IN THE EASTERN quarter of the city, behind a wall of belief that divided those who followed the dragonlord from those who did not, Lord Barakas held court. Sleek red dragon banners hung from the walls. Torches created a legion of flickering specters from those folk assembled. A young wyvern, hooded, stood perched on a ledge to one side of the dais that made up the far end of the chamber. The hall was, to be sure, a mere shadow of the grand, looming citadel that the Tezerenee had once occupied before the migration, but any lack of presence upon this structure’s part was more than made up for by the numbers now kneeling in respect to the patriarch. Outsiders, meaning those not born to the clan, outnumbered the armored figures by a margin that made Barakas smile. He had dreamed of such a kingdom, though he now knew it to be tiny in comparison to the vast numbers the Seekers boasted. Still, it was progress. With so many now obedient to his will, his prestige had grown… and that, in turn, meant even more followers. One day, not too distant, he would be undisputed master of all.
Then he recalled the gray that was spreading in his hair and the wrinkles forming on his face and the smile died. He could not be growing old. Vraad did not grow old unless they chose to do so.
Guards clad in the dark-green dragon-scale armor and fierce dragonhelms of the clan lined the walls. Most of them were nephews, nieces, cousins, and offspring. There were both men and women, each of them skilled with the weapons they held. They were doubly deadly now; the near-disaster against the Seekers had given most of them a true taste of battle. In the eyes of their fellow Vraad, who had never more than dabbled with weapons, it made them ominous, fearsome sights to behold.
“Is something amiss, my loved one?” a throaty voice whispered in his ear.
Was she growing older, too? Lord Barakas turned to his bride, the Lady Alcia. She was still the warrior goddess, even in regal repose upon her throne, striking and commanding. Like her husband, she was clad in armor, though of a lighter, more form-fitting type. The patriarch took a moment to admire her lithe body. Tezerenee armor was designed with appearance as well as safety in mind… and the patriarch had always enjoyed the female body. This was not to say he did not respect his wife’s abilities. When the Lord Tezerenee was away, it was the Lady Tezerenee who maintained control of the clan, who organized all major activities. She was, he would gladly admit, his other half.
“Barakas?”
The patriarch started, knowing that he had drifted off again. In any other person, it would have meant nothing; most people were prone to daydreaming. Not so Barakas. There had never been time for daydreaming. The formation and then growth of the clan had always demanded his total attention. “I’m fine,” he finally muttered under his breath so that only she could hear him. “Only thinking.”
She smiled, something that tended to eliminate the severe cast of her otherwise aristocratic features. The Lady Alcia was always most beautiful at these times.
Barakas straightened in his throne, gazing out at his people. “All may rise!” The crowd stood as if his words had caused someone to pull up the strings of several hundred marionettes. Even most of the outsiders, who had not been raised from birth in the martial traditions the dragonlord had created and, therefore, could not have reacted to his command with the same precision, moved in fair form to their feet. They were learning. Soon, everyone would learn.
Reegan, standing by the right of his mother, stepped forward. “Is there anyone with a boon to ask of the lord of the clan?”
Two outsiders, already rehearsed by others for this moment, stepped forward into the empty area between the dais upon which the thrones stood and the main part of the great hall where the crowds waited. One was a man who had been stout at one time but had lost much weight now that he was forced to do physical work to survive. The other was a woman of rather plain face and form who wore a gown that had seen better days. She had tried her best to recapture the beauty that had once, no doubt, been hers in Nimth, but makeup could not perform sufficient magic for her sake. Both supplicants were nervous and wary.
“Your names,” the heir asked without emotion.
The man started to open his mouth, but a form in the back of the chamber caught the patriarch’s attention and he signaled for silence. Esad, another of his sons-by his bride, that is-indicated that there was a matter needing the patriarch’s personal attention. Esad, like most of the Tezerenee, knew better than to interrupt court with anything trivial. The dragonlord’s interest was piqued. He turned to his lady.
“Would you hold court for me, Alcia?”
“As you wish, husband.” She was not surprised by his request. Over the centuries, the Lady Alcia had performed this function time and again. Her decisions were as final as his own. A supplicant who failed to gain her support would lose more if he tried to convince the patriarch to alter the decision. That supplicant might also lose his head.
“Kneel as the Lord Tezerenee departs the court!” Reegan cried out in the same emotionless voice.
The throngs obeyed without hesitation, though a few newcomers were openly curious at this sudden breach of form. Barakas ignored them; his eyes were still on Esad. Now he saw that Lochivan was with him. So much the better. Lochivan would not be back so soon unless he had something terribly important to report.
The two younger Tezerenee stepped back out of the main hall as their father met them. Both went down on one knee, as did several guards on duty in the corridor.
“Stand up, all of you! Lochivan. Is he your reason for summoning me, Esad, or do you have another matter?”
“None, father,” the helmed figure replied, a bit of a quiver in his response. He had never been quite the same since the clan’s crossover and the near-destruction of the Tezerenee by the Seekers had only added to the damage within his mind. Something inside had been broken. Esad had become a disappointment to the patriarch.
“You are dismissed, then.”
Esad bowed and walked away in silence. Barakas put an arm around Lochivan’s shoulders and led him down the corridor in the opposite direction. “What matter brings you back so soon? Something concerning the younger Zeree?”
“In a sense. Father, what mention has Dru Zeree made of a huge pitch-black stallion called Darkhorse?”
“Not a horse at all, but a creature from beyond… One of our demons of legend, perhaps. Master Zeree is tight-lipped when it comes to his first journey here before we crossed.” The patriarch paused in midstep, then backed up to look into his son’s eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
Lochivan looked as if he was not certain his father would believe what he was about to say. “It… he’s here. Today, mere minutes after we separated, he materialized in the city… in the square. Surely you felt his power!”
“I felt something as I dismounted. Your brothers Logan and Dagos have been ordered to discover what it was.”
“They are on a wasted mission, then. I have seen all that anyone could see of this… this leviathan. He crossed all of our barriers and entered the city untouched, materializing, in all audacity, in our very midst.”
“Seeking, no doubt, the rift to Zeree’s private world, Sirvak Dragoth, as he calls it.” The Lord Tezerenee’s tone spoke volumes concerning his envy. To have a kingdom all your own… and to waste it on only two or three Vraad and a hundred or so cursed not-people. It had been a point of contention among the triumvirate. Dru Zeree passed on only whatever secrets he felt obliged to pass on. The rest remained to him and his family alone.
“Sharissa spoke to him-”
“He listened to her?”
“As if she were his tried-and-true friend! She is the daughter of his companion… his teacher, too, I suspect. For all his bluster…” Here Lochivan shifted a bit, uneasy about voicing his opinion on so unpredictable a subject. “For all his bluster and power, this Darkhorse sounds more like a child than an ageless demon.”
Barakas considered that for a moment. “What finally happened?”
“She led him through the rift and into her father’s domain.”
“He was not barred from entering it?” More than once, Tezerenee, at their lord’s command, had covertly tested the doorway to Zeree’s pocket universe. In most cases, they had not even been able to locate it, much less try to enter. Those that had managed to discover the tear in reality walked through it as if the rift were only air and not a gate at all.
“He walked through with ease.”
“Interesting.” Barakas stalked down the hall, each element of information being turned over and over in his mind. Lochivan scurried along, knowing he had not been dismissed yet. As he had expected, his father’s interest was piqued.
Sentries in the corridor snapped to attention as their lord walked past, unmindful of their presence. Lochivan, trailing, nodded to each and scanned them for any slack behavior. That many were related to him did not matter; if he failed to report or reprimand someone who was not performing their duties to their best, it would be he who suffered, son or not. After all, Barakas had offspring to spare; one son more or less would not touch the patriarch’s heart.
“He will have to depart Zeree’s bottled world at some point,” Barakas announced.
“Yes, my lord.”
“He is a creature of vast power. Not as vast as the Dragon of the Depths, of course, but still a creature to be wary of, I suppose.”
“It would seem that way.” Lochivan’s visage, what could be seen of it behind the helm, had grown perturbed.
“And we have some little power to work with, especially if we work in concert.” To a point! Barakas added to himself. It was becoming more and more difficult to do even that much, almost as if the land was seeking to wipe all vestiges of Vraad sorcery, which demanded and took rather than worked with the world, from existence.
Lochivan chose to remain silent, trying to decipher what it was his father intended.
The Lord Tezerenee turned down a side corridor. His eyes wandered briefly to a nearby window that overlooked the jagged, decaying courtyard of some ancient noble-so he imagined it to be, that is. Whether this had been the home of some noble was a matter of conjecture; the truth was lost to time. Barakas liked to think of it as such, however, just as he liked to think of the debris-covered yard as his personal training ground. Each day, Tezerenee fought on the treacherous surface, testing their skills against one another or some outsider seeking to learn from them. The ground was left purposely ruined; no true battle took place on a clear, flat surface. If they fell, they learned the hard way what could happen to a careless fool in combat.
Tearing his gaze from the window, Barakas made a decision. He smiled and continued down the corridor at a more brisk pace.
“Lochivan,” he summoned.
“Father?” Lochivan stepped up his pace and managed to catch up to Barakas, though it was hard to maintain a place at his father’s side. Barakas moved with a swiftness most of the younger Tezerenee could not match at their best.
“You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sire.” It was to his credit that the younger warrior did not question his abrupt dismissal. During the course of his life, he had come to know when his father was formulating some plan and needed to be alone. Lochivan turned around and returned the way he had come. Barakas took no note of his departure. Only the thoughts melding together within his mind interested him.
A patrol, making its rounds, quickly made a path for him. There were three warriors, one a female, and two drakes about the size of large dogs. The warriors, their faces obscured, stiffened like the newly dead. Barakas started past them, then paused when one of the drakes hissed at him, its darting, forked tongue seeming to have a life of its own.
Barakas reached down and petted the beast on the head. Reptilian eyes closed and the tail swept back and forth, slapping against the legs of its human partner. The Vraad tugged on the leash he held, pulling the drake’s collar a bit tighter in the process. Studying beast and handler, the patriarch’s smile widened.
TO SHARISSA, IT was as if her father had become a small boy. He had greeted Darkhorse with an enthusiasm second only to that which he displayed for his own family. She understood his excitement. Friendship was rare among her kind. Only the circumstances of their escape from Nimth had forced the Vraad to treat one another in a civil manner. Many still held their neighbors in some suspicion, although that had lessened since the first turbulent year.
Watching him now, standing among the sculpted bushes of the courtyard and talking in animated fashion with the huge, soot-skinned Darkhorse, Sharissa realized how much her father himself had changed over the last few years. She had always marveled at the differences he made in this little world and the one outside, but never at the changes those endless tasks had performed on him. His hair was a dying brown, more white now save for the impressive silver streak running down the middle. He was still narrow and nearly seven feet tall, which somehow was short in comparison to the shadow steed, but his back was slightly stooped and he had lines in his hawkish visage. The trimmed beard he wore had thinned out, too.
Fifteen years had altered him, but, for a short time, he was again the majestic master sorcerer that she had grown up loving and adoring.
“He had always hoped the dweller from the Void would find his way back,” a strong yet almost musical voice to Sharissa’s side informed her.
Ariela was shorter than Sharissa, which made her much shorter than her husband, Dru. Her hair, like the younger Zeree’s, was very pale and very long, though in a braid. Her arched brows and her tapered ears marked her as an elf, as did her emerald, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a robe akin to the dark-blue one worn by her mate, but this one somehow found the curves of her body with no trouble whatsoever. Ariela was trim, athletic in form, and skilled with a number of weapons, especially the knife. Her aid had proven as invaluable as that of the Tezerenee had in keeping the refugees alive until they could fend for themselves.
“I can’t blame him. Darkhorse is unbelievable! What is he? I still don’t understand!”
“Dru calls him a living hole, and I am inclined to believe that.”
“He has flesh, though.” It looked like flesh upon first glance. Sharissa had even touched it. She could not deny, however, that she had felt a pull, as if the ebony creature had been about to swallow her… body and soul.
Ariela laughed lightly. “Do not ask me to explain any further! Even your father admits that he only hazards guesses.”
Nodding, Sharissa looked around. Other than the four of them, there was no one in sight. During every other visit she had made to Sirvak Dragoth, the Faceless Ones had been visible in abundance. Now, as it had been in the square, they had vanished. “Why are we alone?”
The elf frowned. “I have no idea, and Dru was too excited to notice. They were here until just before you announced yourselves.” She studied her step-daughter’s eyes and whispered, “Is there something amiss?”
In a similar tone, Sharissa replied, “You know how they seem to be everywhere. Before Darkhorse materialized in the city, I came across one that I can only describe as agitated. It hurried away, and when I looked for it I couldn’t find it. Then, when I reached the square, I found hundreds of Vraad but not one of them!”
“That is not normal… if I may use the term in regard to them.” The not-people were watchful to the point of obsession. Any event of the least significance was liable to attract their unwanted attention. An event of such magnitude as Darkhorse’s return should have attracted more than a score. Though only living memories of the founding race, the entities had continued to perform their ancient tasks without fail. That they would cease now was beyond comprehension.
“You chose to return to this place? Remarkable!” the fearsome steed roared. Both women turned and listened.
“My curiosity overcame my fear,” Dru responded. He indicated the tall structure that was the bulk of the citadel. “So much our ancestors knew! So much that was lost when they passed beyond!”
“Not far enough for my tastes! I still desire another confrontation with their servants! They had no right!”
Dru had no answer for that. Sharissa had heard him say the same thing more than once. He had feared that his unearthly companion would be forever lost in the Void or some place even worse… if any place could be worse than a true no place like that.
Darkness was beginning to descend, and the shadows began to shroud the sorcerer. Neither Dru nor his daughter had ever found a plausible explanation for the heavens and the differences in time among the various realms created by the founders. How could there be suns and moons for each? Dru had explained once that the ancients had succeeded in separating slices of reality, so to speak, from the true world. Each realm was a reflection of the original, but altered drastically by both the founders and time. The spellcasting necessary for this was all but forgotten.
It was disturbing to understand that Nimth, too, had been but one more reflection, a terrarium where the Vraad had been raised up and then abandoned.
“I understand your feelings, Darkhorse,” Dru was saying, “but Ariela and I have come to care for Sirvak Dragoth as much as anyone could care for their home.”
“Sirvak Dragoth? Is that what this place is called?”
“I named it thus.” The elder Zeree glanced at his daughter. Sharissa felt her eyes grow moist as he explained the origin of the name. “I had a familiar, a gold and black creature crafted with careful attention to its personality. Sirvak was loyal and as good a companion as any. It helped me raise Sharissa after her mother died. Sirvak perished saving her life just prior to our leaving Nimth. For what deeds it performed for both my daughter and myself, I saw no more fitting memorial than to give its name to this citadel.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’d rather have Sirvak back… but a new familiar could never be the same creature.”
Darkhorse shook his mane in obvious discomfort. “I understand friendship, little Dru, but love is beyond me! That he was a good memory to you is all I can comprehend!”
The shadow steed laughed then, an abrupt thing that jolted all three of his companions. One eye twinkled at Sharissa. “But come! Let us speak of joy! Darkhorse has found his friend at last! This is a good thing! I have missed your guidance, friend Dru, your knowledge of the countless things abiding in this cluttered multiverse!”
“And I welcome the chance to talk with you, but I have other tasks that require my attention. My kind depend on me, Darkhorse. A decade and a half is not enough to ensure the future of the Vraad, especially as weak as we have become.”
“Then what of your offspring… an interesting word. Did she truly leap from you?”
Sharissa chuckled and was joined by her parents. Darkhorse’s random lapses in the understanding of language was one of the many things she recalled about the creature from her father’s tales. The leviathan was, in many senses, the child that Dru had described. It only proved how different his mind-set was from those of humans and elves. So knowing and powerful, yet so naive and defenseless in other ways.
“I would be happy to spend time with you, Darkhorse, as long as you understand that I, too, have duties to perform.”
“Duties! Tasks! How you must enjoy them, so important do they sound!”
No one tried to correct him. Besides, Sharissa realized, she did enjoy much of her work. There was still so much to learn about their new home. The deep maze of catacombs and chambers beneath the city had barely even been touched. Gerrod’s discoveries, which she had completely forgotten about in all the excitement, now beckoned once again. It was still a welcome change, considering her first twenty years of life had been confined mainly to her father’s domain.
“It’s settled, then.” Dru stifled a yawn. He and Ariela were early risers, often already active well before dawn. The couple always ceased what they were doing, however, when it came time to watch the sun rise over the horizon. Sharissa joined them now and again, but always kept to one side. Her parents lived in yet another world of their own when they watched the arrival of day together.
“You are weary,” Darkhorse pointed out, ever ready to state the obvious. “I recall that you enter into the nothingness you call sleep when this happens. Is that not so?”
“Yes, but not immediately.” The elder Zeree rose. “I know you don’t sleep, Darkhorse, and you rest only on occasion, so is there some distraction I can offer you?”
The ebony stallion glanced at Sharissa. “Will you also be entering sleep?”
“Not for a while.”
“Then I will join you for a time, if you do not mind?”
She looked from Darkhorse to her parents. “I was planning to return to my own chambers back in the city. Will that be all right?”
“The other Vraad are likely still leery of him, but if you stay together, there should be no problem.” Dru smiled at his former companion. “Try not to frighten too many people… and keep your lone wanderings to a minimum until I’ve spoken to my counterparts in the triumvirate.”
“I will be the image of discretion and insignificance! No one will take notice of me!”
“I doubt that.” The master mage chuckled. “A few of those fine folk might even benefit from a jolt or two, now that I think about it!”
“Do not encourage him, Dru,” Ariela warned, though she, too, laughed at the vision of still-arrogant Tezerenee running across the shadow steed in the dark of the moons.
Sharissa kissed both her father and her stepmother on the cheek. In Dru’s ear, she whispered, “How are things progressing?”
“I pick up something here and there. I’ve expanded the dimensions of this little dreamland of mine… and I think the changes are making some sense at last. Have you talked to Gerrod?”
“He refuses to leave his dwelling and he’s grown more distant, almost like a shadow.” Sharissa paused. “Gerrod still insists the lands are trying to make us over again, that we’ll become monsters like the Seekers or those earth diggers you mentioned, the Quel.”
A bitter smile replaced the pleasant one Dru had maintained up to this point. “We were monsters before we ever crossed to this world. We only wore more attractive masks then.”
“The people are changing… I mean… not like Gerrod said, but becoming-”
“Will you two be whispering to one another all evening? If so, perhaps I might as well accompany Darkhorse back to the city.” Ariela’s arms were crossed, and she wore an expression of mock annoyance.
“I’m leaving,” the sorceress said, dressing her words in a more pleasant tone. To Darkhorse, she asked, “Will you follow me?”
“Would you like to ride, instead?”
“Ride?” She had not thought of that. They had walked the entire way from the rift to the courtyard because she had not thought of Darkhorse as a mount, but rather a being much like herself. Ride a sentient creature such as this, one that her father termed a living hole?
“You need have no fear! Little Dru rode me quite often! I am stronger, more swift, than the fastest steed! I do not tire, and no terrain is my equal!”
His boasting eased her concerns. “How could I resist such superiority?”
“I only speak the truth!” The demonic horse somehow achieved a semblance of hurt.
“I believe you.” She went to his side and, once he had knelt, mounted. There was no saddle, but the fantastic creature’s back moved beneath her, shifting into a more comfortable form. If only all horses could make their own saddles!
“Take hold of my mane.”
She did, noting that it felt like hair despite knowing that it was not.
“Take care, both of you,” Dru said, waving.
“We’re not going on any great journey, Father!”
“Take care, anyway.”
Darkhorse roared with laughter, though Sharissa was not certain as to why, and reared.
They were racing through the gates of the citadel and down the grassy meadow below before she had time to realize it.
It may have been that Darkhorse felt her stiffen, for he shouted, “Have no fear, I said! I will not lose you!”
She wondered about that. When Darkhorse had mentioned he was swift, she had still pictured his speed in terms of an actual mount, not the creature who had raced toward the city from the western shore in a matter of minutes. Now, Sharissa flew. Literally flew. The ebony stallion’s hooves did not touch the ground; she was certain of that. Her hair fluttered straight back, a pennon of silver-blue reflecting in the light of a moon that was not one of those existing outside of this domain.
They were through the rift and once more in the ruined square before Sharissa even thought to ask if Darkhorse knew where the tear was located. Now she understood her father’s vivid yet unsatisfying telling of his rides with the black steed. One had to experience it to understand.
The days ahead, Sharissa decided, would be interesting indeed.
IN THE CITADEL that was and was not his, the sorcerer and his elfin bride walked arm in arm to their chambers, not even bothering to watch Sharissa and her fearsome companion depart, for Dru knew the Void dweller’s ungodly speed well. Thus it was that neither noticed the return of the Faceless Ones, the not-people, at the exact moment that Darkhorse and his rider returned to the true world. They stood without the walls, all those who had chosen to return to flesh and blood, and stared with sightless gazes after the vanishing duo. If Sharissa could have seen them now, she would have noted a different emotion than the uneasiness she had observed in the one in the city.
V
THREE DAYS HAD passed. One day he might have understood, but not three. Sharissa Zeree did not ignore her promises. She had said she would come, and he had prepared for her-three days ago. Now he could sense her nearing presence, at last, but there was another with her, one who fit nothing in his experience. Sharissa had brought someone with her, but who it was defied his abilities. He knew only that the two of them would be within sight of his hut in little more than a minute.
Hardly enough time to prepare himself. The glamour cast three days past had faded.
What goes on here? Gerrod Tezerenee wondered as he pulled the hood of his cloak about his head, carefully assuring that his features would be shadowed. With so little time available, it was possible he might blunder and cast a spell of insufficient strength. It would not do for her to see what had become of him… though eventually all Vraad might suffer the same fate. How ironic that he should be one of the first.
His eyes on the window facing the southwest-and the city he avoided with a passion-the warlock tried to concentrate. He had to finish before she was too close, lest she notice his conjuring and wonder. Dru Zeree’s daughter was far more knowing than she had been when they had first met. Then, she had been a woman in form but a child in mind. Now, Sharissa walked among the Vraad as one to whom those thousands of years her senior paid homage. She was the sorceress.
A tiny figure on horseback materialized at the horizon. Gerrod frowned and lost his concentration. A single rider. Sharissa. What she rode upon, however, was like no steed he had ever known. Even from here he could see it was taller than the tallest horse and stronger, the warlock suspected, than any drake.
It dawned on him then that what he felt was the ebony mount. It was the source of great power that he had sensed.
The pace the creature set ate swiftly at the distance separating Sharissa from the hut that Gerrod presently called his home. Cursing silently, he forced himself to concentrate again on the glamour. It would be a hurried, confused thing, but it would have to do.
A light wind tickled his face. Gerrod allowed himself a sigh of relief. It was no true wind that had touched him, but rather one that indicated his spell had held. He wore his mask once more.
“Gerrod?” Sharissa was still far away, but she knew that, at this distance, the Tezerenee could hear her with ease.
There was no time to locate a looking glass and inspect his work. He would just have to hope that he had not given himself some horrible disfigurement. That would be bitter irony, indeed.
It was late afternoon, which meant that the sun was more or less behind the newcomers. Gerrod knew he would have to work things so that it was Sharissa and her-what?-that had to suffer the sun. He dared not let the light shine too bright upon his visage.
“Gerrod?” The slim figure leaned forward and whispered something to the tall stallion, who laughed loud and merrily. Sharissa shook her head and whispered something else.
It was time for him to make his entrance… or exit, since he was presently within his hut.
Black cloak billowing around his somber, gray and blue clothing, Gerrod stepped out into the sun, his head bent downward to maximize the shadows he desired. His heavy boots on the rocky soil alerted Sharissa of his presence.
“Gerrod!” Her smile-a true smile, not the one formed by the natural curve of her mouth-caused a twinge within him that he pretended to ignore.
“You are late, Mistress Zeree.” He had meant to say it as if her tardiness had hardly mattered, but instead it had come out as if he had felt betrayed. Gerrod was pleased that she could not see his face now, for it was surely crimson.
“I’m sorry about that.” She dismounted with ease. “I brought you a visitor I think you’ll be interested in meeting.”
He studied the equine form before him, noting how it was somewhat disproportionate to a normal horse. After that, he nearly stumbled, for the longer he gazed at the beast the more Gerrod felt as if he were being drawn into it. In an effort to escape the sensation, the warlock looked into the creature’s eyes-only to find he had made a mistake. The pupilless, ice-blue eyes snared him like a noose, nearly drawing him further to the brink of… of a nameless fate he had no desire to explore further.
Blinking, he withdrew deeper into his cloak. There was always safety there. A cloak had spared him the anger of his father more than once while he had still lived among his clan. It would protect him now.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It? I am no it! I am Darkhorse, of course!” The stallion pawed at the earth, digging gullies in the hard, rock-filled ground. “Talk to me, not around me!”
“Shhh!” Sharissa pleaded to the menacing form. “He was not being insulting, Darkhorse! You should know that by now! He can’t be blamed for not understanding what you are, can he?”
“I suppose not.” Mollified, the beast ceased his excavation. He trotted a few steps closer to the warlock, who dared to be defiant and not back away, though he desperately wanted to. What was this monstrosity?
“Easy,” the sorceress suggested to her companion.
“I merely wanted to see him better!” Darkhorse studied Gerrod’s darkened visage so thoroughly that the Tezerenee knew the stallion saw through his glamour. “Why do you hide in such shadow?”
“Darkhorse!”
“My own desire, nothing more,” Gerrod returned, speaking a bit more sharply than he had wanted. This was not going the way he wanted it to; he had no control over the situation. Between Sharissa’s belated appearance and her unbelievable companion, the warlock could not think quickly enough.
“Darkhorse!” The slim woman came between them, guiding her companion back to a more decent distance as she spoke. “What Gerrod chooses to do is up to him; I’ve warned you about how we Vraad are. We are very much individuals; I thought three days would have shown you that already.”
This beast is responsible for her not coming sooner, Gerrod noted. He had assumed as much, but it was a part of his nature that he liked to have things verified for him. It also made Sharissa’s absence more forgivable in his mind. What was he compared to the mighty Darkhorse?
As he wondered that, memories concerning the unsettling creature returned to the warlock. Master Zeree had spoken of his unusual companion during his temporary exile from Nimth, an accidental exile due to too much curiosity upon the sorcerer’s part. Gerrod had taken some of the elder Zeree’s tale as pure embellishment, finding that the concept of a being such as Darkhorse was beyond him at the time.
Not so now. The hooded Tezerenee knew now that, if anything, Dru’s story had failed to fully emphasize the astonishing nature of the ebony stallion. Small wonder. He doubted that tale could do justice to what stood before him.
“You apologize to Gerrod,” Sharissa was telling Darkhorse. The warlock found that amusing; she treated the leviathan as if he were no more than a child. Yet Darkhorse did look contrite.
This creature… a child? Gerrod could not believe his own notion. “I apologize, one called Gerrod!”
“Accepted.” It was fortunate that the hood and the glamour hid his expression; the smile on his face would have likely angered both newcomers. A child!
“I’d wondered what became of you, Sharissa,” the warlock said, seizing control of the conversation now that he had a better idea of what it was he faced. According to Dru Zeree, Darkhorse was an eternal creature, but one that had, it seemed, a very limited experience with things. Gerrod knew how to handle such personalities. “I can see now why you might have forgotten.”
She colored, a simple act that somehow pleased him. It was a becoming sight… not that he cared about such things. His work was all that mattered.
“I’m sorry, Gerrod. I had to make certain that people grew used to Dark-horse as soon as possible, since he intends to remain for some time. The best way was to let him be seen in my company as I moved about the city. Whenever I needed to talk to somebody, I would introduce him to them.”
Excuse me, have you met Darkhorse yet? Gerrod found the scene in his mind almost too much for him to handle without laughing. “And how successful were you?”
Sharissa looked less pleased. “Too many of them are distrusting. They think my father will use him as a tool to reorganize the balance of power in our triumvirate.”
Her last words darkened the Tezerenee’s mood. “My father being one of the chief proponents of that fear?”
“Actually, he has not come to confront Darkhorse yet. Silesti has, however.”
What Silesti did was of no concern to Gerrod, but what the warlock’s father did was. You’ve remained in the background, have you, Father? What, I wonder, are you up to? The patriarch was not one to sit back during a potentially volatile situation.
“I find that interesting,” he finally responded. “Have any of my clan made the acquaintance of your friend here?”
“Only Lochivan. The rest of the Tezerenee don’t seem interested.”
What Lochivan knows, Father knows, Gerrod wanted to say. He knew that Sharissa enjoyed his brother’s company, but he also knew that Lochivan was an appendage of Lord Barakas. It would have been impossible to convince the younger Zeree of this fact, however. She saw Lochivan much as she saw Gerrod-Tezerenee by birth but with minds of their own. Not like Reegan or Logan or Esad or any of the others.
“If the rest of the clan shows no interest, it’s because my dear sire is very interested.” He shifted around them, forcing the two to turn in order to face him. Better and better. He nearly had the sun behind him now. Gerrod found himself able to relax a bit more. “Never trust a sleeping drake.”
His meaning was clear, but he saw that Sharissa did not take it to heart. “Lord Barakas can scheme all he wants. What could be possibly do to Dark-horse?”
Many things, Gerrod wanted to say, but the ebony stallion cut him off.
“Who is this Lord Barakas? Why should he wish me trouble?”
“Lord Barakas Tezerenee is my father,” the warlock explained, his eyes seeing memories. “He is cruel, ambitious, and as deadly as the monster that graces the clan banner.”
“This is your parent?” Darkhorse shook his head, sending his pitch-black mane flying back and forth. It looked like real hair… “You speak of him with disgust, possibly even hate! I do not understand!”
“Gerrod and his father have had differences,” Sharissa offered in a diplomatic manner. “Lord Barakas is ambitious, Darkhorse. It would be wise to be careful when you do meet him. I doubt that he can cause any true problem, however. Not one of his people has the skill to match you-or even come close, for that matter-in power.”
“I am amazing, am I not?”
“I would rather not speak of my father anymore, if you do not mind.” The subject had stirred the warlock’s insides. He could taste the bile. To Sharissa, he said, “I assume you have finally come to see my discovery. It’s hardly as magnificent as I first thought, but there are a few fascinating items you might be interested in studying. It is late to be starting, but we can still-”
The guilty look she flashed at him made Gerrod stop.
“I’m sorry, Gerrod. Actually, I mostly rode out to explain to you why I was gone and how I won’t be able to come here for a while.”
Anger and a sudden, unreasonable feeling of having been betrayed stirred the hooded Tezerenee’s baser instincts. He came within a breath of reaching out with his mind to a source of power she could not know he controlled, one that would allow him to strike out at random with sufficient results to assuage his bitterness.
“Too much is happening right now,” Sharissa went on, oblivious to his warring thoughts. “If Darkhorse is to stay among us, he has to be made a familiar sight to the others. There’s talk among many of Silesti’s faction that my father will use him to put an end to the triumvirate. They think he plans to rule from Sirvak Dragoth as some sort of despot, if you can believe that!”
“Your father?” The anger dissipated. How could anyone who knew Dru Zeree believe the sorcerer would ever desire to rule the Vraad? The elder Zeree was nearly as much a hermit as he was. He had only agreed to be part of the triumvirate in order to keep Silesti and Barakas from killing one another and the rest of the Vraad in the process.
“Would that be so bad?” the demonic steed asked, his voice booming. “Friend Dru is a remarkable creature! He would only do good for your kind!”
“It was toilsome enough to get them to live with one another, let alone follow another Vraad’s commands. Master Zeree is admired by many, but, in the eyes of our folk, the triumvirate guarantees that no one Vraad’s will can be law. We are a very suspicious, individualistic race.”
Darkhorse shook his head again, a habit, Gerrod realized, that signaled the beast’s confusion.
“I’ll try to explain later,” Sharissa said. She gave the warlock an apologetic smile. “I will be back… and you could come to see me once in a while.”
“Perhaps,” was all he said in reply. They both knew that he would never voluntarily return to the city. That would mean contact with his clan, possibly with his father.
Sighing, Sharissa stepped to the side of her inhuman companion. Darkhorse bent his legs in a manner that would have crippled a true steed and lowered himself so that she could mount. Gerrod saw the creature’s back ripple and shape itself to conform to the rider.
“It won’t be too long,” the sorceress added, trying to make the best of things. “Father can only do so much. He needs my help in all this.”
He said nothing, knowing that any words escaping his lips now would do nothing but weaken their friendship. That might make her decide never to return. Then he would be completely isolated from his kind.
“Good-bye, Gerrod.” Her smile was a bit feeble, possibly because she could not read his shadowed face and, therefore, did not know if he was angry or merely hurt. Sharissa knew how much he looked forward to her visits, and the warlock had assumed that she also looked forward to them. At the moment, he was not so certain anymore.
“Watch yourself,” the Tezerenee blurted. “Never trust a sleeping drake, remember?”
“She has nothing to fear while I am near!” roared Darkhorse. He laughed at his own unintentional rhyme.
“As you say.”
The ebony stallion turned toward the direction of the city, reared, and was already off before Gerrod could even raise a hand in farewell. Sharissa waved back at him for a brief time, but the lightning speed with which the astonishing creature ran forced her to soon abandon that act in favor of further securing her grip on his mane. Within moments, the duo were dwindling dots in the distance. Gerrod had wondered why she had ridden all the way out to him merely to tell him she would not be able to stay, but now he saw that, to Darkhorse, the distance separating the city from his habitat was little more than a short jaunt. Their much slower arrival had been planned; a speeding Darkhorse might have been mistaken for some dire threat.
“So understanding about some things, yet still so naive about others.” He hoped she was correct about his father. Barakas was hardly the type to sit calmly while a potential threat such as the ebony terror represented was allowed to roam among the Vraad at will.
Knowing he was now safe, Gerrod removed both the hood encompassing his head and the glamour masking his features. It was good that Sharissa was, to a point, predictable. She had the skill and power to teleport from the city to here, but she would not make use of that ability. Her uneasiness when it came to the spell was what kept his secrets safe from her. As long as Sharissa gave him the time, he could hide what he was becoming and what he had discovered.
She would have been shocked if she had seen his unprotected visage. Even his erstwhile parents would have likely felt some sympathy for his plight, especially as they would soon follow him… as all Vraad would.
His hair was turning gray, and there were lines gouged into his skin that only age could have wrought. The others had never thought about how their sorcery was what so extended their life spans, but he had found out the truth the hard way. His own experiments, which had taxed his lifeforce further, had turned him into a creature older in appearance than either Dru Zeree or the patriarch. He could have been his own grandfather, the warlock thought in sour humor.
Sharissa would have sought to aid him, but he wanted nothing of her sorcery. He would not give in to this world, become one of its creatures. Gerrod was certain that the Vraad faced either death from old age or, if they surrendered themselves completely to their new home, a worse fate. Dru had told him of how the Seekers and others like them had once had the same ancestors as he. The founders’ experiment had altered them, made them monsters. He was no more willing to fall to that fate than he was willing to let the decay of his body take him. Somehow, someway, he would save himself.
Whatever or whoever the cost, he reminded himself as he stared at the empty horizon over which Sharissa and Darkhorse had disappeared.
“WHAT IS THE purpose of this?” Rayke wanted to know. He was tired, and when Rayke was tired he grew incredibly irritable. The other elves kept silent, knowing that this was between him and Faunon. It was yet another tiny stab at the latter’s authority, which had grown a bit strained of late, what with Faunon’s insistence on exploring every hole in the ground, no matter how small.
Faunon, contrary to their belief, would have welcomed interference. Rayke was making him irritable. Had they not been told to be thorough? With the bird people in disarray, this was the perfect opportunity to make a better study of the outlying cave systems dotting the southern edges of the mountain range. The one they now stood before had all the marks of once having been used on a regular basis by either the avians or someone else.
“Try to hold your voice down to a mild eruption,” he whispered at Rayke. “Unless you are so eager for a fight you are purposely shouting loud enough for every Sheeka in the world to hear.”
“At least that would be something more worthy than this poking around holes,” the second elf muttered, nevertheless speaking in much quieter tones.
“This will not take long. If this one does not extend into the mountain deep enough, then the others will not, either. If they do go farther, then the council will want to know, just in case they decide the time has come to claim the cavern aerie.”
Rayke grimaced. “The council would not sanction anything as energetic as a footrace, let alone an assault on even a near-abandoned aerie.”
For once, they found common ground. “They would be fools not to take advantage of this. Think of what the birds must have stored in there. Look at what we found just lying scattered about the countryside!”
One of the other elves shook a sack he carried. It was about the size of his head and quite full. The sack represented the party’s greatest treasures, the enchanted medallions that the avians generally carried or wore around their throats. The precision and power of such artifacts was legend even among the elves, but there had been few for the race to study, for the bird people guarded them jealously and most were designed to destroy themselves if their wearer perished. These had not. If Faunon was correct, they had simply been abandoned. Why, he did not know. That was for the council to decide; they enjoyed endless theoretical debate, especially when it meant they could ignore more pressing matters.
Let them play with these while others take up the gauntlet, Faunon thought. We’ll make this world something more than merely a place we ended up. We’ll make a future for ourselves! Deep inside, he knew that he was dreaming. The elves as a race would never organize themselves sufficiently to make a difference in the world they had found. Too many believed that simply existing alongside the animals and plants was all the meaning there was to life. It was simple and it was safe.
“Well? Are we going in, then?” Rayke, now that he had given in to Faunon again, was eager to get things over with.
“Not all of us have to go in. Two or three should be sufficient.”
“The two of us, then.” It was always Faunon and Rayke. Faunon went because, as leader, he felt he was responsible for everything they did. If he was leading his party into danger, it was only right that he act as the spearhead, so to speak. Rayke, of course, preferred to do anything but sit around and wait. The others, less inclined to act unless they were commanded to, were more than willing to let the duo take the risks. Traveling and exploring were fine for them, but they were now more than willing to head home.
“The two of us,” Faunon agreed. Despite their constant arguing, both elves knew they were safest with each other. Each could depend on the other to be at his back if it came to a fight. The rest of the party tended to fight as elves always fought, as a collection of individuals, not a team.
“Give us an hour,” he told the others. “If we are not back by then…” If we are not back by then, we will be dead or, worse yet, prisoners of the birds, he finished in his head. There was no need to tell the others what they already knew.
Rayke had already pulled out a small glow-crystal from one of the pouches on his belt. The tiny crystal worked better than a torch when it came to producing light. Each member of the party had one. Faunon retrieved his own, and the two elves started forward. Rayke already had his sword handy, and Faunon followed suit as they stepped into the cave.
It had definitely been hollowed out by other than natural means, he saw. The walls were too smooth, the floor too flat. That was both encouraging and worrisome. It meant the tunnel system probably did go where he believed it did, but it also meant that they were more likely to run into trouble if anyone or anything was still using the cave.
There were a few tracks on the ground, mostly those of animals. The spoors were all old, so he did not fear that they would surprise a bear or young drake at some point. If they had, it would have informed him of one fact, that searching the cave was of no use. The avians would never let a wild animal take up residence in one of their active passages.
“We are heading earthward,” Rayke commented. The mouth of the cave was already an uncomfortable distance behind them.
Faunon held the glow-crystal before him and verified his companion’s words. They were heading into the earth. He suspected he had been wrong after all. The birds tended to dig upward, toward the sky they loved so, rather than down. Why would…? He smiled at his own stupidity. “This might not be the birds’ work.”
“Quel?” Rayke had evidently picked up on the notion at the same time as he had.
“They did control this domain at one time.”
“Quel, then.”
Both elves grew more relaxed. If this was indeed a Quel-made tunnel, they had little to fear from its builders. The only Quel still active were those existing in the region of the southwestern peninsula… if they had not suffered the same disaster as the birds had. For all Faunon knew, the Quel had finally passed the way of the previous masters of this world.
Again, he wondered who the new masters of the realm would be. Why could it not be the elves? Why did his people sit back and let others rule?
He knew he must have said something out loud, for Rayke turned to him and asked, “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“We are going to be out of sight of the entrance in a moment if we keep heading down and to the left like we are doing.”
Faunon saw that it was true. He was tempted to turn back, but decided that they might as well go a little farther. A tiny feeling nagged at his mind, as if he were just sensing the fringe of something. When the elf tried to concentrate on it, however, it almost seemed to pull away to a place just beyond his ability to reach.
The tunnel, he decided, though the explanation did not suit him. It is all this earth around us. Tunnels were for dwarves, assuming any still existed, not elves. Elves enjoyed sunshine, trees, and-
“Water!” Rayke snarled, turning the word into an epithet. He had good reason to do so, Faunon thought as he, too, gazed at the sight before them.
The passage dipped farther down… but the rest of it was submerged beneath a vast pool of water as inky as a moonless, starless night. It almost looked as if someone had purposely filled the tunnel up at this point.
“That ends it, Faunon.” The other elf started to turn.
“Wait.” Faunon was all for departing as well, but he wanted to get a closer look at the pool. With the crystal before him, he stalked over to the edge and knelt. His face and form were reflected back at him, ghoulish parodies of the original. Even this close, he could see nothing beneath the surface. Faunon was tempted to drop the glow-crystal into the pool and watch its descent, but the unreasonable fear that he would disturb something best left not disturbed made him pause.
“You will not see anything! I can tell that from here. Why do you not just-”
Sleek, leathery hands rose from the pool and clawed at Faunon’s throat.
“Get back!” Rayke rushed forward, his blade extended toward the water.
Faunon lost his grip on the glow-crystal and it plummeted through the water, momentarily illuminating the world beneath. He saw, for an instant, his attacker, a broad-jawed, amphibious creature built along the lines of an elf. It had round, almost froglike eyes and webbed hands and feet. Without thinking, he thrust with his sword at the water dweller and had some slight satisfaction when the blade bit into one of the creature’s arms.
A second blade passed by Faunon’s right. The point of Rayke’s sword skewered the monstrosity through the neck. It let out a bubbling gasp and shuddered. By now, the crystal was far below. Faunon’s attacker became little more than a stirring in the black depths of the pool. Occasionally, the ever-receding speck that was the gem was briefly covered by some part of the thrashing creature’s limbs.
At last, the surface of the pool grew still. The body of the would-be attacker did not float to the top, yet another odd thing. The glow-crystal had sunk out of sight, revealing the incredible depth of the tunnel.
“Quel tunnel, definitely,” Faunon said, rubbing his neck and thinking about the claws that had almost torn his throat. “But that was a Draka. They serve the birds.”
Rayke cleaned the tip of his blade off. “Draka are not generally so blood-thirsty… and they are usually cowards more often than not. That one wanted to tear you apart.”
Again, Faunon felt as if something was nearby. He knew better than to try to concentrate on identifying it. Better to leave now, before it grew too interested in them. The other elf apparently did not feel whatever it was he did, so perhaps, Faunon hoped, it was just a touch of paranoia or exhaustion.
“Can we go now?”
He nodded to Rayke and stood. A quick wipe cleaned his own blade well enough for now; he would do a more thorough job on it when they were away from here.
“Where to next?” his companion asked as they abandoned the submerged passage.
“South.”
“South?” Rayke looked at him wide-eyed.
“That is the direction you want to go, is it not?”
“South. Yes, but I thought you…”
Faunon took the one last glance back at the pool just before their trek took them around the curve and blocked his view. He thought he saw bubbling at the surface, but he had no desire to go back and investigate further.
“I changed my mind. I think I would like to go home.”
The other elf did not press further, which, to Faunon, was a good thing indeed. It meant he would not have to try to explain a growing fear that had no basis other than a simple, nagging sensation in the back of his mind… a sensation that he somehow sensed was, like the fearsome stallion, only a precursor for things to come.