“And what has he discovered?” the patriarch asked. Behind him, two warriors appeared. They seemed a bit confused about why the passage was blocked by their masters.
The question left Reegan at a loss for a moment. He finally sputtered, “N-nothing! It was you who summoned us! You called to Lochivan and me. I brought the Lady Sharissa because—”
“Never mind.” A grim expression settled onto the Lord Tezerenee’s face.
“Turn around this instant. We are heading back to the main cavern.”
“But why—”
“I did not summon you at all!” the patriarch growled in exasperation.
Swallowing hard, Reegan fairly spun Sharissa around. She allowed herself to be led ungently back up the way they had just come, her mind racing. Her suspicions had been correct, but was she in error for not saying anything? If this were some avian trap, would not she suffer as well?
They burst out of the side passage, almost catching Lochivan by surprise. His back to them, he slammed his helm down over his head and turned to see what the trouble was. The sorceress glimpsed the box lying to one side, so close but impossible to touch with so many dragon men nearby. Besides, there was still the danger of trying to destroy it without affecting Darkhorse.
“You!” Barakas shouted at his other son. “You heard me, too, then?”
“Yesss, Fath—”
“Damnable birds! What are they up to?”
Was there a hint of fear, Sharissa wondered, amidst the patriarch’s blustery anger?
They followed Barakas around the ancient dais and out into the center of the cavern. Tezerenee were filling the chamber, weapons drawn from sheer habit even though many now were more able with sorcery. The patriarch paused and searched for the enemy. Sharissa tried to join him, fearing for her companions, but Reegan pulled her back. She found his concern commendable, albeit unwanted.
Barakas turned in a complete circle, searching for some attack, some reason for the trickery played on his sons. It was clear he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, however, for the sorceress heard him swear.
She tried again to see her companions. Her view of Faunon was completely blocked by the milling, armored bodies of dozens of Tezerenee soldiers. Dark-horse, however, was another matter. Tall as he was, the top of his head was still visible despite the waves of high-helmed warriors still pouring into the cavern chamber.
As if drawn to the eternal by Sharissa’s own interest, Lord Barakas strode toward the petrified steed, his followers parting like a living sea before his wrathful form. “You!”
The shifting of the crowd bettered her view. Darkhorse, of course, did not respond to the patriarch’s angry and accusative call. He could not as long as Lochivan held him that way.
“This is your doing somehow!” he shouted. Without turning around, the clan master added, “Lochivan! Release him so he can answer my questions!”
“What nonsense are you bellowing, dragonlord?” the ebony stallion roared without preamble. His hooves scarred the floor as he vented his own frustration and anger in the only way allowed him.
Barakas faced him without fear. “What trickery do you play here, demon? Should I return you to the box?”
The physical change in Darkhorse’s manner shook Sharissa to the bone. He cringed and shook his head in an almost human manner. “I do not know what you mean! I have done nothing! I saw nothing!”
“Do you deny the summons in my name that brought my sons to me?”
Darkhorse eyed the human as if he were mad. “I do not deny it! I heard it, but it was none of my doing! You of all people should know how thoroughly tied I am to you!” He shook his head again, this time in what the sorceress recognized as disgust in himself and his captor. “I heard the call and watched them as they passed my field of vision! Ask any others here if they heard the call and then ask yourself if I could have even performed that little magic?”
“I’ve no need of asking my own what they heard!” the patriarch’s tone was as intense as Sharissa had ever heard it. He almost seemed close to a fit. She could not recall his ever acting thus in the fifteen years since the crossover from Nimth.
Barakas was losing control of himself.
He clamped his mouth shut and stared at Darkhorse for a moment longer before turning and facing his people. “None of you heard or saw anything other than my voice? No one is missing who should not be?” There were murmurs among the throng that indicated negative responses to both questions.
They’ll be turning to Faunon next, she thought. He should be safe, she knew, considering that the chains and bonds kept him from performing any sorcery as much as the box and spell did the same for Darkhorse. Still, being one more familiar with this land, the elf might be in for some very deadly questioning.
The crowd shifted again, partially revealing the area where the Tezerenee had kept the elf. Sharissa tried to find him, to at least make eye contact with him.
Where was he?
She tried to squirm around, but Reegan, his mind on what his father was about, held her tighter without even realizing it. In frustration, she leaned by his ear and whispered harshly, “You can let me be! I won’t run anywhere, you know!”
It proved to be the wrong thing to do. His attention on her now, the heir realized that she was trying to locate the elf. His jealousy apparent even through the helm, he turned to glare at his supposed rival.
He, too, failed to see any sign of Faunon.
“The elf!” Reegan roared, pulling all eyes to him. Sharissa grew numb, understanding now why she could not find Faunon.
Lochivan, one of the first to follow his brother’s gaze, completed what Reegan had been trying to relate to the others. He spoke in sibilant but clear words, his breathing growing heavier with each syllable. “The elf isss gone! He hasss essscaped!”
Her silver-blue hair cascading down into her face, Sharissa shook her head at their misunderstanding. She doubted very much that it was by choice the elf had vanished. He had been in no condition to make any escape. That meant that either someone or something had helped him to flee… or taken both Faunon and the guards for much darker, deadlier reasons.
XVI
THE QUEL DID not always think in terms of night and day, a fact that turned Gerrod about more than once. His companionable captors kept track of the passage of days for many general purposes, but sleep evidently was something one did when one was tired and not because the sun had set. Even at night, the caverns were generally lit, some of the energy of the sun having been stored away in crystals whose function mimicked that of the gatherer crystal. This excess energy allowed the earth dwellers to work at their project on a full-day basis, newcomers spelling those whose period of work was at an end.
Now Gerrod stood before the pitch-black entranceway to the cavern of crystals—or cavern of faces, as he had come to think of it. This was his third time at this place, the second having occurred approximately yesterday by his calculations. He felt as if he had hardly recovered from that farce. Five minutes trying to combat the whispering visages, to conquer them, had left him drained, helpless. Only the fact that he had prearranged with the Quel leader a time limit had saved him. It had also, unfortunately, proved to him that he could not succeed in there without performing one particular spell first.
The Gerrod Tezerenee who stood before the fearsome chamber was a different Gerrod than the one the Quel had first captured. Sharissa would have known him. She would have seen the face she was so very used to, the one that, until now, had been a mask only for the last year or more.
He was young again, full of a great vitality that was more than what rest and food alone could bring. Utilizing the chamber demanded physical strength and endurance of the supplicant. Gerrod, loathing every moment required of the spell, had summoned the old Vraad sorcery again, uncertain as to what damage it might cause but knowing he had to be at his physical best for the chamber. Those who had designed the chamber had been more, so much more than the lone Tezerenee. Eve
n now, temporarily young again, he risked overtaxing his mind and heart.
A Quel beside him hooted in impatience. The creature’s call did not translate, which meant that it was merely a hint, not some statement berating his hesitation. Nonetheless, Gerrod knew he had to begin. The longer he waited, the less patient his inhuman companions would grow.
He stepped inside… and back into the world of madness.
The faces began their urgent whispering again. He still had no idea what they were trying to tell him, and this time the warlock did not care. Only one task was of any importance now.
His head started to swim. “Not this time!”
Long, forced strides took him across the chamber. His last two visits were jumbled memories, but he thought he recalled a set of crystals in the wall that differed from the others. At the very least, faces had not stared back at him from there.
Might they be the key to controlling this place?
He was already tiring. Even his renewed youth was not sufficient. A new, wild fear arose within him, that his spell was wearing away. He had wanted to save the rejuvenation spell until death was nearly calling for him; there was no telling how many times he could extend his life span this way. Binding himself to the magic of this world held no promise, either. Extend his life he might, but as what sort of creature? A part of him whispered that his fears were all panic and nothing more, but the warlock paid as little heed to that whispering as he did the rest.
A little further. His goal lay before him, almost within arm’s reach. The whispering grew more intense and he almost paused, hearing for the first time a snatch or two of coherent speech.
“—not bow to me! If they will not, I will raze the city and all its—”
“—and that I should have started all this! Would that I could have turned time back, warned my—”
No! He would not listen! With a deep breath, Gerrod lunged at the wall where the faceless crystals were fixed.
The chamber was flooded with intense light.
The hood protected his eyes for the most part, although annoying sprites danced about for several seconds before his constant blinking dispersed them. Gerrod blinked one last time and turned to see what changes he had wrought. He knew without having to look that the whisperers had vanished. Certainly they had at least stopped their infernal murmur.
For a short time, he could only stand there, wondering if perhaps he had transported himself somehow to another chamber.
There was a world beyond the walls. No matter which direction he looked, save for where the controlling crystals were, Gerrod gained the impression that he was now inside a glass room of sorts. The many facets of the crystalline walls distorted the images, but the warlock could easily make out hills to one side and a smattering of trees near them. If he turned halfway around, he saw more hills and a grassy field in which a small herd of what appeared to be wild horses grazed.
“Where is this place?” he muttered. “Where am I?”
As if in response, the world vanished, to be replaced by a view that—he narrowed his eyes and studied the landscape before him—that could only be his father’s Dragonrealm as seen from one of the moons!
“Serkadion Manee’s bones!” he whispered in awe. The ancient Vraad would have relished this sight. Gerrod had read some of the elder Zeree’s tomes, including one by the long-lost Manee himself. A vain soul, he had shared one thing with the sorcerer and Gerrod. A love of discovery, especially when it concerned knowledge.
“Sharissa!” he whispered to himself, so used to talking out loud for the mere sake of hearing another human voice. “I can use this to find her!”
And small good that will do you! the warlock thought in the next instant. How will knowing where she is help when you yourself are a prisoner here!
Where was here? He studied the vast display, taking into account the slight deviations due to the multitude of crystal faces that made up the image, and finally found what he sought. A tiny mark much like a dragon glowed near the outermost tip of the continent. It was a peninsula, as he had thought.
“And Sharissa Zeree?” It was a wild hope, but that was the only kind Gerrod knew of late.
As he feared, nothing happened.
“Perhaps if I picture her.” He thought it would be an impossible task, so rarely had he seen her in the past few years, but her face and form proved quite distinct from the moment Gerrod concentrated. Her flowing silver-blue hair, the perpetual smile that was caused by the peculiar yet haunting curve at each end of her mouth, the bright, inquisitive eyes that glittered so much more than those of other Vraad…
“Dragon’s blood!” The poetic touches to his thoughts were ousted before the truth of them became too much. He succeeded in keeping his imagination to the more mundane, picturing her as best he could and thinking location… location… in so adamant a way that the other, more private thoughts could not gain a foothold again.
The panoramic display before him clouded… and became a dark cavern so overwhelming that Gerrod forgot for a moment that he was not standing within it, but only viewing it from afar.
Better…
The cavern scene vanished as Gerrod’s sudden panic at the ghostly whisper in his mind made him think of escape. No new image replaced the old; the crystalline walls remained cloud-filled.
“Who is that?” he shouted.
There was no response; he had hardly expected one, but had tried nonetheless. He shook his head, thinking of the whisperers and how they still intruded in his thoughts even though they had vanished. His imagination was plaguing him, nothing more. Gerrod kept expecting to hear their voices, so it was not surprising that he should conjure one up now and then.
Satisfied that the voice was no more than his own musings, the warlock returned to the task at hand. Soon, the Quel would work themselves up enough to send one of their own in to retrieve him. He wanted progress before that time, either something to give to them to prove he was aiding their cause or enough knowledge that he could utilize this massive artifact to find and flee to Sharissa.
He returned to the controlling crystals and, with great respect, touched them. His thoughts on the young Zeree, Gerrod was not surprised when the clouds dwindled away and he found himself staring at the mouth of a cavern.
“Better,” Gerrod whispered, unconsciously mimicking the fanciful voice. The basic manipulations were surprisingly easy to understand once you knew about the controls, the hooded Vraad noted. Why should they make it too complicated? It would only make using it frustrating. And here I was a moment ago fearing I might never learn anything!
Gerrod was not overwhelmed by his success. Anyone with even a basic knowledge of the workings of crystal sorcery would have been able to accomplish what he had. Still, better that he had found it rather than his father or one of his brethren… or just about any other Vraad other than the Zerees, for that matter.
“This is a cavern, yes, but show me where…” He smiled as the map returned, indicating that the place in question was… was far to the northeast! “Only two-thirds of a continent away! A good thing I didn’t end up in the sea with such accuracy as that!”
Mountains. A vast northerly chain of mountains. His brother, Rendel, had made some notes about these mountains, especially one in particular. Rendel, as secretive as any Vraad, had never written why the one mountain, Kivan Grath it had been named, was so important to him. Anyone who knew him, however, such as Gerrod or his father, understood that even the slight references indicated something of great import. That there were also mentions of Seekers and history in that same passage, albeit in seemingly unconnected paragraphs, was enough for the warlock.
“Your treasure trove,” he muttered. “The place you abandoned your clan for!” It had to be… but if Sharissa was there, then that meant that the Tezerenee were there also. That, of course, meant his father.
Now, more than ever, he had to find a way to reach Sharissa. The secrets of the founders were not something to be left to the imaginati
ve if single-purposed mind of his progenitor.
Another, simple touch of the controls…
Where had that thought come from? His hands moving as if directed by another, Gerrod slowly reached for the master crystals. Was there a way to travel from one location to the other? Nothing in the chamber seemed affected by the devices of the Quel, but he had been afraid to attempt any sorcery of his own, for fear it would touch him more than he desired. He still distrusted utilizing the magic of either torn Nimth or this world, but using the crystal chamber’s power would not, the warlock believed, affect him since it did not require any part of him save simple thought.
There were other considerations that might have contradicted his suppositions, but desperation made him ignore them as he touched the first of the gemstones.
The familiar hooting of a Quel made him pull his hands back.
At the mouth of the chamber, the Quel leader, the only one willing to risk himself, stood staring at the sight before him. His animal features were partly covered by a metal helm that covered both ears completely and left only narrow slits for the eyes. A thick coil of rope was bound about the waist of the behemoth and stretched beyond the entranceway, enabling those without to pull their ruler to safety once he had his prize—Gerrod himself.
“Not yet,” he called, trying to act calm, even disgusted. If the Quel could be convinced to leave him be for a bit longer.
With great effort, the massive beastman turned and peered at him. Gerrod still did not know what it was that affected the Quel so, but the lead helm was the only way they could even tolerate the cavern for more than a few moments. Unfortunately for them, even the helm had only limited protection.
From what he had learned to read in the posture of his underground acquaintances, the Quel was in shock. What the newcomer saw was hardly what he had expected to see. There was no sending by the Quel ruler; he might have seemed literally dead on his feet if Gerrod had not been able to make out his breathing.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 90