“I… fear that I have almost exhausted my… myself. My being. The drag-onlord… was… not lacking in his… his enthusiasm when he punished me!” He eyed Barakas, who stared at the trees without seeing them. “I cannot say I regret his present circumstances! I would wish him worse, but I know you would not care for such hate!”
“I can understand your bitterness, Darkhorse. Don’t think I can’t.”
“Perhaps. That does not matter now. Give me but a moment and I will send you on the final leg of your journey.” The ebony stallion slowly rose, and his form solidified a bit.
She was not certain she understood. “Where are you sending us?”
He snorted. “Where else? Home to your father and his mate!”
“But…” Her eyes met Faunon’s. “But what about you?”
“What about me?” the elf asked, moving closer. In the background, she saw Gerrod turn in open disgust.
“Can you make it back to your people?”
“If I was going there.” He gave her a weary smile. “I thought I was going with you.”
It was what she wanted to hear, but she still could not accept his decision.
“You probably won’t be able to return here! The ocean voyage is deadly!”
“I have no reason to return, Sharissa. The elders were hardly even interested in my expedition. As far as they were concerned, this was the latest in a series of new masters of the land, nothing unusual. They agreed to our going more because they knew we would go anyway than because they really cared.” He cut off any further objections with a long kiss.
Sharissa reluctantly broke away. “Then there’s nothing holding us back. Darkhorse can—”
Gerrod, buried so deep in his cloak that his features were almost indistinguishable, interrupted. “I have a boon to ask of you, Sharissa.”
“What?” Now that it had been decided that they were all leaving, she wanted to be done with the spell. To see her father and stepmother… to live a peaceful existence, at least for a time…
“Take care of my father. In his present state, he is useless to all, even himself. Someone needs to watch over him.”
“And what about you, Vraad?” Faunon asked, turning a critical eye on the warlock. “Where will you be that you cannot care for him?”
“Here. I am not going with you.”
Even the elf was stunned by the answer. Sharissa took a step toward Gerrod, but he retreated a like distance. Finally, she was able to ask, “But why? Why would you want to stay here?”
The sorceress had no way of knowing if he looked her in the eye or not, so dark were the shadows summoned up by the deep hood. “My interests lie here. My studies and such. Besides, my presence will only be a further strain on the powers of the demon horse.” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant where Sharissa could see by his very posture he was the opposite. “I have nothing I need return to.”
Knowing Gerrod as she did, Sharissa understood the futility of trying to argue him out of his decision. Yet, she tried to come to him again, wanting to at least bid him a proper farewell and thank him for all he had suffered for her sake. The warlock would have none of her thanks, though. When she took another step, he shook his head.
“No time! He grows weaker and weaker, and all of us should be gone before the dragons or something else finds us.”
At mention of him, Darkhorse steadied himself. He did not look at the hooded Tezerenee, but rather at those who were going.
“Where will you go, Gerrod?” Sharissa asked, wanting, at the very least, that much from him.
He would not give her that satisfaction, only saying to her, “I have an idea.” The warlock raised a hand in farewell. “Good luck to you, Sharissa. I shall always remember you and your father.”
“The time has come!” the eternal announced. “This will be our only chance, so prepare yourselves!”
Sharissa slipped her hand into Faunon’s and drew the silent Barakas to them with her other. She met the elf’s smile with one of her own, but then turned to stare at Gerrod one last time.
The warlock was already gone.
“Ger—” she started.
The world winked out of existence—and winked back in the next moment.
“We are here,” announced a very weary voice. “I’m sorry. This is the best I can do.”
“Where are we?” Sharissa did not recognize the region, but there were many parts of the other continent, too many parts, that she had no knowledge of.
Faunon looked up. “The sun has shifted greatly. More than a third of a day.” His tone spoke of his admiration for the eternal’s efforts. “We have traveled quite a distance!”
“This… this is the continent on which… on which your folk make their colony, Sharissa. I regret that I… I could not bring you there, but it is probably for the best. I have no desire to see them again.” He rose, his very form wavering in the light wind. “Now it is time for me to take my leave.”
“Not you too!” Was she to lose everyone now that she was almost home?
“I am sorry to leave you in these straits, but I am at my end. I must go, Sharissa.” The shadow steed dipped his head in his equivalent of a bow. “I must replenish myself, and that cannot be done in your world.”
“When will you be back?”
He almost did not answer, but, seeing her face, the eternal gave in. “Not, I think, in your lifetime. Not even in the lifetimes of your grandchildren, I suspect.”
Suddenly, the woods seemed a very dismal and dark place. “Father will be upset with you. You only just came back into his life.”
A stentorian sigh. “I will miss both of you. Give him my gratitude for his teaching and his friendship. I will treasure them both as I mend myself.”
“Will you return?”
“Someday. Good-bye.”
Sharissa blinked. Darkhorse was no longer there. She felt a sudden urgency and quickly reached for Faunon. “You won’t leave me now, will you?”
“Hardly. They would have to drag me away fighting.”
The Vraad sorceress restudied the lands around them, frowning. “I still don’t know where we are.” The wind blew her hair in her face. She pushed it aside and added, “We could be on the far side of the continent.”
Faunon squinted to the west. “There is a hill that stands out among the others in that direction. If we climb it, we should be able to see for mile upon mile.”
“Climb it?” Sharissa did not feel up to breathing, much less climbing.
“Walk to it and climb it. Both a must, I regret to say, my Vraad, unless you have the will and strength to teleport us there. I think my own reserves a little doubtful at the moment.”
Her heart was willing, but that was hardly sufficient. Sharissa shielded her eyes and studied the descending sun. As much as she wanted to be home, there were other things to consider—their helpless companion, for one. Barakas was even now simply standing and staring at his gauntleted hands—which were still covered in the blood of the transformed Lady Alcia.
That settled it for her. “I have a better idea. I think it best if perhaps we stayed here, rested the night, and proceeded in the morning. We can’t be very close to the colony or else I would have sensed something. Tomorrow, we’ll both be better. Besides,”—she indicated the patriarch. As he stared at his bloody fists, he continued to mumble his nearly incomprehensible litany. The sorceress wondered how long he would remain that way—“I’ve got to help him wash away that blood, if only for my sanity!”
Faunon accepted her judgment and volunteered to find wood for a fire and food for their much-abused stomachs. He pulled out the crystal that Gerrod had given to him. “Do you still have yours?”
“I do. I cupped it when the spell failed. I couldn’t bear facing Gerrod if I lost a second one.” Now she would never have to worry about that. The somber warlock was far, far away and would likely never return. She considered their present location. “There must be water around somewhere. That’s what we should look
for first.”
They were in luck. A small stream lay only a short distance from where Darkhorse had brought them. It was little more than a thin trickle, but even that seemed overwhelming to the suddenly thirsty duo. Even Barakas found interest in drinking. Sharissa had hoped that the cool water would snap the patriarch back to his senses, but he merely wiped his mouth and sat down by the stream. The former clan master had not even removed his gloves, so detached was he from everything.
Some sun still remained. Faunon disappeared into the forest, moving with the speed and quiet Sharissa had always imagined his kind capable of. She, meanwhile, started the task of helping Lord Barakas clean his armor. Had anyone told her that she would someday be doing this, the tall woman would have laughed. Now, it seemed like the correct thing to do. The patriarch was little more than a baby at present.
Her efforts were more or less wasted. The blood had already stained and dried on his clothing. She was, at best, able to lessen the horrifying effect of his appearance, but anyone taking a closer look would see the telltale stain on the armor. Tomorrow, when her will was stronger, she would use sorcery to eliminate what remained.
Barakas noted her efforts in an almost casual manner, occasionally breaking from his mutterings, which now sounded like “Prrr…” and “Tze…,” and telling her, “They won’t come out. The blood’s seeped to my skin. It will never come out.”
After she had given up, he returned to his same somnambulant state. Sharissa finally brought him over to a tree and let him sit there with his back against the trunk. She then turned to attending to her own needs.
Darkness was now fast approaching, and Faunon was still not back. Sharissa understood how difficult his task might be, but she still began to worry. Even knowing she was here on the other continent, the sorceress feared that the night would somehow separate her from her last and most important companion. Barakas, in his present state, did not even count. She was alone, for all it mattered. Trying not to think of that, the Vraad began picking up fallen branches with which she could start a fire. Sharissa thought of creating one without wood, but even that effort seemed too much. Besides, she had always prided herself on not depending on her abilities when simple physical work was sufficient. To be any other way went against what her father had taught her.
At sundown, Faunon returned. He had wood to add to that which Sharissa had gathered from the nearby area and, most important, berries and a rabbit. She was thankful that he knew how to prepare it; the thought of having to cope with that after trying to wash the blood from Barakas almost made her ill.
The meal was sparse, but sufficient for their present needs. Sharissa gave the patriarch an equal share, which disappeared into his mouth in quick time. She had removed his helm, and so during the meal it proved impossible not to keep searching his face for some response, but the only thing he did when not muttering was screw his face up in thought again. She wondered what it was he was thinking about. There was a desperation in his eyes, that much she could see.
After the meal, they chose to retire. Faunon volunteered the first watch, assuring her that, as an elf, he could rest while still remaining conscious of what was around them. When she gave him a threatening look, he promised that he would wake her when her time came. Sharissa did not want him trying to take on the entire task by himself. Faunon was as worn as she was.
Sharissa fell asleep almost before her head even touched the ground. The dream began in that same instant. It was a chaotic chase of sorts, with the weary sorceress trying to keep ahead of a dark, loathsome thing of mist that stared at her with a thousand eyes. She escaped her horrific pursuer only to walk into the open maw of a great dragon with Gerrod’s head upon it. Sharissa turned and fled from this monstrosity, only to hear the vicious laughter of the renegade guardian.
The chase went on and on, monsters and memories mixing in haphazard fashion.
When she jerked away, her first thoughts were of the relief of being freed of the endless cycle. Then she realized what had woken her and wondered whether or not the dreams might have been preferable.
“Nooooo! I am Tezerenee! Tezerenee is power!”
Faunon was already up and running toward the patriarch, who knelt against the tree and held himself so tight that Sharissa wondered if he thought he was going to come apart. His shouts became less and less coherent, reducing to the clan name and “power.”
Sharissa moved to his side and tried to get through to him. “Barakas! Listen to me! There’s nothing wrong! You’re safe here!” It occurred to her that he might be physically injured, but in the chaos no one had looked beyond his outward appearance. “Lord Barakas! What ails you? Tell me and I might be able to help!”
“Tezerenee… Powerrr…”
“I think he might be calming,” suggested Faunon. Barakas seemed to be slipping back into his catatonic state. She hated to see that, but it was better than his wild manner. The patriarch was strong enough to injure both of them.
The worried sorceress leaned closer. “Barakas?”
His movements were lightning, even against those of Faunon. Barakas shoved the two of them aside and, with an animalistic roar, ran for the deepest part of the forest.
“Stop him!” Sharissa cried.
“Too late,” her companion muttered, but he tried regardless. The two of them followed the dragonlord’s trail, trying to listen for the heavy footfalls that should have been so evident in the silence of night. Yet, the patriarch was as silent as a specter and faster, it seemed, than even the elf.
They gave up the chase only a few minutes later, forced to admit they could not even find his trail. For the elf, a creature of the woods, this was especially exasperating.
“It’s as if he floated off or simply vanished! I should be able find some trace!”
“Could he… could he have become like Lochivan?”
“Could we have missed a dragon?” he responded. “Better yet, could a dragon have missed us?”
She tried to scan the area, but the trees blocked what little light the moons were willing to give them. “He seemed frightened of something!”
“Likely he was reliving his disasters. That would be enough to shake anyone. He might even have been dreaming of the death of his mate.”
Tzee …
“Did you hear something?” she asked.
“Nothing. I am too worn to even listen. I am sorry, Sharissa, I truly am. If I could find his trail, I would keep going. The only thing I can say is that we could come back here in the morning and see if a trail reveals its secrets to us.”
Where might Barakas be by then? Faunon was correct, though. They stood no chance of finding the patriarch. She doubted the light would change things. Barakas was gone. Gone forever, the final victim, Sharissa hoped, of his ambition to create an empire.
The irony was, his legacy was an empire—and of the very creature he had raised up as the symbol of his clan.
They returned to their encampment and settled down again. Sleep was not so soon in coming this time, but when it did, Sharissa was thankful to find it deep and dreamless.
TZEE…
It was difficult to breathe. Sharissa rolled over, trying to ease the constriction in her lungs.
Tzee….
She thought it was a dream at first, but then it occurred to her that if it was, she should not have been thinking so. She should have been enmeshed in it.
TZEE…
Rolling onto her back, Sharissa opened her eyes.
Her nightmare stared back at her.
She screamed, and was not ashamed that she did. Anyone would have screamed at the dark, cloudy mass atop her, a mass from which countless eyes peered at her. A sound kept echoing in her head, a sound that originated, the terrified sorceress was certain, from the horror above her.
It was the scream that sent it fleeing. She heard Faunon’s voice as he shouted to her and watched in fear and amazement as the unnerving mass rose swiftly and fled into the deep woods. The elf chased after
it, but it moved with the grace and daring of the fastest hawks and was gone even before he took a dozen steps.
All the while, Sharissa heard the same nonsensical sound in her head. Tzee… Tzee… The sound did not die away until long after the nightmare was over.
“Sharissa! Rheena, I will never forgive myself for being so stubborn! I broke my vow and tried to take the entire night’s watch! It… that thing… must have come just after I dozed off!”
The sun was just rising, but the Vraad barely noticed it. Though the creature, whatever it was, had fled, she could not help feeling that they were still not alone, that someone else was still watching them.
“I have never seen anything like that!” the elf exclaimed, holding her as much for his comfort as he was for hers. “It made a sound in my head—”
“‘Tzee,’” she said. “It kept repeating ‘Tzee.’”
“That was it!”
“Tezerenee?” Sharissa whispered to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She cared not to think about it any longer. The possibility unnerved her more than the dragons had. She rose from the ground, allowing Faunon to aid her. There was still something not right. “Faunon, do you sense anything?”
His eyes narrowed, and he glanced about the area. “I had not given it much thought, not with that thing around, but… could it be it has not left after all?”
That might be the answer, but Sharissa could not accept it. This was something she had felt before, a familiar presence or presences. Not the guardians, but…
Stepping away from Faunon, the sorceress faced the seemingly empty woods. “Very well! You’ve been polite! You’ve not shocked me! I know you’re there now, so you might as well come out!”
“Who are you—” The elf forgot his question as several figures slowly emerged from the trees. There was no place they could have been hiding. One moment they had not been there, the next they were. A dozen at least, all wearing the same long, cowled robes and moving with the symmetry that only they could accomplish. One might have thought they were all of one single mind.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 99
