When they were finished with feeding and watering him, he repeated his question. “What do you need me for?”
One of the other avians, an elder by the looks of his balding form, cocked his head so that one eye was focused on the leader and squawked at him for several seconds. The overlord’s reply was short and succinct. It was also unnerving. The others instantly knelt, spreading their wings, smoothing their feathers, and cocking one eye earthward, essentially showing their trust in the leader by making themselves blind to his presence. He could have struck any of them down. It was a sign of submission, of course. Submission to whatever plan he had… hatched, Rendel though wryly. A plan that the sorcerer was evidently an integral part of.
He had an inkling of what it was even before the overlord reestablished contact. Unlike most times, Rendel now welcomed communication. It might be his only path to freedom.
Images of his clan, especially a bird’s view of the most dangerous, a huge monster that Rendel knew could only be his father. The imprisoned spellcaster relayed an image of his own. His father as a leader. His father as a sorcerer of great strength. His father as an adversary who would crush the avians’ bodies beneath his boots and plant the dragon banner in their blood-smeared chests.
From the earsplitting shrieks that filled the cavern and echoed until Rendel thought he would go deaf, he gathered that the entire aerie knew what he had told the leader.
A new image was directed back at him with such force that Rendel nearly passed out. It showed the Tezerenee scattered about the landscape, their bloody corpses all that remained of the once-proud clan. The dragon banner still stood, but this time it protruded from a gaping hole in the throat of the patriarch himself.
“A pretty picture,” Rendel choked, “but not so easily accomplished.”
Now it was his own image that appeared in his thoughts. He stood a free man, one working beside those of the aerie, unlocking the mysteries of the ancient lords. The avians’ discoveries were his to share. He saw himself seated in a vast citadel of his own, a massive manor partly built, partly grown from the soil. It already existed, a ruined artifact from an even older race than theirs that the bird people had rebuilt to greater glory. It only lacked a master.
They wanted him to betray his clan again, to lead the Tezerenee into a trap in which they would perish to the man. In return, Rendel would receive his heart’s desire… his own domain and the secrets he had sought for upon crossing to this world.
Not for one moment did the captive sorcerer believe he would ever live to see the day of reward. They might let him live long enough to aid them in their attempts to understand the talismans of the long-dead race, but Rendel would never see the domain they had promised him.
Nonetheless, he nodded his head in agreement, hoping they understood the movement. Apparently they did, for there was a sense of approval from the leader, who removed his hand from the Vraad’s face and signaled once more to the two females who had fed the prisoner. Another avian, a tall male, undid the bonds that held him to the wall and caught him as he collapsed. The females took him by the arms, surprisingly strong for being so much smaller, and carried him from the council. He assumed that was what he had faced.
They brought him to a mat and assisted him as he slowly lay down on it. It was soft, so very soft. Every bone in the Vraad’s body screamed as he moved. He would, he thought, be very stiff when he awoke… if he ever did.
When he had settled, the two females left. They were replaced immediately by four others, one carrying a bowl. Despite his sparse meal, Rendel was not hungry; he wanted only to sleep for the rest of eternity.
Two avians stood on each side of him now. The one with the bowl held it out to the others, who reached in and scooped out a thick soup substance that dripped all over his prone figure.
“Dragon’s blood! Watch where you’re dripping that muck!” What were they going to do?
When all four had a handful of the substance, they poured it on his naked form and began rubbing. Weakened as he was, the sorcerer struggled in vain against their combined might. The avians were quite capable of going about their task with one hand while holding him down with the other. With this method, they massaged his body from top to bottom.
There was no feeling of arousal, not when a talon reminded him now and then what his half-closed eyes could only vaguely still make out… that his companions were not human, but a vicious race of bird people. What they did, he realized as consciousness began to slip away, was necessary if the spellcaster wanted to be able to move when he woke. The massage and the substance, combined together, had already eased some of the pain. It made sense; his captors hardly had the time to wait for his recovery, not if he knew his father. The patriarch, once alerted to the presence of enemies, would not rest until they were beaten. The birds, meanwhile, hoped for a quick and treacherous victory, with their willing prisoner as the key.
Rendel’s last conscious thoughts, concerning what he would do when the time came, left a smile on his face long after he fell asleep.
THE GOLEMS CONTINUED to stagger toward them, like unliving horrors from a nightmare. Xiri had her knife out and was muttering something under her breath.
What were the golems doing here? How had they crossed the violent seas?
“These…” the elf finally managed. “These are what I saw! What are they?”
“Golems.” He watched one fall, then right itself. After a moment, Dru realized that they did not walk as the blind in an unfamiliar place, but rather as children did who were not quite used to walking. The Vraad recalled his own daughter’s first steps and how similar these were. The uneven ground certainly did not help.
There was something else, though. No matter what direction that golems came from, they all stared toward the same location, as if drawn by a great treasure.
“Xiri! Take my hand!”
He was pleased when she did not question his action. Cautiously, the sorcerer walked toward an area where there was somewhat of a gap between the faceless horde. “Be ready for anything!”
Dru allowed the golems to continue on unhindered, only making certain that he and the elf were not directly in the path of any of them. As he had surmised, they steered, not toward the two intruders but rather in the direction of the rift.
Xiri choked back a gasp as one of the robed creatures brushed her backside on its trek toward the tear. “They do not want us at all!”
“No. They want what lies beyond the tear.”
“You called them golems. You recognized them.”
The last of the unnerving figures had stumbled past them. The first were nearly at the rift. The fascinated sorcerer released the elf’s hand and took a step toward the line of steadily moving figures. “We made them. The Tezerenee, that is. I worked with them, though. These were supposed to be our new bodies when our ka shifted to this world. We could touch the land here—the shrouded realm, as I called it—but not physically cross.”
“Then, these are your people.” She shifted the blade, debating whether to throw it or not. Her skin was even paler than before.
Dru shook his head and started back toward the tear. Now that he knew the golems did not want him, he was curious as to what they sought. “No, those aren’t Vraad. They would look like me, if they were.”
“Then what are they?”
“I think we should follow and see.” Whatever his feelings toward the citadel on the hill, they were secondary now.
“You know,” she said, lowering but not sheathing the knife, “that they must be what the guardians feared.”
“I know.” Dru had a theory, but was afraid to tell it to the elf. He could scarcely believe it himself.
The first of the golems, walking a little more confidently now, stepped through the rift and vanished. The others began lining up and marching through two at a time. The sorcerer likened the image before him to a parade of macabre marionettes. In swift fashion, the golems entered the tear, never hesitating. The last crossed
into the ancient realm of the creators, leaving only the elf and the Vraad in the ruined square.
“Do we wait?” Xiri asked.
Dru realized he had been hesitating again. This time it was more from awe than fear. Nevertheless, he knew that the longer they waited, the more chance that something might pass that they would miss.
“Follow me.”
She took his hand in her free one. When he looked at her, Xiri smiled uncertainly and said, “I would rather not end up alone in a place I have never been to before.”
He could have assured her that such would not be the place, that they would find themselves near each other in the gardenlike field at the bottom of the hill. He could have told her, but he did not. “Time to cross, then.”
The sensation was akin to what he had felt earlier, a blinding brilliance and the late realization that all sound had ceased during the transfer.
“Rheena!” Xiri froze the moment they entered the world of the citadel. She looked at the birds flying merrily above and the trimmed, grassy field in which they were now standing. “It is so beautiful! As if someone had sculpted it!”
Not far from the truth, as far as Dru was concerned. Seeing it again, with Xiri, made him appreciate it that much more. Had it not been for the presence of the determined golems, he might have lost his fear of this place. They served, however, to remind him of what he might expect.
Unmindful of the beauty around them, the faceless figures strode upward, no longer awkward in their movements despite the climb. The closer they got to the castle, the more confident the creatures moved. It was clear they had some true purpose in mind.
“They know this place.” Xiri was the first to utter what they both had known for some time. “They move as if they are returning home.”
“I think they are.” He recalled the ghostly watchers hunched about the crystal and the pentagram. How many had there been? How many more had existed besides these? He had hardly taken the time to inspect the rest of the massive structure.
“Guardians?” From the tone of her voice, it seemed that the elf wanted him to agree, even though neither of them believed that.
Dru shrugged, trying hard to keep the golems from getting too far ahead. Xiri was now leading him. “I doubt it, though I won’t rule it out. I think the guardians in the ruined city gave evidence to what those things truly are. The exodus to this place only confirms it, as far as I see.”
They were nearly at the top of the hill. The cowled figures were already vanishing through the open gate. Both the Vraad and the elf could see that the golems were spreading out as they entered the edifice. The newcomers appeared quite at home.
“I think that says it all,” Dru whispered. He took a breath before finishing. “I think the masters of the house have finally returned.”
Indeed, there seemed no arguing with the statement. Following the last of the figures into the courtyard, the sorcerer and his companion watched in silent regard as Barakas’s usurped creations entered buildings, climbed stairways, or simply studied their surroundings with eyes that were not there. None of them appeared to care about the two intruders.
Finally regaining control of himself, Dru leaned over and whispered, “The chamber we want is through there.” He pointed in the direction of the building he and Darkhorse had entered on his previous visitation. A number of the featureless beings had already entered.
“There?” Xiri did not sound so certain, still overwhelmed and understandably anxious around the strange figures wandering about. Dru, knowing the forms from his time with the Tezerenee, was, if not comfortable with the golems, at least used to their appearances… or lack thereof.
“It’s where I saw the crystal. In the room of worlds.”
“All right.” She had the knife in her free hand. Dru had thought she had sheathed it at some point, but could no longer recall. He pushed the hand down by the wrist.
“I doubt that will do you much good. It might even be detrimental for us.” He gave her a smile that likely did not reassure her any more than it did him. “I thought I came from the bloodthirsty race, not you.”
“As I said, we have changed since escaping Nimth.” Xiri nonetheless did sheathe the blade. “You have a point about the knife, though, Vraad.”
They moved slowly across the courtyard, partly due to caution and partly due to Xiri’s fascination with the lifelike images sculpted from the shrubbery. “This reminds me of something back in my village,” she whispered, smiling all the while. “There are those among us who can persuade the trees and bushes to take on new and fantastic forms.”
“Is that what the Seekers do?” He recalled the unique aeries of the race, places both constructed and grown. The ones his captor had revealed to him had been stupendous works of art.
“In a sense. Like the Vraad, however, they demand more than request cooperation.” The flat line formed by her mouth was sign enough that she would speak no more on that particular subject.
No one barred their way when they reached the open entrance and so the two entered the long hall. The female elf was awed by the grandness of the inner hallway. She glanced around as if expecting it all to vanish. It was not that the corridor was so richly decorated, but rather that it carried about it a feeling of majesty, a reflection, perhaps, of the builder’s skill.
Dru, only slightly less awed even though he had seen the corridor before, led her farther inside. It was then that the sorcerer noticed a smaller room to the left that he would have been willing to swear had not existed the first time he had entered the castle.
A slave to his curiosity, he stepped closer to the entranceway of the new chamber… and nearly bumped into one of the silent figures as it departed that very room. Dru and Xiri kept a careful eye on the faceless wanderer until it departed through the front doorway. Dru cautiously peered into the chamber… and gasped.
“What is it?” Xiri circled around him so that she could see.
The room was immaculate and glowed with a brilliant illumination. Down to and including the overwhelming figure poised before them, it was identical to the chamber of the dragon lord that he had been nearly tossed into by the Seekers back in the devastated city. Yet, that first chamber was a pale memory in comparison to this one. Here was the dragon lord in all his glory, looking ready to leap into the air. If the other had seemed almost living, Dru was nearly certain this one was. Despite its wary eyes, he could have believed it was merely pausing to consider its next action. Even its muscles, carved taut by that long-dead master sculptor, emphasized the readiness with which the dragon lord waited.
The same statuettes were also there, and better able to view them this time, he realized that they also resembled the figures from the mind message relayed to him by the Seeker leader. One of the tiny artifacts reminded the sorcerer of the figurine that the avian had thrown and broken in anger. Emboldened by their luck so far, Dru stepped inside in order to learn more. Xiri, also very curious as to the purpose of this place, not only followed the Vraad in, but twisted around her companion and walked swiftly to the tiny effigies, her hands out before her as if she intended to pick one up.
“Wait!” He rushed toward her, fully expecting every golem in the citadel to come storming into the chamber, ready to strike the impudent twosome down for their transgressions. If, as he believed, they were the ancient race that had built all of this, they might take special measures for the disturbance of their most precious artifacts. The figurines themselves might be protected by a hundred different spells, all deadly, though it hardly seemed there had been enough time for the faceless ones to have affixed so many magical traps. Dru knew that he might be placing Vraadish paranoia before common sense, but the sorcerer also understood that he and Xiri knew next to nothing about the originators and their power, save that it made the Vraad race look childlike in comparison.
Xiri had stopped at his shout. She realized instantly what he feared and frowned in annoyance. “I know better than to touch something that I have not
observed closely first.”
Embarrassed by his own fears, a reddened Dru joined her. He pointed out the similarity of the carvings to both what his captors had discovered and what they themselves had revealed to him. The sorcerer also mentioned the shattered statuette and pointed to one that vaguely resembled the one he believed had been destroyed. Xiri was upset about the latter; anything created by the founding race should have been treated with the utmost respect as far as she was concerned.
“They feel almost alive when you stand this close to them.” She had put her hands near the artifacts, but was careful to leave enough empty space in case of an accident. Neither of them cared for the thought of stumbling into the figurines.
“I don’t recall the others feeling so.” Though he had not been allowed to study them, Dru was certain he would have felt the aura surrounding the objects from where the avians had deposited him. “I wonder…” He took a closer look. The detail was so precise that he almost believed the gryphon he stared at would snap at him if his fingers came too near. “I wonder what they do?”
A scuffling sound alerted them to the entrance of three figures. The featureless golems might have been copied from one original, so identical were they down to their very movements. Somehow, they communicated, that much was evident. Dru supposed that they communicated in a fashion akin to the method utilized by the Seekers. That still did not make it any less unnerving. It was the silence that unsettled the sorcerer the most.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 54