The maelstrom he had created chose that moment to completely dissipate. A brief shower of refuse buffeted the treetops and then nothing was moving. No wind. No birds. No animals. Rendel stood frozen, suddenly uncertain as to who commanded the situation now.
The silence was broken at last by a sound already familiar to the stunned Vraad.
A great rustling of wings, as if a score of massive birds were taking to the sky, filled his ears, echoed in his head.
Shadows dotted the clearing around him. Rendel looked up.
Their wingspans were at least the length of his frame. They were vaguely Vraad-shaped, having arms and legs and a narrow torso. How the wings, as long as they were, succeeded in lifting all that perplexed the studious side of Rendel. Sorcery, perhaps. The creatures glided effortlessly to the ground, more than a dozen of them surrounding him. A part of Rendel demanded to know why he was standing here like a fool and not striking. Yet, the Vraad could not push himself to even the slightest of efforts. His only inclination was to gaze upon those who, in his misplaced arrogance, he had thought he could so easily better.
One of the avian beings walked up to him, contempt for Rendel in every movement, every breath. It came within reach and simply matched his gaze. The Tezerenee found he could not turn away from the visage before him. His counterpart opened its sharp, savage beak and squawked something at him. Rendel wanted to shake his head, tell the creature that he could not understand it, but even that seemed hardly worth the trouble. In the back of his head, the same part that had fruitlessly demanded action now informed him bitterly that he was under a spell. He, who had been so confident of his power, had been captured effortlessly by his shadows. Rendel had not even felt the spell.
The avian leader, for that was who he assumed the creature was, leaned closer, cocking its head to one side so as to better observe him. That one eye, inhuman as it was, reminded Rendel all too much of another eye. His father’s. In his captors, the Vraad had found a race whose arrogance appeared to match that of his own kind.
Seeming to find nothing of worth in what stood before it, the leader started to turn away. It paused midway, however, and slowly turned back, visibly contemplating something.
A taloned hand shot out toward the startled and helpless Rendel’s face. He would have screamed, picturing in his mind what those long, needle-sharp claws would do, but the world—the world he had thought he would conquer—suddenly turned into a welcome darkness that enveloped Rendel and took him away to a place where he could hide.
“EAT THIS, GIRL.”
Sharissa shook her head, not wanting anything from the Tezerenee woman who stood above her. For three days, since the dark one called Gerrod had found her lying near where the rift had last been, she had been a “guest” of the clan of the dragon. For three days, she had been questioned, in order that they might help her, yet she had not spoken a word to them. The first two days, the patriarch, a man who made Sharissa shiver when he stared at her, had chalked it down to panic. Why not? Something had happened to her father, something unexpected. What they wanted to know—what the Lord Tezerenee in particular wanted to know—was exactly what had happened to him?
Gerrod, who unnerved her with his ghostly appearance, had explained how he had found her there, still sobbing and unable to say anything coherent. It seemed to her that the patriarch frightened his own son as much as he frightened her, for the half-seen Tezerenee continually shrank deeper into the protective folds of his cloak, becoming, by tale’s end, little more than a walking piece of cloth.
Lord Barakas had been gruff and his lady had been sweet, caring almost, but Sharissa had said nothing. They did not push her after a certain point, likely because they still wanted, at the very least, the semblance of cooperation between the elder Zeree and the clan. A sudden break between the partners would raise the already strained suspicions of the rest of the Vraad. It pained her to remain silent, since if anyone was capable of aiding her in rescuing her father, it was the clan master. He had the most knowledge of the phantom realm.
The strain of three days of fighting her own fears had taken their toll. She was worn, thin, and unable to think. What was worse was that they would not let her alone, not allow her the needed privacy to work things out. Their “concern,” as Lady Alcia had put it, forced them to watch her day and night.
An impatient sigh from her latest guardian stirred her. “Weakling! I’ll leave it here. Maybe when you stop blubbering, you’ll be able to swallow it… though anyone who can’t conjure themselves up a meal on their own…”
Even as the voice faded off, Sharissa knew she was now alone. Like most Vraad, the Tezerenee had little patience for those unable to fend for themselves. Another one would be replacing the snide woman shortly, though, so Sharissa’s privacy was temporary, at best.
They are right! Nothing but a weakling! Sharissa scolded herself bitterly. She raised herself to a sitting position and slowly dragged the food over to her. A delicious odor drifted past her nose. There was no denying that the patriarch was treating her well—on the surface. What could she do now, however? There was no possibility of leaving the city without a score or more of the Tezerenee, not to mention any exceptionally paranoid Vraad celebrating the coming down below, from noting her departure. Sharissa was uncertain of her father’s true present status with the patriarch. Would he send dragon riders after her? Would he actually lay siege to the castle? Even Sirvak, skilled as the familiar was with its master’s defenses, would be hard-pressed to keep them out.
“Sharissa Zeree.”
A deathly cold wrapped itself about her spine and spread quickly throughout her person.
Gerrod’s shrouded figure stood at the doorway. “Are you better?”
He had treated her with nothing but respect and could have been considered harmless in comparison to those others she had met, but Sharissa could not warm to him. Gerrod lived in two worlds, and had hid too many things from even his lord and progenitor. He was, Dru would have said, an outstanding example of Vraad duplicity. Sharissa could feel that even though they had actually spoken very little.
“What do you want?”
Gerrod folded his legs and sat down on empty air. He floated nearer to her, much too near for Sharissa’s tastes. “This is foolish. Each moment that passes lessens the chances of Master Zeree’s survival. I know where he must be; I’ve searched everywhere else for him.” From the bitterness in his tones, Sharissa guessed that the bulk of the task had, indeed, been foisted upon her visitor. For the first time, she was able to sympathize with Gerrod. “I know he must be across the veil.” The half-seen face moved closer. “How did he do it? Tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she finally replied, deciding that a partial truth might aid her. “The way through is no more. He can’t come back and no one can go after him.”
“Oh?” Gerrod straightened. His glittering eyes, temporarily visible, widened. “Then there is a way in which to—?”
Whatever his next words were to have been was something Sharissa would never discover, for one of the countless multitude of armored Tezerenee cousins or brothers materialized between them, anxiety evident in his agitated manner.
“Gerrod. Father wants you! Something—” The newcomer glanced at Sharissa, but appeared to find her of little importance. “Something is amiss! Go to him now!”
The hooded figure shifted, as if about to protest, then gradually sunk deeper within the protective layers of his cloak. “Where is he, Lochivan?”
“Ephraim.” It was all the other brother had to say. One moment, both Tezerenee faced each other in uneasy silence, then Sharissa was alone again. The clan of the dragon were not known for their long farewells, she decided.
The patriarch’s grand design was in jeopardy. That much was evident from Lochivan’s distress and Gerrod’s instant compliance at the mere mention of that other name. Sharissa had no proof that there was any connection between whatever the Tezerenee struggled with and the disappearance of h
er father save that both were tied to the land beyond the veil. Nonetheless, the feeling swept over her that the Vraad were facing something beyond their arrogant plans, beyond, perhaps, their varied and supposedly limitless abilities.
And here she sat, doing nothing.
Sharissa had spent most of her brief life secluded from the rest of her race. Dru Zeree, knowing the Vraad as he did—and remembering his own excesses—had wanted his sole child to have nothing to do with the others until he felt she was ready. The only question was, when was that to have been? As skilled as she had become with the use of sorcery, Sharissa was still an infant when it came to dealing with her kind. There had been a few scattered individuals throughout her life, but none who her father had wanted her to know intimately. Only a handful of names came to her from those passersby. One she remembered better than others, so alive had that particular Vraad been.
Perhaps…
Mistressss?
Sirvak? It was only the second time the familiar had contacted her since the horrifying events at the ridge. The first time, Sirvak had witnessed with her the fading of the forest and her father’s last desperate attempt to escape his fate. The familiar had broken contact with her moments after Gerrod had reached her, emphasizing that it would reestablish the link. Sirvak distrusted the Tezerenee—all Vraad, in fact—more than even Dru had.
Alone, mistressss?
Yes. Is Father—
The creature silenced her with a mental hiss. No, mistressss. Masterrrr issss still away. Sirvak apparently refused to accept the possibility that its master was dead. Sharissa wondered if there was an even stronger link between the magical beast and her father than the one of blood between Dru and herself. Come home, mistresss.
What is it?
Hesitation formed a silence that stretched Sharissa’s nerves taut. When she could wait no longer, the young Vraad asked again, this time with more emphasis in case the familiar was forgetting who she was.
May be a way to find masterrr, mistresss.
She almost shouted out loud, so overjoyed did the startling announcement make her. Sirvak, however, was quick to dampen her spirits before she grew too happy.
May, mistresss! Not certain! Need your guidance!
I’ll come instantly! There’s no need to wait!
Must not! It was as if her father himself had scolded her. Must take care. Never trust a Vraad, master always said.
They’re busy with their own problems, she retorted.
The familiar let loose with a mental sigh. Do as you must then, mistress. Take care, though.
Sirvak broke the link.
Rising, Sharissa stepped over to the doorway and leaned outside. The hall was empty. The young Vraad stepped back inside and moved to the sole window of her chambers. Her view overlooked the courtyards where the Vraad still gathered, talking and attempting to outshine one another. The coming had spread to the surrounding lands—as her father had said it usually did, and she could see some of her more flamboyant counterparts showing off. There was now a mountain of glittering diamond beyond the northern walls and a vast lake of water—truly a difficult spell, she acknowledged silently—on the eastern edge of the mountain. Beyond, there were flashes and sounds, none of which Sharissa could identify with anything that she had learned.
Dru had spoken of the subdued manner of this, the last coming. Only those with long-standing grudges, like Silesti and Dekkar, were likely to stir things up. Such massive displays of sorcery, however, spoke for the confidence of the Vraad race in the Lord Tezerenee’s plans. Everyone understood, at least somewhat, that the more sorcery unleashed, the worse Nimth grew. Already, the sickening green covered the murky sky. It saddened Sharissa to think of what her kind would be leaving behind and she hoped that the new land would not suffer the same.
That was if they ever succeeded in migrating over there.
No one would miss her for some time; Sharissa was certain of that now. Lord Barakas would have his entire clan working to solve whatever disaster had befallen his dreams. He would have no time for her or her father’s disappearance. Other than Gerrod, they probably thought he was dead by now, not that she had not thought of that herself constantly. With great effort, Sharissa once again pushed the ugly vision from her mind. Sirvak’s confidence bolstered her. It had to; it was the only thing she had to lean on.
Sharissa gazed down at the throngs one last time and her eyes caught on a lone figure seeming to watch the rest with barely constrained amusement. She leaned forward, not thinking to adjust her sight accordingly.
As if feeling the eyes upon her, the single Vraad looked up. Sharissa was greeted by a vibrant smile that washed away the terror and distress of the last few days. It was such a wonderful feeling that she could not help being caught up in it. She smiled in return.
In the next breath, Sharissa was no longer alone in the chamber. The other female was with her, reaching out to take her in her arms, ready to comfort the younger woman. Sharissa went to her gladly, knowing that she had found someone with whom she could share her problem.
“You look both distraught and beautiful, dear sweet Shari! What has that beast Barakas been doing to you? Why are you here instead of with your father?”
“Father’s in terrible trouble!” Sharissa burst out. It had been so long since the two of them had seen each other, but the feeling of safety and assurance she felt now washed away the years of absence.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” her companion said, smoothing Sharissa’s wild, tangled hair. “Then we can see about doing something.” Sharissa started to speak, but was cut off. “No, on second thought, let us go elsewhere; too many Tezerenee here for my tastes.”
“I was going to go home. Sirvak said I should. He said—”
“Hush! Let us depart for your father’s wondrous castle of pearl, then, sweet Shari.” The smile broadened, smothering any doubts Sharissa still had. “You’ll have to do it, however. Your father lets no one in and I think Sirvak must be the same. So very distrustful.”
“Sirvak has no say in what I do,” the young Zeree commented defiantly. “If I want you with me, he’ll obey.”
Melenea stroked Sharissa’s hair again. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
VII
“COME, COME! I grow bored at this! How long will you dawdle there, little Dru?”
Dru did not answer him at first, still caught up in his thoughts. Day had given way to night—a night filled with stars and two moons!—and yet the sorcerer was only beginning to comprehend the patterns of the world around him. Unlike Barakas, he had never intended on charging into the phantom domain, uncaring of what obstacles might lay in the immigrants’ path. Dru knew that even with the tremendous abilities of the creature who floated beside him, there might be dangers too great to combat. His own powers, while they had returned, were unpredictable, even more so than they had of late been back in Nimth.
Shifting form again, Darkness once more tried to berate his companion into movement. Behind the blustery tones were undercurrents of fear and excitement. “You can protest all you want, little Dru, but I have brought you home! Even if you cannot remember it, I can!”
That was the other thing that kept Dru from moving on, the shadowy blot’s insistence that this was Nimth. Even after the sorcerer had given Darkness permission to search his memories again, the entity had argued that he had not made an error. Dru had decided not to push too hard; Darkness had an ego as great as his interior, the latter of which seemed to go on into infinity when the spellcaster stared long enough.
Somewhere along the way, Dru had chosen to think of the creature as male. Perhaps it was the deepness of the blot’s voice or perhaps it was the overbearing arrogance. In some ways, his companion reminded him of Barakas. Knowing that Darkness could pick up the thought, Dru had buried it deep. He suspected Darkness already knew how he felt about the patriarch of the dragon clan.
“I want to try something,” Dru finally said. “When I’m through,
then we can move on for a short while.”
“What is a ‘while’?” Darkness pulsated. Despite the light of the two moons and the stars, the lands around them were barely visible. Darkness, however, was blacker than the night, so much so that he almost stood out as a beacon.
Dru knew better than to try to explain time to a creature who dwelled in a place that itself did not comprehend the concept. Instead, he concentrated on a tree before him and muttered a memory-jogging phrase.
The tree should have withered, should have dwindled to a dry husk and crumbled before his eyes. It did nothing, but a black death spread across the grass beneath the sorcerer’s feet. He leaped away, forgoing pride for safety.
“Good! Now we can depart!” Darkness rumbled, ignorant of the failure of the Vraad’s spell.
“Wait!”
“What is it now?”
Kneeling by the blackened, dead blades, Dru tried to inspect the damage in the dim illumination. As he had spoken the fanciful phrase, he had felt the familiar twinge as the essence of Nimth bowed to his overpowering will, but it had been checked by a fierce protesting force from the shrouded realm itself. The sorcerer touched the grass, only to have it disintegrate into a fine powder. Dru cleared his throat at the thought of what might have happened if he had remained standing on the spot.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 41