!”
“Another grand and glorious speech,” Gerrod whispered in sour humor to Sharissa.
The patriarch did not hear him—or chose not to. “We have been separated from our people, and there is concern for their safety! In my mind, there is little to fear, but it behooves me to ride there in person! Once I have satisfied myself that things are in order, I shall return with more of our brethren and we shall began the true process of making this land ours!” He stared at Kivan Grath, as if it represented the entire continent. “We will shape this domain to our will!”
Barakas folded his arms, the signal that his speech was at an end. The Tezerenee rose and cheered as they were supposed to. Reegan unsheathed his sword and raised it in salute.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 94
