Now what? indeed! Have it become a horse like its brother? No, that would likely rely on the dweller’s searching through the warlock’s thoughts for an image of a horse. Gerrod had no desire to allow this entity to go rooting around his mind. It might not leave him the same.
A shock tore through his system, so abrupt that Gerrod had no time to brace himself for it. He screamed loud and full and could not say when he at last was able to stop.
“Entertain me, I said.” The cold tone left no doubt as to where the agony had originated.
“You—”
“The other little things like yourself, they were entertaining for a time! I found they did interesting things when I touched them like that! I learned much from them! I learn much from you! I even have a name now!” It giggled, a disquieting sound. “I fooled you I did! A good game, wasn’t it? Here you explain to me what a name is and I had one all the time!”
Mad… inhuman, utter madness! It babbles like an idiot, but an idiot who could easily erase my existence whenever it chooses, the Tezerenee thought, his panic, despite his efforts, gaining too great a foothold. How could he divert the insane creature long enough to find a way out of this emptiness? There had to be something in what Dru Zeree had told him about Darkhorse!
“You were very clever,” he finally told the hole. “You had me tricked completely. You were almost as clever as Dark—the other I you mentioned. He was very, very clever.”
The blot stirred, swelling in size again. Gerrod wondered if he had gone too far. A notion had formed, but Gerrod was not certain whether it had any merit yet. Much of his success would lie in the dweller’s arrogant yet childlike ignorance.
“I formed other I! Was that not most clever of all? How could other I, this Darkhorse creature, be more clever?”
The warlock’s ears pounded. He clapped his hands over them and shouted back, “There are many ways to be clever! Some are more wondrous than others! Let me tell you the story!”
As if understanding his pain, the eternal’s voice grew soft, almost subdued in tone. More and more, Gerrod was coming to respect Darkhorse for what he had become. This horror, on the other hand… “What is a ‘story’?”
Gerrod hesitated. “Are you playing with me again? If you are, I won’t bother telling you what a story is!”
“I am not playing with you! What is a story? Is it fun? I want fun! I understand fun!”
“It can be very fun.” He would have liked to debate its concept of fun, but, being Vraad, Gerrod knew that his own folk, when ruling Nimth, had often acted just as sadistic, just as mad, while “enjoying” themselves. “A story is a… Suppose I told you about other I’s clever trick and how I know of it. That would be a story of sorts.” It would also be the opening he needed. There was something in Master Zeree’s tale that could help him… and he had nearly let it pass!
“Your other voice hides! Why?”
He stiffened. The creature had almost caught his thoughts, his “other voice.” “It has to hide before I can tell you a story. That… that is the way I am!”
The blot shrank again, evidently satisfied with the explanation. Gerrod felt as if he teetered on the edge of the proverbial precipice; his adversary was an unpredictable quantity. Any move, any wrong word, could spell the warlock’s end.
“Do you want to hear my story?”
“It might prove amusing! I like to be amused, you know! How does a story begin?”
Gerrod breathed a sigh of relief. “Sometimes they begin with words like ‘Once there was…’ or ‘Long ago… ‘. This one begins ‘There was a man named Dru Zeree… ‘.”
He went into the story, editing, as best he could under the circumstances, any mention of how the outsider Zeree had found himself here or how the sorcerer and his newfound companion had left this place. While he told the tale, Gerrod tried to mull over his own manner of escape. Vraad sorcery had not worked for Zeree. Might—he hesitated to even consider it—might the magic of the founders’ world work here? He was capable of it, Gerrod knew that much, but to finally give in to it.…
His unnerving companion remained quiet throughout the story. The hooded Vraad put aside his other worries and concentrated again on the creature, for the tale was nearly complete. It was being entertained, that much was obvious. Would it follow through on his suggestion? Did it suspect what he had in mind and was simply playing with him?
“… and when the other I burst forth, he was a new creature, a wonderful, huge beast who called himself Darkhorse!” What would his father think of him, floating in limbo telling stories in order to preserve his life?
“I have a name! Do you want to know what it is?” The blot sounded so much like an anxious child that Gerrod almost laughed despite the danger to him.
“What is it?”
“I am Yereel!” The hole swelled to mammoth proportions. Gerrod waved his arms and legs back and forth, but he felt himself being drawn into the gaping mouth that was his unwanted companion.
“Y-Yereel! Stop! Please!”
Yereel shrank down to a tiny blot little bigger than the warlock’s hand. It—he seemed more appropriate now—giggled again. “I frightened you! Good! The taste stirs me as nothing else does!”
A decidedly different path of development than Zeree’s creature took, the Tezerenee thought again. How very unfortunate for me. He decided to make no comment about the creature’s—Yereel’s—choice of names. If the dweller was happy, it was to Gerrod’s advantage. In the meantime, the warlock had to press on. “Did you enjoy the tale?”
“Very much! Can I make one?”
“If you like. I have something better to entertain you with… and a way to prove yourself more clever than Darkhorse.”
Though it was impossible to read any emotion in a hole, Gerrod was certain Yereel was intrigued.
“What is this way?” the blot finally asked.
“Change yourself as he did.”
Hesitation… then, “I have never done such before.”
“Neither had Darkhorse.”
“I do not have this ‘horse’ to shape myself like.”
The Tezerenee allowed himself a quick smile, hoping such a facial movement was beyond the dweller’s comprehension. “That would only prove yourself as clever as him. If you want to prove yourself most clever, then you need a new form, one that Darkhorse did not do.”
Yereel almost whimpered. “I have no other form to copy! There is only you and I!”
Gerrod pretended to consider that problem. “Well, then you could shape yourself into something like me! Darkhorse never did that! That would prove you more clever!”
“Wonderful!”
“It might be too difficult for you, though.…”
“Not so! Watch!”
Still the same tiny hole in the midst of nothing, Yereel began to turn in on himself. He continued to turn in on himself, never seeming to lose any more self. The warlock thought upon Dru Zeree’s description of the metamorphosis. There were similarities and differences in what Yereel attempted now, but all that mattered to Gerrod were the final results.
The change in the dweller’s appearance became more noticeable. Now, instead of a hole, he began to resemble a shell. Gerrod was not inclined to touch him and see if what he observed was true. During the course of their trek, Darkhorse had more than once absorbed adversaries like the Seekers, even though he had sported a more substantial form.
The shell toughened. Now was the time to test his theory. The hooded warlock leaned forward and asked, “How are you succeeding?”
From Yereel there was no response. “Can you answer me? Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
Darkhorse had entered what Master Zeree had believed was the equivalent of a pupa stage in insects. He had literally readjusted his essence in order to exist more comfortably in the real world. That transformation had lasted a day or more, if Gerrod recalled. He had no idea how long Yereel’s would last, especially since time was not a known quantity
in the Void, but he hoped it would prove sufficient for his purposes.
Gerrod exhaled. As simple as his triumph seemed now, it had taken a great deal out of him. Yereel was unpredictable; victory still might only prove to be a false dream if the dweller chose to burst free of his cocoon before the warlock was away.
“My spell brought me to this point. Vraad sorcery must work in this place!” Zeree had claimed it did not or, at the very least, did to no worthwhile effect. Despite those pessimistic thoughts, Gerrod was determined to attempt Vraad sorcery first.
He tried to pinpoint his destination. As it had been just prior to his accident, Darkhorse’s presence could be felt somewhere beyond the emptiness of the Void, but not strong enough that he could latch on to it. Worse yet, Yereel’s nearby form distracted him to the point where he finally gave up in disgust. Whether or not Vraad sorcery would work for him—and considering the link he had forged, he still believed it might—his current location made it impossible to be effective.
He could not return home. The shadow steed’s position had been his sole point of concentration. The founders’ world was lost to him—unless he attempted Sharissa’s way.
“You’re a fool, Gerrod!” Every breath he wasted meant that much more chance of still being here when the spherical shell floating before him hatched. He would have to give in, but only this once.
How had Sharissa described it? Relax and give himself over to the magic? There was supposed to be a spectrum or lines of force.
He saw neither, but he did feel a strange tingling in his body, as if some living force had permeated his entire form. A new wave of panic threatened to drown him, but he fought it off. This outworld magic would not twist him to its own interests! It was he who commanded!
Something briefly shimmered before his eyes. Not a spectrum. Not a field of lines crisscrossing into infinity. More like a path floating in the nothingness.
A path? Mention had been made of paths utilized by Darkhorse when he and the sorcerer had made their escape from the infernal nonplace. Reacting out of habit, he tried to snare it as he might a rabbit for food. Only when it proved impossible to find again did he think about what he was doing. Vraad methods did work with the sorcery of the founders’ world, but not without great effort and a high level of chance.
“All right, damn you! Take me! Only this once!”
He relaxed his body, if not his mind, and let the power flow into him. It was more than a tingle now; he itched, but from within.
Paths, the warlock thought. There are paths. I just have to open my will to them.
It reappeared, a long, winding path running through the emptiness into a distant glow far beyond. Gerrod smiled. With the same presence of mind, he made himself drift toward the inviting trail. There was probably a better way to do what he had succeeded in doing so far, but he would leave that, as he had left so many things already, to more contemplative times. All that the warlock cared about now was reaching the path that would lead him to the Dragonrealm.
Another gleaming path crisscrossed the first.
His eyes narrowed. Even as the second brightened into view, a third and a fourth, one unconnected to the others, materialized. Gerrod swore under his breath, then openly as a horde of trails shooting this way and that formed before his eyes.
The Void was not so empty. In fact, it was cluttered beyond imagination, but by things so insubstantial that even a creature like Yereel had apparently never noted them.
Which one was the correct path?
He tentatively reached out with his mind, working as best he could with his newfound might, not against it. As a Vraad sorcerer, he would have been able to sense some of the differences between the paths. Hopefully, it would be the same now.
The first trail he stared at vanished a breath later. It was not one he wanted, that much he knew. Encouraged, Gerrod touched others and watched them fade away as his mind discarded them as possible choices. Most simply felt wrong, as if he knew without actually knowing that they went to a place the warlock was not interested in visiting. A few disturbed him greatly… and one was so chilling, so disquieting, that he abandoned it in near panic. Yet, wiping his brow, he was encouraged. Only a few dozen paths remained where there had been an endless array. Many had disappeared without his even studying them; it was possible his subconscious was now aiding his efforts.
Several more dwindled away to nothing, but then Gerrod recalled his companion. He felt an intense need to turn and reassure himself. It was more than merely sudden worry; he was absolutely certain that he had to turn around.
He did.
The cocoon was pulsating.
Yereel would soon emerge… and then what would Gerrod do?
He whirled around and scanned the paths remaining to him. Still too many to be certain.
“You’re a fool!” he muttered.
All paths but one vanished as he made his choice. He knew it would take him to the land of the Dragonrealm, but no more. That, at this point, was all that mattered.
As if discouraged by final decision, his body was suddenly standing on the very trail. Gerrod took an anxious step forward. As thin as it appeared, it held him quite readily. It was narrower than he had thought, and Gerrod tried not to imagine what might happen if he took a misstep.
The same inner alarm that had warned him to look back now fairly shook his body with its intensity.
The Tezerenee needed no more encouragement. He raced down the glimmering, ethereal path and did not hesitate in the least, not even when the expanding glow before him suddenly flared and swallowed him up.
* * *
BLUE SKY AND rocky hills greeted him. Gerrod, caught up in the welcome change of scenery around him, ran blindly for several steps before stumbling and falling.
Every oath learned under the tutelage of his father came back to him as he struck the hard soil and tumbled over and over again. Soft and comforting plant life was unheard of here. At the very least, none of it existed to ease his collisions. Only when he found a rock too large to roll over did the unfortunate warlock come to a halt.
How long he lay there Gerrod could not say. The outside world was only a blurred image when the Tezerenee forced his eyes open for a moment. He tasted blood and was surprised he was not drowning in the stuff. His body was bruised from top to bottom. Gerrod did not even want to know if he had broken anything, so he merely continued to lie where he was, hoping the pain would go away or that unconsciousness would claim him.
Someone prodded him with a heavy, blunt object, stirring him. Gerrod was aware that he had dozed, but not how long. The pain had lessened, though it was by no means insignificant. The prodding began again, this time at some of the more sensitive points of his body. Yelping, Gerrod scurried back as best he could and forced his eyes to open. At first, the same blurriness affected his vision. Gradually, however, things began to come back into focus.
Gerrod found sight did not improve his situation any.
The creature was taller than he would be if he could stand. It was also about twice as wide and none of that was soft. It was dull brown in color, although there were hints of orange. Parts of it glittered, as if someone had sprinkled it with diamonds. The blunt object turned out to be the top of a massive battle-ax.
He saw that there were at least five of the beasts, all of whom chose that moment to start hooting at one another as if discussing his fate. Gazing around at them, Gerrod could not help feeling he had been captured by some overgrown but quite vicious armadillos who had learned to walk on their hind legs just for this very purpose.
They were Quel.
X
THE WEEKS THAT passed were tense and dismal for Sharissa. She could find no way of removing the collar; twice she had almost suffocated, although noone else was aware of that fact. Barakas Tezerenee, who had spoken to her only thrice in that time, had promised to let her speak to Darkhorse… but the promises proved insubstantial. Most of her waking hours were spent with Lady Alcia or one of the
other women of the clan. Sharissa found the patriarch’s daughters as alike as most of his sons. She could not recall any of their names, and most of them even seemed to look alike. At least among the sons there was a little disparity.
Only Reegan and Lochivan seemed to matter now. Esad was also around, but his purpose in life was to carry information to his father and then scurry from sight. The rest were as identical as their sisters, cousins, and even those outsiders who had lived among the Tezerenee for a time.
He makes them all in his own image, she decided wryly when observing the Lord Tezerenee giving orders to the military expedition to the mountains. Reegan most of all is his reflection.
Three times she had been subjected to the advances of Reegan. He was pathetic in some ways, actually adoring her while he also lusted after her. His confusion kept him harmless for the most part, although he had tried to take more than her hand during the second encounter.
Lochivan, whom she had wanted never to see again, had been the one to interrupt what might have proven to be something worse. As if standing in the shadows and waiting for just such an occasion, he had come stalking toward them, two guards flanking him, and informed his brother that they were wanted. It was only after they had departed, leaving the two sentries to lead her away, that she had recalled her bitterness toward the amiable but treacherous Tezerenee.
She presently sat in her chambers, far more attractive ones than she had first received. Something was going on outside, something that had the Tezerenee stirred up. Her new chambers were on the uppermost floor of the citadel, barring the tower. This allowed her to view the courtyard and grounds and the mountains in the distance, a splendid view if not for the dragon men.
Rising and moving to the window, Sharissa peered outside. The gates were opening, and several riders were coming through. Those riding the airdrakes flew over the walls to join their brethren. To her disappointment, the expedition seemed fairly intact; the sorceress had hoped they might be decimated by some hitherto unsuspected force of Seekers.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 79