“Lady Sharissa.” He coughed. “I was told you would be coming. I thought their words just another torture. I thought I would never see you again.”
“I couldn’t get to you.” It would do no harm to speak a little about their last encounter. She knew by now that they had at least known of it, if not what the two had actually said during that encounter. “Then, I found you had been moved.”
“These Tezerenee like to play games. One… one of those games is to move me from one place to another, with each… each progressive accommodation worse than the last.”
Sharissa moved close enough to touch him. “I’m sorry. I should have tried harder… for both you and Darkhorse.”
“And what could you have done? There is a saying among us elves,”—he gave her a weak smile—“one of our many sayings, that more… more or less means one should wait for the proper time, for eagerness and overconfidence have brought down many an empire. In this land, we have seen much truth to that.”
His ability to still find strength despite the situation encouraged her.
“I asked them to let me talk to you, Faunon. I told them I might be able to gain your cooperation.”
“You will always have my cooperation. It is only these Tezerenee who will not.”
“There must be something you can tell me, something that will save you from further questioning for the time being. Something about the land or about the caverns in the mountains.” She was almost to the point of pleading. If she failed, the Tezerenee would only redouble their efforts in regard to the elf. Sharissa’s heart beat madly when she thought of that.
Faunon shook his head. “I told them about the caverns. What little I know. I warned them to stay away, that even the Seekers no longer trusted the place.”
“Why is that?”
He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “I told them that something evil lives in the lower depths. They, of course, thought I was trying to pass on some ancient legend, but this thing is a recent horror. My people have spied upon the aeries before, including the caverns, and no one has ever spoken of any monster.”
“Are you certain?” Unlike Lochivan or Barakas, Sharissa was willing to believe what the captive elf was saying. She could see the truth of what he said in his eyes. She could see many things in his eyes.
“As certain as I am of anything,” he replied, but his voice was distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. Sharissa blinked and turned away until she was certain she could face him without reddening.
“Is there anything else you could tell them? Are there many Seekers left here? Have you seen the upper caverns?”
“I saw a huge, unearthly stallion race to the east. It was weeks ago, but they might—”
She shook her head. “That was Darkhorse.”
“Darkhorse?” He gave her an appraising look. “I thought the name only fanciful. There are many such names among us elves. When you used this Dark-horse’s name, I did not think it was meant to be so literal. For a Vraad, you make interesting friends. First an ebony demon and then myself. I thought your race rather arrogant toward outsiders.”
“Are all elves the same? You hardly seem as formal I was always told.”
“I take your point.” Since the start of her visit, or perhaps even because of it, Faunon had grown stronger and more coherent. Sharissa was pleased, but realized that it all meant nothing so long as they were prisoners of the Tezerenee.
“This Darkhorse,” interrupted Faunon. “You mentioned him as a fellow prisoner. Is the dragonlord so powerful that he could bind this stallion to his will?”
Outside, something thumped against the side of the wagon. The sorceress listened for a moment, but when it was not repeated she decided it was nothing. “He wasn’t before. They’re growing stronger, Faunon. Soon, they’ll rape this land as they did the last… and I can do nothing to stop them!”
“Nimth. That’s what it was called, wasn’t it? The world we fled from? The world the Vraad ravaged?”
She nodded.
His mouth was a grim line. “I doubt they will find this domain so pliable. It has faced others before your people. There were many who wanted to adapt the land to them instead of working with it. Whenever that happened, the land seemed to make them adapt.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you felt any different since coming to this world? Any change at all?”
“I felt more at home than I ever had on Nimth. It was a glorious change for me.” For the first time, she recalled the wine and food in her hands. The young Vraad showed it to Faunon, who momentarily dropped his question and smiled at the sight. “Is that wine? Could I have a bit of that before I continue? Our friends have given me nothing but brackish water, albeit all I could drink.”
“Let me help you.” She brought the wine to his mouth and tilted it. Faunon, his eyes on her, swallowed twice and then indicated she should stop.
“Thank you… gods! What sweet honey!”
“The Tezerenee make it.”
“Proving that they have at least one good quality, I suppose.” While she broke apart some bread and cheese for him, he returned to his subject. “Having spent these few wonderful moments with you, I can see that you and the land would have no quarrel. The same cannot be said for the dragon men, however. The land will not tolerate them.”
Sharissa thought to ask him if he knew of the founders and how their kas, their spirits, were a part of the land now, but the telling of that would take her much too long.
A heavy weight fell against the wagon, striking so hard that the entire structure shook.
“Are we under attack?” Faunon asked, frustration at being chained during a time of danger taking over. The sorceress had thought of trying to remove the chains, but, recalling that they were like her collar, knew it would be an exercise in futility.
She rose. “I’ll see what it is.”
“You could be killed!”
“I’ll not wait for whatever it is to come to us!”
With great caution, she reached for the door handle. Sharissa raised her other hand, ready to cast a spell the moment she opened the door.
A hulking figure from without burst through the door as if it were dry kindling.
“Lllaaady Zzzzzerrreeeee,” it hissed.
It wore what looked like the remnants of armor, not that it needed any, for it had a natural scale armor of its own that went from head to foot. The fiend was almost human in form, but bent awkwardly, as if it was trying to move as a man but not built for the purpose. The hands were more like the paws of the riding drakes and ended in equally sharp talons.
Worst of all was the visage. As the body could only mock that of a human, so too did the face, only more so. The eyes, though crystalline like a Vraad’s, were long and narrow. The horror’s nose was virtually nonexistent, two mere slits in the center. Its mouth was full of teeth that were pointed and made for tearing flesh from a kill.
It was coming for her.
“Lllaaady Sharissssssa!” It reached out for her, but she jumped back just in time. The creature was like some legacy of mad Nimth. She tried to concentrate, knowing that only seconds separated her from death. Physically, the frightened sorceress was no match, but her powers might save her if she could only think.
If only it would stop flashing those teeth! she kept thinking. “Sharissa!” Faunon called from behind her. That snapped her out of it. It would not only be she that perished if she failed to act, but also Faunon, who could not even defend himself.
“Lllaaady, I—”
Whatever it sought to say, Sharissa would never know. A spell formed in her mind and was completed accordingly. Brilliant, scarlet bands swarmed around the reptilian terror, who fought them with the savagery of an animal cornered. The bands began to tighten around its arms and legs. Sharissa breathed easier.
A yellow aura originating from the creature evaporated the bands just as it seemed the battle had been won.
“Yooou mussst—” the creatu
re started to say, forked tongue lashing in and out of its mouth.
Before her eyes, it twitched once—and fell forward, already dead.
There was an arrow in the back of its neck. The shot had been so perfectly aimed that death had been instantaneous.
“Inside!” a voice shouted.
Two Tezerenee in full armor came rushing in. One of them bent down and inspected the sprawling figure while the other kept his sword ready should it turn out that, impossible as it was, the monster still lived.
“Well?” roared the same voice that had ordered the two inside. Lochivan peered in, his bow ready.
“Dead, milord.”
“Roll it over.”
The warrior who bent by the corpse removed the arrow and did as Lochivan commanded. Everyone stared at the horrible features.
“This is the armor of one of our own, milord.”
“I can see that.” Lochivan looked up at Sharissa. “Are you injured at all?”
“No.” For the first time in weeks, she was actually happy to see him. “I held it back, but it had sorcery of its own.”
“Yes, I know. It killed one of the sentries outside by sorcery. Quietly, too. The other sentry did not notice until the first fell to the ground. By that time, it was too late for him to save himself, much less the first man.”
“Milord!” The Tezerenee who had studied the dead monstrosity stumbled back, unable to hide his shock. “This is one of us!”
“What? Impossible!” Handing his bow to the other man, Lochivan knelt and inspected his kill. His hand roved over what remained of the armor and then to the face. He stared hard and long, trying to make sense of what lay before him.
Sharissa, too, was staring long and hard. Unbidden came the memory of the warrior she and Lochivan had confronted in the corridor just before her public humiliation by Barakas.
“Lochivan,” she started. “Do you recall the man we met in the hall? The one doubled over from illness?”
He looked up. “I recall him.” Unlike his father, the sorceress was aware that he could name every Tezerenee in the clan, be they born by those of the founding blood or outsiders who had joined the ranks at one time or another. It was even a point of pride with him. “That would make this…” Lochivan turned to one of his men. “See if Ivor can be found! He was among the chosen for this expedition since he was a part of the first.”
Hearing this, Sharissa’s brow furrowed. Was it pure coincidence? “Is Ivor a relation?”
“A cousin. Obedient, little else. He was one of the earliest to cross over from Nimth.”
As the one warrior departed to fulfill his desires, others arrived. One saluted Lochivan, who stood. “Well?”
“There are three dead. We found another man gutted a short distance from here.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing.”
“Dispose of this… this… dispose of him in a discreet manner. Is that understood?”
“Yes, milord.”
While the others began dragging the body out, Lochivan noticed Faunon for the first time. Ignoring Sharissa, he marched over to the elf and knelt by him.
“What trick was that, elf? Are your fellows out there now?” He gripped Faunon’s jaw in one hand. “Have I been too lenient with you?”
Sharissa’s relief at seeing Lochivan faded. He had no right to treat Faunon so. “What could he know? What part could he have played, Lochivan? Look at him. You’ve reduced him to little more than a shell!”
“It… it… is all r-right, my l-lady.” With the return of the Tezerenee, Faunon was exaggerating his condition. Sharissa tried not to react, understanding that Faunon wanted them to believe he was weaker than he was. To Lochivan, the captive replied, “I know… nothing, friend. That I swear t-to you. Do you think I w-would have invited such… such a menace into this p-place when I cannot even defend myself? I w-would rather you slit… slit my throat than for… for me t-to be torn apart by so grisly a beast.”
“Do you claim that the elves did not do this?”
“Your man was ill before this, Lochivan,” Sharissa reminded him again. It had not been proven that this was indeed the one called Ivor, but she suspected such evidence would be forthcoming. “It could have been something else.”
He sighed. Standing, the Tezerenee removed his helm and scratched at his throat, where the dry patches of skin had spread. It had become so familiar a habit with him that he no longer even complained when it itched. “Perhaps you are correct. The Seekers have been conspicuously absent.”
She did not understand. “I thought the aerie we travel to had been abandoned and the Seekers were dead.”
“There are a few to weed out. Survivors, nothing more.”
A change in the expression on the elf’s visage made the young sorceress’s eyes dart to Faunon and quickly back again. At mention of the caverns, he had become lost in thought, as if making some connection that she could not. Once Lochivan left, perhaps she could—
“I am afraid that I must terminate your conversation with the prisoner,” the armored figure said at that moment. “You will be given another chance to speak with him, I think. For now, I would prefer that you be where I can guard you better.”
“Me? It was one of your people that suffered—”
“And he came for you. It may be that you are seen as a risk to whoever is responsible. I want nothing to happen to you, Sharissa.” Lochivan’s tone softened toward the end.
She wanted to argue, but the outcome would be the same regardless. Behind the Tezerenee, Faunon indicated that she should agree. Too much protest and they might change their minds about allowing her to talk to him again.
“Very well.” It was doubtful that sleep would be so easily forthcoming. “Let me escort you back.”
“That will not be necessary.” She did not want him touching her.
“You will be safer. This may not be an isolated incident.”
As before, there could be only one outcome. Conceding defeat, she nodded and gave him her hand.
“You have… have my gratitude as… as well,” Faunon commented as the Tezerenee was about to lead her out. “How fortunate that you were so nearby.”
Meaning that Lochivan had either been spying on them or had been waiting for Sharissa to leave the wagon. The Tezerenee glanced her way, but did not return the elf’s comment. He did, however, lead the slim woman out of the wagon much more swiftly than necessary.
Outside, several Tezerenee were still moving about. Two moved to clean the debris that had once been the door. Sharissa looked for signs of the sentries’ bodies, but they had already been cleared away. She felt some pity for them, but not quite as much as she would have for the elves their kind had slaughtered weeks ago. Much of what the Tezerenee suffered they had brought upon themselves.
Only two days from the citadel and this had occurred. As she and Lochivan walked away from the carnage in silence, Sharissa wondered what the coming days had planned.
Somehow, she felt it would only be worse.
XIII
“SHE SLEEPS, SIRE.”
“Good.” They stood in his tent, the three of them. He used the tent as his base of operations, which was why he felt justified in having it when the rest of his warriors slept outside. The patriarch was only partly clad in armor, it having taken him longer than normal to dress. He found it a bit disturbing, but laid aside that minor annoyance in the face of the outrageous incident with the abomination.
Reegan, fully clad and more than a little angry at the loss of sleep, asked, “What did you do with its carcass, Lochivan?”
His brother, still kneeling, replied, “It is being buried discreetly. Father, the monster is none other than one of our own. Reegan, you know of Ivor?”
“It was Ivor?”
One of our own, the Lord Tezerenee wondered. They have struck down one of our own in the very midst of my camp and despite my precautions! The entire area had been carefully laced with defensive spells. He had always es
chewed such things in the past, preferring to rely on the readiness of him and his people, but of late he had not moved as swiftly as before and his clan appeared more hesitant than they had during their first days here.
“Three other men died. All adopted outsiders.”
A small loss, but a loss nonetheless. Some of the other Vraad who had joined his clan would be growing nervous. The patriarch needed things to stay on course in order to assuage their fears. The expedition would have to be more alert than they had been.
“What happened to him? What sort of change?”
Lochivan bowed his head. “I do not know. It was suggested that the Seekers might have done this.”
“Suggested by whom? The elf?” Reegan sneered. “Of course he’d blame them! He’s covering for his—”
“Reegan, be silent!” The patriarch tugged at his beard and mulled over the possibilities. “If it was the elf or his friends, I imagine they could do just as well if he were rescued. They would not leave him to our mercy. Tell me, Lochivan, does he seem like the suicidal sort?”
“He’s a warrior, father, and willing to risk himself, but I think this would be asking too much from him. His death would serve no purpose.”
From out of the corner of his eye, Barakas saw his eldest building himself up for another tirade. The patriarch turned in time to stall the outburst. Reegan frowned, but remained silent.
“Ask those who knew Ivor better if he has acted differently of late.” A thought occurred to the Lord Tezerenee. “He was a member of the first expedition?”
“Yes, sire.”
Could it be that Ivor had discovered or touched something he should not have? Did some trap lie in wait for the Tezerenee? Barakas thought of the box and its unwilling occupant. He had been wise to bring along the dweller from that emptiness that Dru Zeree had called the Void. Taking the caverns might not be so simple after all.
“What do you intend, Father?” Reegan dared to ask. “We will continue on at the same pace. Losses are always to be expected. More may fall before this is ended. Even one of you may succumb.”
Reegan and Lochivan shared an expression of anxiety. It did not occur to the patriarch that he himself might succumb. He was the clan, after all.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 84