with equal need.
“Do elves take on permanent mates?” he whispered after he had kissed the top of her head.
“They do.” She pulled his head down so that he could kiss something other than her hair. When at last they broke, she looked around. “Sirvak spoke of danger, of this Melenea! What happened to her? Did you-?”
“I’ve introduced her to a new game. It will keep her attention for quite a long time.” He carefully ignored her questioning expression and looked up at Sirvak, who eyed him with an understanding that no other, not even Xiri and Sharissa, could ever match.
“Masterrrr,” the familiar finally dared. “The mistressss is nearrr. Master Gerrod is with herrr.”
Master Gerrod?
Low, rolling thunder shook the walls of the pearl edifice.
“The storm is finally breaking.” Deadly news for the Vraad race. They would have to risk the storm if they wanted to leave here. Still holding Xiri, Dru opened his hand and studied the crystals he had retrieved from the floor. They were, he knew, useless now. Melenea had apparently drained them of their contents. She was beyond asking questions and so whatever knowledge his former lover had possessed was now beyond them. Rendel might have aided them, what with his vast knowledge of the two realms, but his haste had made an end of him, unless…
He separated himself from Xiri. “Sirvak! Show me where Sharissa and Gerrod are.”
An image of the two on the outskirts of his domain flashed before him. Still caught up in the aftermath of his fury, it would have been a minor task to bring them to him. Yet, knowing how much worse he and Melenea had probably made the situation already, he turned to Xiri.
“Guide me.” The urge to demand more from Nimth was hard to suppress. “I want to bring them here.”
His emotion and her care brought swift results. Gerrod, openmouthed, stared at the sorcerer and his companions. His eyes were shrouded by his hood, but it was very likely that they were almost as wide as his mouth. As for Sharissa, she took one moment to drink in her surroundings, focused on her father, and then ran to him, enveloping him in her arms.
“Father! I thought that you were dead! Melenea! Did you know that she-”
He covered her mouth with one hand. “Hush, Sharissa. We’ll have time later. I’m sorry, but right now I need to speak to your friend.”
“Me?” Gerrod’s mouth, the only part of his face clear enough to judge, twisted in a guilty curve, though Dru had not accused him of anything and had never even intended on doing so. He made a mental note to ask the Tezerenee what there was to feel guilty for, but after they had dealt with the present crisis.
“You, Gerrod.” He walked over to the motionless figure and put a companionable arm around the younger Vraad’s shoulder. “We have to talk about things… like your brother, the shrouded realm, and why you are still here. Most important, we have to talk about getting out of here.”
“Out of here? You mean-”
“Yes, I think you have information, or know where to get it, that I… that all of us are in need of.” Dru paused and turned back to the others. “Sharissa. Xiri. Forgive my brusqueness. I think you can both understand. Talk to each other. I want you to know each other as much as possible.”
The two women eyed each other in open curiosity.
“Sirvak!”
“Master?”
“Your wounds. Are they-”
“I will take care of them, Dru,” Xiri volunteered. She looked at Sharissa. “With your help, if that is all right.”
“Of course.”
Dru gave Xiri a nod of approval. She was already working to make her relationship with his daughter a pleasant one. “Good. When you are healed, Sirvak, I have a task for you.” He reached into a hidden pocket and removed something. “Here!”
The familiar sat back on its hind legs and caught the object with its remaining forepaw. It peered at the tiny figurine.
“What is it?” Sharissa leaned closer. Her face screwed up into a look of absolute disgust. “It looks like Cabal! Too much, in fact!”
Xiri had also studied it. Her eyes flickered to Dru, who saw that the elf observed more than surface details. “A work of art. It almost looks alive.”
“Part of my chess set. The piece that was missing. I want Sirvak to gather the pieces together. I intend on taking it with me.”
“But you never play with it!” Sharissa protested.
“It has memories I want to keep,” he commented, already turning back to Gerrod. “Now, Tezerenee. We have to speak about your brother.”
Their eyes on Dru’s retreating figure, neither Sharissa nor the elf noted the pleased look in Sirvak’s inhuman visage as the familiar dropped the tiny chess piece to the floor and watched it bounce until it lay among the rest.
XXI
The sun rose above Lord Barakas Tezerenee’s Dragonrealm and the patriarch could only look at the burning sphere with bitter hatred.
The clan had barely survived. Nearly half were dead or dying, and another third were injured. Night, even with the aid of the two moons, had not been able to reveal the true cost to the Tezerenee.
Tezerenee tactics, he pondered as the light of the sun glittered off the armored corpses of his people. They knew Tezerenee tactics.
Rendel. It could only be Rendel. Among the missing, only he would have been so willing to part with the knowledge. Gerrod was, of course, lost in Nimth; he could not have been the source, regardless. Ephraim and his band, who had been the cause of the cross-over disaster, had come to mind, but this smelled too much of Rendel. Besides, Gerrod’s description of the mad state of Ephraim was enough to convince Barakas that this world had claimed its first Tezerenee blood long before this battle. That left only Rendel among the living, but not if the patriarch was ever able to lay his hands upon him. The execution would be a slow, deliberate one.
“Father!” Lochivan, still garbed for battle (though the bird creatures had apparently abandoned the war with the coming of light), knelt by the patriarch’s feet.
“How many, Lochivan?”
“Forty-two. Three more will die.”
Not quite as terrible as he had thought, Barakas decided in sour humor. They still numbered over sixty. Not much for a conquering army, especially since he could not field all of those still functioning. It would do. They had survived the night of death from above and come out of it with the knowledge that for all their numbers, the avians had suffered worse casualties. More than twice their own number had perished. It was unfortunate that the Vraad were so outnumbered. Attrition was the one factor he could not compensate for.
If only our magic had worked… The avians had used their talismans to good effect, mostly because the clan of the dragon had lacked reliable countermagic. Only when they summoned their strongest emotions were the Tezerenee able to trust that their spells would function as they should. Last night had been no exception. This world allowed the sorcery of Nimth to work, but only after a struggle.
We survived. We will prevail. The words, for the first time, sounded hollow even to the patriarch. Would they survive another assault in the night? How could they live if their days and nights were spent in constant struggle? He had no doubt that the clan had but a day to rest and repair. Had he been master of the bird people, Barakas would have divided his forces, created for himself two armies-one of the night and one of the day. Harass the foe so that they were never able to recover. Cut the weakest from the ranks until there was no one left to cut.
The Lord Tezerenee knew that the thing to do was abandon this place and find safety until he had the strength to return, but there was no place to go. The avians controlled this land, save for remnants of some other
