Hour upon hour they rode, pausing only to move around obstacles and break for a short meal. Sharissa still found herself unable to get used to the awkward, reptilian gait of the drakes and began to wish for more padding for her saddle. Faunon, she noticed, rode almost as tight-lipped as she did. Gerrod, on the other hand, being a Tezerenee, rode with the skill and ease only one trained early on could show. He seemed lost in thought, something not uncommon with him.
With the control of her mount mostly in the hands of her Tezerenee escort, the young Zeree spent much of her time looking around, seeking anything out of the ordinary that might spell peril for their party. She also took an occasional glance back at Lochivan, who was having more and more trouble controlling his own beast. That by itself was disturbing; it might mean that Lochivan was far more ill than he was pretending to be to the others.
It was no more than an hour before sunset when she noticed him lagging behind.
Her first glimpse showed him more than a dozen lengths behind the others. The second glimpse revealed a bent-over Lochivan trying to maintain control of his drake, who was starting to run off to the side.
She signaled to the Tezerenee next to her that he should look back. Sharissa watched him stiffen when he saw the trouble the patriarch’s son was having with a simple task. The Tezerenee turned back to his charge and handed the guide rope to her. Then, urging his monstrous steed forward, he pulled up to the front of the party.
A handful of seconds later, Barakas was calling the party to a halt. By this time, Lochivan was probably at least a hundred lengths behind. His drake, in fact, had turned around and started back the way they had come.
“Lochivan!” the patriarch roared.
His son did not respond. Lochivan might have been unconscious for all he moved. Still, the patriarch tried again.
Sharissa had no patience for this. She turned her reluctant mount toward the distant figure. “If he does not come when you call, it might be because he has not the power to do so! He might be too ill to do anything for himself!”
With that, she urged her drake on, breaking through the unsuspecting Tezerenee and racing for Lochivan.
“No, Sharissa! Wait!” Gerrod cried.
Taking advantage of the confusion of the moment, Faunon ripped the guide rope from the hands of his own escort and rode off after the fearful sorceress. She gave him a look of thanks as he broke through after her, then concerned herself with trying to catch the other drake before it decided to take its helpless rider on a mad run into the wilderness.
“Lochivan!”
She saw him stir. He was still hunched over in a way that to her looked excruciating, but now he was at least acting. More than half the distance separating the party and the straggler were now behind her. She no longer had any idea if anyone was following her save Faunon. For all she knew, it went against the ways of the clan to aid someone who could not control his own illness. It would be just the draconian type of thought that the clan would choose to follow.
When only a third of the distance still remained, Lochivan suddenly straightened and glanced back. He kept most of his back to her, craning his neck just enough to see her. Even had he not worn the helm, it would have been impossible not to see his features, to read the pain that was likely near to crippling him.
She had no idea what to expect from him, but his reaction, when it finally came, so startled her that she almost reined the riding drake to a halt.
Keeping his back turned to her, Lochivan waved her away. Sharissa blinked, wondering why he would turn back the aid he so obviously needed. She had no intention of turning back anyway. Even if the Tezerenee thought he did not need help, the sorceress knew he did.
From behind her, Sharissa heard Gerrod’s straining voice. He, like his brother, wanted her to turn away.
“Lochivan!” she called. “You need help! You’re ill, Lochivan!”
“Turn away and flee!” he shouted. His voice sent shivers through her, for it was far, far worse than anytime prior. He sounded more like an animal struggling to free itself from a trap than a man.
The Tezerenee’s drake began to buck, completely confused as to what its rider wanted of it. Lochivan kept waving the reins as he sought to discourage Sharissa from coming any closer. “Leave me be! Ssssave yoursssself, you little fool! Lissssten to my brother!”
He was hunched up again, as if straining against his armor, of all things. Sharissa tried to get close enough to reach him, but her mount suddenly balked. She kicked its sides and swore at it as she had seen so many Tezerenee do, but the creature refused to go any closer, instead skittering back and forth where it was, much to her growing annoyance.
Lochivan was practically folded in two, and his pain was now so terrible that he did not even try to hold back. His shriek only made the situation that much worse, for it renewed the frenzied back-and-forth movements of the drakes. Sharissa had to hang on for dear life—and then wondered why she was bothering with the drake. It would be easier at this point to abandon the mount and run to Lochivan.
Trying not to think about what a confused creature such as the ill Tezerenee’s drake might do when she moved too close, Sharissa leaped off her own mount. From the edge of her field of vision, she saw Faunon pull up nearby and immediately abandon his own animal. To her horror, he ran directly toward the menacing jaws of the frightened drake.
“Deal with him!” the elf shouted. “I will bring the monster under control!”
She nodded, saving her gratitude for when this task was done, and cautiously made her way to Lochivan’s side.
He was shivering, his visage still turned away from her, and his armor seemed not to match the shape of his body. The leg that she could see from where she stood looked to be broken, judging by the angle at which it was bent. How that had happened on the back of a riding drake was a question Sharissa could find no answer for. When she finally pulled him to safety, she could concern herself with questions.
“Lochivan! Dismount! That monster could throw you off!” In his condition, that might prove fatal. She moved a few steps closer. Now he was only just out of arm’s reach. To her right, the sorceress saw that Faunon had caught hold of the reins, which Lochivan, in his pain, had finally lost. So far, he was keeping the drake from running amok, and that was all Sharissa could hope for.
“Get away from me!” He growled, waving one gauntleted hand at her while still trying to look away. Had the disease ravaged him so, or… could it be?
She lost hold of the frightening thought as his hand came within reach. Lunging, Sharissa took hold.
“Nooo!” With a turn of his wrist, Lochivan’s gauntlet came loose—revealing a twisted, clawed hand covered in dark, grayish scales!
He turned toward her then, his other hand reaching for the helm that seemed to no longer fit him and was, in fact, straining to burst. “I warned you, Sharissa! I wanted you to not sssssee thisss! I wanted no one to ssssee this!”
The rest of the party had arrived. Barakas was already off his mount and running toward his son when Lochivan reached up with his clawed hand and, voicing his agony again, pulled the helm back so that his visage was no longer obscured.
“Serkadion Manee! Oh, Lochivan, no!”
“Yessss, Sharissa!”
A scaled monstrosity stared back at her, toothy smile mocking the wearer himself. It was small wonder the helm had seemed tight. The nose and mouth had molded into one and were expanding even as she watched. Despite its strength, she could see that the armor was tearing apart in many places as every part of the body went through the transformation at the same time.
Lochivan had not only become what poor Ivor or those at the cavern had become, but he was already progressing beyond them.
Their true nature… The mad guardian had said something like that when speaking of what the Tezerenee would become. She could hear the elemental laughing even now. The Tezerenee had not crossed from Nimth to the Dragon-realm by physical means; their spirits had entered fles
h-and-blood golems that magic had created in this world. Those bodies, however, had not been formed from flesh taken from anything human. No, in his infinite wisdom and a desire to make the drake even more a symbol of his clan, Barakas had dictated that the source of those new bodies would be the dragons discovered on this world.
And now those bodies were becoming what they should have been in the first place.
“Lochivan!” The patriarch came up beside Sharissa and reached out a hand toward his son. The other Tezerenee, save Gerrod, who kept as far away as possible, were circling drake and rider.
“I wassssn’t ssstrong enough, Father! I failed! I could not redeem mysssself!”
“Forget that! I can help you!”
“No one can! I… I have trouble even thinking of myssself assss ever being human! It… it issss… almost as if my mind changessss assss my body doessss!”
Barakas, ignoring the wild look in the reptilian eyes of his son, moved within arm’s reach. His tone was smooth but commanding. “You are Tezerenee, Lochivan! Our very name is power! There is nothing that can withstand our will! You have only to let me help you fight it! You have only to let me—”
He broke off as a hissing Lochivan sprang from the back of the drake and launched himself at the patriarch.
“Lochivan!” Sharissa started to reach for him, to pull him from his father, but Faunon, abandoning the riding drake, reached her first and pulled her away.
“Are you mad?”
“Let me go!” She struggled unsuccessfully in his grip.
“They will help their master!” He indicated the Tezerenee.
The warriors scurried toward the two struggling figures. Afraid of acciden-tally wounding their master, they sheathed their swords. Three pulled knives out.
Lochivan, still hissing, looked up as the closest man tried to grab his left arm. With astonishing speed and savageness, the patriarch’s son slashed out, ripping through armor and taking with it several layers of flesh. The warrior screamed and stumbled back, wounded but not out of it. Two more took hold of the abomination that had once been one of their lords and dragged him off of his father. Barakas quickly scrambled back. There was blood on him, but it was that of the unfortunate warrior.
“Secure him!” Gerrod, still maintaining his distance, called out. “He’s growing stronger by the—”
Lochivan tore one arm free and, before anyone could react, reached over and took hold of the man gripping his other arm. He swung the warrior around, knocking one of his other attackers to the ground, and then threw his victim to the ground headfirst. Sharissa turned away as she saw the Tezerenee’s neck snap backward as he struck the earth.
Two of the warriors tried to drag the unconscious one away, but Lochivan, never hesitating, turned and leaped at them. One who had his knife ready lunged and caught the misshapen figure on the shoulder where the armor had ripped apart. The blade dug into flesh, then snapped as it struck bone. Hissing, the bleeding Lochivan reached out and caught the man by the neck. When he pulled his taloned hand away a breath later, Lochivan carried part of the man’s throat. The Tezerenee was dead before his mutilated corpse even fell atop his unconscious fellow.
“We should leave!” Faunon whispered. “That thing is liable to kill us all at this rate! At the very least, you should leave! I can help fend it off for a time!”
Sharissa shook her head. She knew that Faunon meant well, that he was worried for her, not for him. “I have a better idea. Let me go.”
“So you can try to reason with him again? He is beyond listening now!”
“But Barakas isn’t!”
He frowned, but, seeing the look in her eyes, nodded. As soon as his grip lessened, Sharissa made her way to the patriarch, Faunon close at her heels. The elf, likely very thankful now that Barakas had given him a sword, kept himself between his Vraad and the beast in the circle.
“Barakas!” Sharissa reached the patriarch, who stood staring at his lost son and not moving at all. “Barakas! I can help you!”
That brought him back to the present. “What can you do, Lady Sharissa?”
She pointed at the collar. “There are only three here who have power enough to stop Lochivan! I know him! Let it be me!”
“Release you? You have no care for Lochivan, Sharissa! He betrayed you, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean I want him ending up like this! He may even kill all of us if you don’t!”
Barakas glanced at his son, who was trying to catch one of the four remaining adversaries unwary. The circle had moved so that the unconscious warrior was now safe, but not for long if even one more man fell.
“Very well.”
To her surprise, he simply reached over and gently removed the tiny band. “As simple as that?”
“Of course, but only I can do it.”
She whirled and faced Lochivan. In her mind’s sight, she saw the rainbow and the lines as only she of all the Vraad could see them. They were one and the same, only a matter of perceptions, but they represented the lifeforce, the power of this world. A force only she could, so far, manipulate to the necessary intensity.
Let my spell work! Let him not be too strong!
The battle had kicked up clouds of dust, and that was what she chose to use as the base of her containment spell. Faunon might think she would choose to kill the monster, but Sharissa could not do that. She was not a Tezerenee; she would imprison Lochivan if she could.
Lochivan, bloodlust evidently blocking all thought, did not notice how the dust settled thicker and thicker on his body. The Tezerenee did, however, and sought to take advantage. They were using their swords now that the clan master was safe. One of them thrust and caught Lochivan on the arm. He tried to grab the blade but missed.
“Stop! Kill only if you have to!” Barakas called. The decision was not likely to be popular, but the warriors would obey.
By now, Lochivan realized that something was wrong. The draconian visage curled up in animalistic anger, and he shot a deadly glance at the only one his mind recalled could be the source.
“Sharisssssa!”
She almost lost concentration at his call. Had she not been so worn from riding, the spell would have been completed by now. As it was, the sorceress had to struggle the nearer she came to the finish, and each second meant Lochivan was still a threat.
“Sharissssa!” He struggled toward her, moving almost in slow motion. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks, but then she realized that he was glowing. Lochivan was fighting the spell.
“No!” She threw all that she had left into it.
The misshapen form froze, an earthy statue of a beast enraged because it could not claim at least one last victim.
“The Dragon of the Depths be praised!” Barakas whispered.
“You might thank Sharissa, too!” Faunon muttered.
Sharissa smiled in relief and nearly fell into the elf’s arms. “That was too close!”
One warrior went to check his unconscious comrade. The others waited by the encrusted figure, their swords raised and their helmed visages turned toward their liege.
“What do we do, Father?” Gerrod, still atop his beast, asked.
Barakas glanced at his remaining son, at Lochivan, and then at Sharissa. His voice shook at first, but he quickly corrected the shameful error. “Mount up. Everyone. Now.”
“The dead, my lord?” one of the warriors asked.
“There is no time for them. Remember their names and that will be sufficient for their immortality.”
Sharissa separated from Faunon and moved close enough so that she could whisper privately to the patriarch. “The spell won’t hold him forever. He’s growing stronger and stronger… and his body’s growing, too.”
“Will it hold long enough for us to be far from here?”
“It should, but—”
The lord of the Tezerenee turned from her, walking slowly toward his own beast. “Then that is all I need to know.”
Gerrod
rode over to Sharissa and Faunon, two riderless drakes sandwiching his own. He handed the reins to the elf and smiled grimly at Sharissa. “Do not ask me to explain his decision. I think I am just as surprised as you.”
The wounded Tezerenee was helped atop his drake. He would see to his arm as they traveled. The other warrior, now conscious, needed help in the guidance of his mount from one of his brethren, but seemed all right otherwise. By the time Sharissa had mounted, the remnants of the party were ready to ride. Barakas took one last lingering look back at the still figure, then signaled the advance.
Beyond the horizon, the citadel and its own mysteries awaited them.
XX
IT SEEMED MUCH too soon and far too late when they arrived at the outskirts of the walled citadel of the Tezerenee.
“The gates are open,” Faunon informed them while they were still a distance away. His eyes were much better than theirs. Once it would have been next to nothing for the Vraad to alter their eyes to their needs, but none of those with the elf even voiced the thought, not with the unpredictability of sorcery.
“I hear nothing but the birds in the trees,” Gerrod added. “The citadel is silent.”
Sharissa glanced at the patriarch and saw that his hands gripped so tightly around the reins that it was a wonder the reins did not snap. She could see that he wanted desperately to ride as swiftly as he could through the gates and see what had befallen his empire, but the training that he himself had imparted upon the clan held him back. No warrior went riding madly into danger unless he had something in mind.
The sun of a new day was barely over the horizon. No one spoke of Lochivan’s tragic struggle, for fear of the look that crossed the patriarch’s countenance when that event was even hinted at. Besides, now was the time to worry about what lay before them—and whether or not it might be better to turn and ride away.
“Stay together,” Barakas finally muttered. He started to urge his mount forward, but Sharissa reached over and put a hand on his arm. He looked at her with nearly dead eyes.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 96