The two feuding sorcerers glanced at each other with disquieting looks.
“See that these two finish their absurd duel once and for all.” It was not evident at first to whom the patriarch was speaking, for he still studied Dekkar and Silesti. Then, two riders remounted their reptilian steeds and rose into the sky. The two rivals began to protest, but a sharp glance from Barakas froze them where they stood.
Dru blinked, leaned over the rail of the balcony, and studied Dekkar and Silesti closer. Frozen, indeed. Neither sorcerer was moving, save to look around futilely for someone who would free them from the Lord Tezerenee’s spell. The dragons descended to points just above the heads of each hapless Vraad, raising dust storms that sent the throngs backing away, and, at a command from their riders, grasped Dekkar and Silesti in their forepaws.
The riders looked to their clan master for further orders. Barakas Tezerenee considered, then said, “Take them west. Do not come back until there is a victor… or until both of them are dead.”
With a renewed flapping of their huge wings, the dragons rose swiftly into the air. In seconds, they were mere dots in the sky to even the most skilled of observers. In less than a minute, they were out of sight.
Barakas scanned the remaining Vraad—who were still uncharacteristically silent—and finally said in the same tone of voice he had used to dispose of Silesti and Dekkar, “May the spirit of the coming be with you.”
Without another word, he turned, visibly dismissing the throng from his interest, and eyed the waiting Dru.
Dru inclined his head briefly toward the patriarch. “I came as you directed.”
In the next instant, the Lord Tezerenee was standing beside him. Sirvak, who had a distinct dislike for anything of draconian nature, let out a low hiss. Dru quieted him while Barakas looked on, a cold smile playing across his lips.
“It is only fitting that you should be here, Zeree. This is your doing as well as mine.”
The intended compliment did nothing for Dru, though he pretended to be honored. “The credit goes to you, Barakas. To you and your sons, Rendel and Gerrod.”
For the first time since he had arrived, the patriarch looked uncomfortable. Dru noted with particular interest his discomfort at the mention of those two sons. “Yes. Yes, they’ve done their parts. You laid the groundwork, though.”
Below, the other Vraad had returned to their other interests, Dekkar, Silesti, and even the watchful Tezerenee forgotten for the most part. Barakas laughed harshly.
“Weak fools! Children! If not for us they’d still be bemoaning their fate!” He took Dru by the arm. “Come! The tests draw near, Zeree. I want you to be there when the time comes.”
The world around them seemed to curl within itself.
When it had unfurled again, their surroundings had changed. They were now in a vast chamber in which nearly a dozen Tezerenee sat on the outline of a pentagram, one at each point and corner of the design. A single hooded figure sat quietly in the center, different from the rest by nature of the long cloak, scaled tunic, and high boots he wore. Wisps of ice-white hair dangled free of the encompassing hood, identifying him readily enough for Dru.
“Father.” Another Tezerenee, clad identically to the one in the center, knelt before the clan patriarch. Barakas deigned to put a hand on his son’s hooded head.
“Gerrod. Explain what occurs here.” Beneath the calm tones, there was an undercurrent of suspicion and the first traces of righteous fury.
Gerrod looked up. In contrast to most of the male members of the Tezerenee, he was handsome. Dark hair hung down slightly on an aristocratic visage that took greatly from his mother’s side. He was slim compared to such as Barakas or Reegan and hardly the warrior type. He and the still figure at the heart of the pentagram might have been twins, so much did they resemble each other. Yet, there were more than a thousand years separating their births. Twins they were, but in the soul, not the body.
“Rendel couldn’t wait, Father,” Gerrod informed Barakas, speaking with much more calmness than Dru thought he himself would have been able to muster.
“Couldn’t wait?” Suddenly it struck Dru what Gerrod was implying.
The younger Tezerenee inclined his head toward his father, shivering slightly as the patriarch’s grip on his head tightened. Barakas could crush his son’s skull like a piece of soft fruit if he so desired.
The Lord Tezerenee glanced imperiously at his companion. “Rendel, it seems, Zeree, has jumped the chasm. His ka is now over there—in the Dragonrealm.”
II
“THE WHAT?”
Stirred by the tensing of its master’s body, Sirvak opened its eyes and hissed. A small wyvern perched on a ledge returned the familiar’s angry sibilation and stretched its wings in challenge. Dru silenced Sirvak with a few whispered words while a single glare from the Lord Tezerenee quieted the wyvern.
Lord Barakas smiled, a feeble attempt, if it was one, to reassure Dru. “Forgive me, Zeree. We have come to call the realm beyond the veil the Dragonrealm. Since no one else has put forward a name for it, we thought this one would do just as well.”
We meaning you, Dru thought sourly. The patriarch of the Tezerenee, who had personally raised the dragon up as the symbol of his clan, knew he had the rest of the Vraad at a distinct and unique disadvantage. Each day, since the first discovery that another domain, unblighted, lay just beyond their own, Barakas Tezerenee had worked to ensure that it was he who commanded the situation. When the first mad attempts at crossing over physically had failed shamefully, Barakas had turned his talents to studying the works of his rivals. It was only because of Dru’s own experiments that he now shared in the successes of the clan. He had devised what had become the Vraad’s hope, the Vraad’s triumph.
It galled the rest of the race and made Dru careful as to whom he spoke with. Vraad were nothing if not vindictive.
A disturbed Dru, in an attempt to keep from commenting on the Tezerenee’s presumptions, studied the prone form of Rendel. The patriarch’s son might have been dead, so limp was his body. It was quite possible, in fact, that Rendel was dead, his ka trapped in some endless limbo. What the Tezerenee proposed to do was lofty, even by Vraad standards.
Which left another question, one that Barakas had, as yet, left even his “partner” in the dark concerning.
Of what use was transferring the ka of oneself if there was no suitable vessel awaiting it at the other end of the journey?
The Lord Tezerenee had promised success to his rivals and counterparts. Even he knew better than to fail in those promises. Failure would erode not only his standing with those outside of the clan, but with the rest of the Tezerenee themselves. He had trained them to be too much like himself and that, Dru Zeree had always thought, was the most dangerous mistake that Barakas had ever made.
As fearful as they were of their lord, enough Tezerenee banding against him would send even the overwhelming Barakas to the dragon spirit he so revered.
“Rendel’s… enthusiasm… is commendable.” With great effort, Barakas removed his hand from Gerrod’s head. Dru was certain he heard the younger Tezerenee exhale in relief, though that would have been considered a sign of weakness by Gerrod’s parent. The patriarch’s son rose and stepped quickly aside.
Walking at a measured pace, Barakas led Dru forward. The method of ka travel was his own idea, but one, in his mind, that he had always restricted to Nimth. After all, where else had there been to go besides the Vraad’s own world?
The realm behind the veil—the shrouded realm, as Dru had first called it—had altered the lives of the near ageless Vraad as nothing else had. The ghostly domain had flaunted its rolling hills and lushly forested lands in their faces as far as they were concerned because, quite simply, it could not be touched.
Some had immediately scoffed, claiming the trees and mountains that superimposed themselves on Nimth’s own battered and unstable landscape had been nothing more than a prankster’s illusion. No one laid claim to th
e supposed trick, however, and it soon became obvious that this was no mirage after all. With that, the Vraad began to study the place in earnest… as a second home.
When was the last time the sky was blue? Sharissa had asked her father once. Dru could not recall then as he could not recall now. Not in her lifetime, short as that had been so far. Of that he was certain. Nimth had started dying long ago. Its death was a slow, lingering one that might go on for millennia… save that long before then it would be unsuitable even for the Vraad.
Gerrod shadowed them every step of the way. There was more beneath that hood than either Barakas or even Rendel knew, Dru suspected. Gerrod observed everything with a cunning eye. He was keenly interested in what the outsider his father had brought with him had to say about the spells cast here, of that much Zeree was certain. Interested in a way that puzzled Dru, for it was almost as if the younger Tezerenee hoped to find fault with what he himself had helped create under the very nose of his lord and progenitor.
“Here it is, Dru Zeree. The missing link in your work and our salvation.”
Following the grand wave of the Lord Tezerenee’s arm, Dru gazed upon a body. He knew what it was, having created such beings before, but the size and scope of it made any initial comment superfluous. Under the waiting gazes of his two companions, he dared to reach out and touch the nearer arm. It was warm and very much living to the touch. Dru wanted to shrink back from it, but knew that only he would suffer from such a cowardly act. The Tezerenee neither respected nor worked with those they considered lacking in nerve. At this point in the alliance, such an action might have been tantamount to suicide on his part.
“A golem made of flesh,” Gerrod informed him needlessly.
Had it been standing rather than lying flat on a marble platform, it would have come to Dru’s chest. The same height as Sharissa. Zeree had no idea why that should come to mind now, save that he had already been away from her longer than he had planned. It was also for her sake that he had accepted the patriarch’s original offer. A solution, however insane, that saved her life was worth entering the domain of a horde of ravaging dragons like the Tezerenee. It was not a Vraadish notion, to be sure. Most elder Vraad would have gladly given up their offsprings’ lives to save their own hides.
“You may be wondering about its… incomplete construction,” Gerrod prodded in a more daring manner.
Dru grunted. Incomplete, indeed! A poor excuse of a golem, taken on face value… or rather on faceless value, seeing as how it lacked a visage of any sort. In fact, it was lacking in much more than merely features. There was no hair, no mark upon its person. Its hands and feet, he saw, were little more than stubs at the end of each appendage. The golem was neither male nor female, an asexual, living puppet.
As a Vraad over three thousand years old, Dru had seen far worse than this… yet the golem had some quality about it that made him want to shiver. Some difference beyond its visual deficiencies.
Then it struck him as to what it was he sensed.
“This was grown, not fashioned from bits and pieces.”
Gerrod’s eyes brightened. For the first time, Dru noted how crystalline they were. Barakas, meanwhile, smiled approvingly at the befuddled spellcaster. He indicated to Dru that he should continue with his guesswork.
The narrow Vraad did, forcing himself to touch the golem’s bare torso again. The skin had a peculiar leathery feel to it, almost like…
“Not Vraad after all.” He ran his finger along the arm, forgetting, in his dreaming, the dread he had been experiencing previously. What did he know that felt like this?
It came to him and the realization rekindled his dread of the gloom. “This has been spawned from a dragon!”
“You see, Gerrod, Master Zeree has a nimble mind. A mind worthy of a Tezerenee.”
The hooded figure bowed, his reaction, if any, totally shrouded by the cloak. Dru wondered if Barakas simply pretended not to notice or was so caught up in his belief in his control of the Tezerenee that Gerrod’s actions escaped him.
That was a question for another time. “This is to be the vessel for the ka.”
“Yes.” Barakas reached out and caressed the golem’s shoulder as one might a lover. “The golem has no ka, being neither dragon nor Vraad. It is a shell, open to possession, that has no true essence, no life of its own. The only thing it carries is the inherent magic of the dragon. Only a carefully structured spell gives it the appearance of life. A Vraad ka, entering, will find no resistance to its presence and take it over completely. The golem is malleable; it will become what the Vraad wants it to become.”
“A superior body for a new world,” Gerrod added, speaking as if by rote. He had evidently heard his progenitor preach this often.
The Lord Tezerenee nodded approval to his son. “So it will be.” His attention returned to his guest. “It will be a true combining of our soul with the magic of the dragon. Through that, the Vraad will be more than they could have ever hoped.”
Dru kept his expression indifferent, but, inside, the disturbing feeling was growing. It was more than just the golem now. The Vraad had a new world awaiting them, but it was one that Barakas Tezerenee was mapping out to his own desires. The anxious sorcerer looked down at the still form lying next to them and could no longer repress the shudder.
“Is something wrong, Zeree?”
Before he could respond, Gerrod spoke. “Father, Rendel will need some watching for the next hour. Despite earlier expectations, he is not yet in the Dragonrealm. We have judged the cross-over to be a slower and more tedious process than originally calculated and his body must be kept well during that extra time. If I have your permission, I would like to discuss with Master Zeree what opinions he has concerning our progress here and the possible difficulties we may not have foreseen… unless, of course, you have need of him still….”
The Lord Tezerenee’s gaze measured Dru. “I have no need of him now. What say you, Zeree?”
“I would be only too happy to add whatever I could to ensure the success of your spell.”
“Very good.” The patriarch reached up and took Sirvak’s beaked countenance in his hand. Dru could feel the familiar’s nervous breathing against his neck, but Sirvak, to its credit, did nothing otherwise during the span in which the large Vraad studied it. When Barakas finally released it, the creature carefully lowered its head and pretended to resume its napping.
“A splendid piece of workmanship. How would it fare, do you think, against a wyvern?”
“Sirvak has a certain skill in combat.” Dru purposely smiled as he looked at the beast and scratched its throat. “As for wyverns… he killed both of them in under a minute.”
The patriarch’s face darkened, but he kept his voice composed. “A splendid piece of work, as I said.” To his son, he commanded, “I am to be notified the moment something occurs. The exact moment.”
“Father.” Gerrod bowed, staying in the subservient position even after the Lord Tezerenee had vanished in a verdant cloud that threatened to spread throughout the chamber. Finally standing, the younger Tezerenee dispersed the greenish mist through an open window with a violent twist of his hand. He glanced at Dru. “He’s quite mad, Master Zeree, even more than the rest of us.” When there was no response, he added, “And we would have to be mad indeed to think of toppling him. Come take a look at this.”
With that last peculiar twist, Gerrod had turned toward the pentagram and those who maintained the spell. Dru followed silently, thinking about how much truth there was in his guide’s words.
“You have, of course, thought of the one difficulty with my father’s plan, haven’t you?” With his back turned to Dru, Gerrod looked like nothing more than a vast piece of cloth hung up to air out. His steps were surprisingly inaudible, a contrast to the heavy thuds that generally accompanied his armored relations.
Dru knew what the hooded figure was talking about. “Your golem is here; how will he get it to the Drag—How will he get it to the other
side?”
“It was my idea… mine and Rendel’s, that is. A matter of power, as Father would say. Power will always prevail if you have it in sufficient quantities.” A low laugh escaped the all-encompassing hood. “Father is such a philosopher.”
“And what was that idea?”
Gerrod turned and indicated the pentagram. At that moment, the smile on his face was all too much a copy of his father’s. “What one Vraad cannot do, perhaps more, acting in concert, can. A group like this is out in the middle of the phantom forest, sitting among trees that are not quite there, stretching forth with the might of the Tezerenee, and creating for Rendel—and those who follow—vessels drawn from sources of the shrouded realm itself.”
It made sense of a sort and would only work with such as the Tezerenee. Only they could gather enough Vraad willing to work together to have a chance at success, even if that success was no more than a ghostly hand invading a ghostly world. The Vraad could not travel physically to their new home, but their power would build them another path.
Dru blinked. “Are there dragons over there?”
“Of course. It was—let me see—a cousin or brother or maybe even a sister, I forget which, who saw it. You can imagine how thrilled Father was. Our destiny was clear then. Until we found the beast, Father had intended on using some of those damn elves.”
Whispers of creatures inhabiting the shadow lands had slowly circulated through the network of spies and allies among the various Vraad. The elves were the most interesting, being a race long extinct on Nimth. They had been the first to suffer at the hands of the early Vraad. As Serkadion Manee, a singular sorcerer who had decided to chronicle the rise of his kind, had written, the elves had been too peaceful and giving to coexist with the new race. They had vanished virtually overnight. Nimth had seemed to die a little then, if Manee’s words were to be believed.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 34