“A suggestion… and a request.”
“What?”
“Darkhorse. He’ll help us here, especially when he knows I mean to enter regardless of his protests. It would be the best for all our sakes.”
“Very well.”
She blinked in surprise, watching as he lifted the box so that it rested on his lap. The ease with which she had convinced him worried her at the same time that it cheered her. Much of the patriarch’s indomitable spirit had died over the past days. There was no predicting what he might do in his present state, and the sorceress had no desire to become part of some death wish. Still, she had sworn to help him for the time being, and she would not break that promise.
To herself Sharissa admitted again that she wanted to know what had happened—provided she survived that knowledge, too.
The Darkhorse who fled from the box this time was a greatly subdued creature. He did not shout, nor did he stamp and gouge the earth to show his fury. Instead… he wavered.
“What… what is it now, dragonlord?”
“Darkhorse!” Sharissa was stunned by the tentative tone of his voice. He had almost as little spirit as the patriarch. Her sympathy for the clan master dwindled to a shadow of itself as she wondered what sort of punishments he had meted out to the eternal.
“Sharissa.” Darkhorse bowed his head low and would not look her in the eye. The ice-blue orbs seemed dimmer than she recalled.
“Will he be all right?” Faunon quietly asked her. “It almost seems that we might have to protect him.”
“Even if he cannot, he will be better off free of that horrible device!”
The patriarch stirred himself. “Demon, your friend has requested we seek your assistance. The citadel of my people may now be a deadly trap to all those who enter. We might have need of your considerable power.”
“My power is not so considerable now,” the shadow steed muttered. “I have trouble keeping my form even. Why ask, anyway? You have my life in your hands. Merely command me as you have before.”
Barakas looked down at the box in his hands. He looked at Sharissa. A spark of life still remained in his eyes. To the ebony stallion, he replied, “I made a pact with the Lady Sharissa. A pact of freedom if she will do this thing for me. That pact includes you.”
He threw the box to the ground with as much strength as he could muster.
Darkhorse’s horrific prison shattered with such ease that Sharissa and the others could only stare at it for several seconds.
“Hurrah,” murmured a sardonic Gerrod in the background.
Life, or something akin to it, returned to the Void dweller. Darkhorse laughed, relief from the strain of so agonizing a captivity vying for dominance. He was still very weak, but now he at least had spirit. Sharissa smiled.
“I owe you much, patriarch, for what you did to me, but I will abide by my friend’s pact. When this is done, however, we depart and, should your path and mine cross again, there will be a reckoning.”
The warriors reached for their weapons, but Barakas waved them off. “I expected no less.”
The shadow steed, still wavering in form, turned to face the party’s objective. “Then let us be on with this task. I yearn for an end to this.”
Grimacing, the young sorceress urged her mount forward. She, too, yearned for an end, but wished he had phrased things differently.
Gerrod rode up to where she and Faunon were and pressed his animal between theirs. The elf frowned in his direction, but kept silent because of the warlock’s friendship with her.
“I have something for the two of you… small tokens of luck, nothing more.” He reached out and handed each of them a small crystal. “Humor me and keep them with you.” Before they could ask what he intended, the warlock was behind them again. No one else had paid particular attention to the exchange, so concerned was the rest of the party with their kin who had remained in the citadel.
Darkhorse trotted several paces ahead of them as they neared the Tezerenee settlement, he being the one least likely to face injury if surprised. Sharissa’s eyes narrowed as she studied the open gate. It was not merely open, but almost off its hinge and very battered, as if something had sought to break through—but from the inside.
The riding drakes stirred and began sniffing the air.
“They smell blood,” Faunon said, his eyes not leaving the battered gate.
“How do you know?” she asked. She could see no sign of blood, but that did not mean there was none.
“I can smell it, too. An acrid, coppery smell it is.”
“Silence!” hissed the patriarch.
Maintaining careful hold of the reins of their animals, the party reached the open entranceway. The broken gate left more than enough room for a massive drake to pass through. Darkhorse paused and turned to the humans.
“Do I enter?”
“What do you sense?” Sharissa asked in a quiet voice.
“Everything and nothing!” He glared at Barakas. “I can no longer trust my senses.”
“Enter, then,” muttered the lord of the Tezerenee. “Enter, scan the area, and return to us.”
“I live to serve you,” mocked the unsteady stallion. He turned back to the huge arch and trotted inside.
Sharissa nearly held her breath the entire length of his absence. She recalled how it had felt to combat Lochivan and Ivor, both of whom had displayed astonishing potential in sorcery. In being transformed into these abominations, it seemed that the Tezerenee were also being adapted to the powers of the land itself. Why not, if the renegade had wanted them to be the new masters? Certainly with foes like the Seekers and the Quel still living, the new kings would need all the skills they could acquire.
Darkhorse returned. He was puzzled. “There is nothing that I can see or sense in any other way. This place is a chaotic maelstrom of force. If there is anyone here, I cannot tell you.”
“No bodies?” Gerrod asked, much to the shock and anger of his former clansmen.
“There is blood, but no bodies, not even bits.” The ebony stallion smiled humorlessly at the patriarch.
“We enter, then,” was all Barakas had to say in turn.
The citadel was in ruins. Many of the smaller buildings had been completely leveled; others missed walls or parts of the ceiling. Rubble was strewn everywhere. One of the towers had collapsed, crushing the building below it. Even part of the surrounding wall had been battered.
“Random violence,” the elf commented. “There seems no purpose in any of the destruction. Some of it looks as if the attacker ceased in midstream and departed.”
“There is one consistency,” Sharissa remarked. Lord Barakas turned at the sound of her voice. She pointed at one of the battered walls of a building that still at least partly stood. “Most of the rubble, save for the damage to the protective wall, lies in the courtyards and open areas.”
“Meaning?” the clan master asked, not caring for her delay in stating the point.
“Meaning that the destruction came from within the buildings for the most part, then spread out here.” She defied him to counter her claim with any of his own.
His only reply was “We will move on and see how the rest of the place fares. Only then will we investigate inside.”
He was stalling and everyone knew it, but no one wanted to be the first inside the buildings—where the true carnage might be awaiting them.
A short time later, they noticed the prints in the earth. They had come across drake prints throughout their search, even before they had entered the citadel, but not so many as this. There were prints everywhere, many of them bloodstained. Sharissa was intrigued despite herself by the thoroughness with which the drakes appeared to have scoured this area.
At the clan master’s command, two of the remaining warriors rode forward for a piece and vanished around some buildings.
“Where did you send them?” Sharissa asked, not liking anything that lessened the strength of their party.
“To v
erify something for me. They will be in no danger. The other gateway is not far from here.”
“And us, Father?” Gerrod asked, his eyes darting here and there as if he expected a hundred Lochivans to leap out at them.
“We dismount. I need see no more of the yard. It is time to investigate the buildings.”
Knowing the futility of arguing, Sharissa and her companions dismounted in silence. Two Tezerenee took charge of the steeds. As the sorceress smoothed her clothing, she happened to glance up at Darkhorse.
She could see through him!
“Darkhorse!” All thought of the ghostly citadel pushed aside for the time being, Sharissa ran over to the eternal and tried to touch him. His eyes were closed, and his form seemed wracked with pain.
“I… I am weaker than I supposed, Sharissa! I fear that I will be very ineffective for quite some time!”
“But you will be all right?”
“I… believe so.” Darkhorse opened wide his eyes and glared at his former captor. “My apologies… for… any inconvenience, dragonlord! I do not know what could be the matter… with me!”
What remark the patriarch was to make would remain lost, for the two Tezerenee given the unenviable task appeared around the corner. They seemed anxious but not frightened, a good sign as far as the sorceress was concerned. Anything that frightened the Tezerenee was not something she had any desire to face.
The two dismounted the instant they reached the party. Both knelt before their lord.
“Speak.”
One warrior, taller and thinner than his companion, said, “It is as you supposed, Lord Barakas. There is a great trail formed by the gathering of many drakes and leading out of the other gateway. The gateway itself is far more battered than the one we entered by. I would have to say a great exodus occurred here.”
Barakas looked around to make certain the others had heard. His gaze fell for an extended time upon Sharissa.
“How long ago was this exodus?” Gerrod asked.
The second Tezerenee looked at his master, who nodded permission to him to reply to Gerrod’s question. “A week, we decided. A few traces are older, a few younger.”
“It started so soon…” Barakas studied the two scouts. “You saw no life.”
“More blood and the remains of a riding drake, my lord,” the first one responded. “It still wore part of a bridle. One of its own had killed it.”
One of its own or something just as savage? Sharissa wondered if the same thought was going through the mind of Barakas. Why would two riding drakes struggle? They were trained to work beside each other. It would take fear or bloodlust of unbelievable proportions to make them turn on each other.
“We have our answer, then,” the patriarch announced, turning so that he looked at everyone. “There was danger and people died, but the many trails indicate that the bulk of the clan has abandoned the citadel, choosing to go south, I suppose.”
“Why would they abandon this place?” Gerrod asked, ever, it seemed, seeking to estrange himself further from his progenitor. “Something must have made them. Where is it, Father? Where did it go? Not after them, I think. There is still something here. Can you not feel it?”
“I feel nothing.”
“So I have noticed.”
Barakas reached for his son, but the warlock was too swift. Sharissa came between them.
“Stop it! Lord Barakas, if the others rode off, we should follow them, not remain here and risk encountering trouble that might prove too great for us to handle!”
The patriarch cooled down. “Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps we should—” He broke off. “Alcia!”
“What about her?”
He looked at the sorceress as if perplexed she would ask such a thing. “She’s in the great hall!”
The rest of the party stirred, wondering how the lord of the Tezerenee could know that. Sharissa hesitated, then asked, “What makes you say that?”
“I heard her voice, of course!” Barakas looked at his companions as if they had all turned deaf. “She just called to us! She needs our assistance!”
Sharissa and the others stared at him.
“Bah! My ears are still good even if yours aren’t!” He turned away and started toward the building in which the great hall lay. Though they had not heard anything, three of his warriors followed close behind. The other two remained with the riding drakes. Sharissa’s companions looked to her, knowing that her oath bound them here.
“We could leave now,” suggested the elf. “There seems nothing to accomplish here, and I do not like the thought of following someone who imagines voices.”
Gerrod turned and stared after his father. “I thought I heard a sound like a voice…”
Sharissa frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I made out nothing distinct. Certainly not my mother calling us! I think I’d recognize that!”
“I wish I could feel anything that made sense!” she muttered. Sighing, the spellcaster started after the vanished Tezerenee. “I think we’d better follow him.”
Something large hissed. Sharissa ignored it, thinking it merely one of their mounts, when Faunon put a hand on her shoulder and hurriedly whispered, “Sharissa! To your left!”
Staring out from the broken doorway of one of the nearby buildings, a savage-looking drake blinked at them. It was more than twice the size of the steeds, a true dragon. From the way it moved, it had just woken up. Reptilian eyes glared at the tiny figures and then at the suddenly apprehensive mounts. The two Tezerenee struggled to maintain control over the simple beasts.
“We rode right by that thing!” whispered Gerrod. “My father seems to have grown lax in his abilities as a warrior and a leader. He should have never—”
“Never mind that now!” Faunon touched the hilt of his sword, but then thought better of it. He glanced at the riding drakes, and Sharissa realized he was looking for a bow and quiver. There were at least three, but reaching them meant attracting the further attention of the waking horror.
With a hopeful smile on his face, the elf winked at her and took a step toward the mounts.
The dragon focused on him, growing more alert with each second.
“Go, elf!” urged Gerrod. “It will come for us soon enough! If the bow increases our odds, it will be worth it!”
As if the hooded Tezerenee’s words were its signal, the dragon broke through the wall, hissing as it struggled to drag its entire body through the gap it had made. Faunon rushed to the nearest bow and started removing it and the quiver from the shifting drake.
Sharissa knew that he would get only one shot off. She also knew that Faunon could have used his sorcerous abilities but feared that the repercussions, as he had hinted, might be worse than the attack. The sorceress, on the other hand, had no such qualms.
She raised her hand and repeated the spell she had cast on Lochivan.
Dust rose around the dragon. It roared, snapped at the particles flying about, and then shook its head.
A wild force struck Sharissa and sent her falling back. Gerrod only partly succeeded in stopping her fall. The hard earth jarred her and made it impossible to focus.
“It’s moving faster!” Gerrod roared. Through blurred eyes, she noticed his face strain with concentration, as if he sought to unleash a spell of his own despite his acknowledged aversion to the magic of this world. Behind them, the two sentries were shouting loudly, but she could not turn her head enough to see either them or Faunon.
A large, dark shape burst into her field of vision and raced to meet the charging leviathan head-on. Even with her vision watery, Sharissa recognized Darkhorse. “No!”
Weak from the teachings of Lord Barakas, the shadow steed was nearly little more than a true shadow. Yet, his presence could not be denied by the dragon, who moved to deal with this sudden rival.
“He will hold it, but for how long?” the warlock asked as he pulled Sharissa to her feet. “That thing struck back at you with power far g
reater than Lochivan’s, did it not?”
“Yes… that’s right.”
“As I feared.” She felt him stiffen and looked to see what bothered him so.
Another dragon, identical to the first, was climbing out of the ruins of an-other building behind the party.
“It is as if they were waiting for us to come!” Faunon, the quiver looped over him and the arrow already nocked, drew a bead on Darkhorse’s adversary. He let loose instantly, but the dragon, as if sensing the new assault, somehow twisted enough so that the arrow, destined for one of its eyes, bounced off thick scale. “Rheena!”
The riding drakes were beyond control. Several hissed at the coming monstrosities, making Sharissa wonder if it might not be better to let them loose. Surely a dozen of them could easily dispatch these two.
A third hiss told them that things might not be so simple after all.
They’re coming from everywhere! she realized.
There was a scream from where the Tezerenee had been struggling with their steeds. Gerrod suddenly pulled her to the side, toward the steps where Barakas had gone. Faunon followed almost instantly, nearly falling on her. A huge brown-green form dashed past her.
“The riding drakes have broken free!” she warned her companions needlessly.
“Much to the regret of all, especially the two poor fools my father left to hold them!” Gerrod rose, pulling the other two up with him. “One was trampled. I don’t know what happened to the other, but I know that was his scream!”
Around them, chaos was coming to full bloom. The freed drakes scattered, some running and some turning to fight the intruders.
More dragons were creeping out of the ruins.
“This is mad!” Gerrod coughed as the dust raised by one of the drakes floated about the trio. “How could we not even sense so many? Where did they come from?”
“Don’t you realize, Vraad?” Faunon snarled, waving an arm in the general direction of the creatures. “These are your loving relations!”
“Impossible!”
A familiar laugh echoed in their heads.
A new race of kings… it said, the voice dwindling in intensity with each word, as if the renegade guardian were fleeing now that its work was done.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 97