monstrous civilization. The elves survived because they respected the birds and caused no trouble. Under no stretch of the imagination could Barakas see the clan bowing to horrors like those who ruled here. He knew that the avians thought the same way. Permitting the Vraad race to establish itself would mean the end of their reign.
So this is how the Vraad race ends, he concluded, staring in the direction of the mountains where his enemies regrouped. A last stand that will still leave its mark on those feathered misfits. They will not forget the dragon banner. It will haunt them for generations to come.
The thought gave him morbid satisfaction, as if now the deaths would be worth it. Still, he could not help thinking that if their sorcery was more reliable or their numbers greater…
His eyes closed as something teased his senses. It was only a ripple, but there had been a disturbance in the nature of the Dragonrealm, as if it was no longer whole. A familiar feel, perhaps taste, had been his to savor in that brief moment. He recognized it as Nimth.
“Lochivan.” His son, still kneeling, rose at the sound of his name. Reegan might be the heir apparent, but it was Lochivan to whom Barakas entrusted most of the tasks that he wanted completed. “Lochivan. Did you sense something to the east? Something of Nimth?”
“Sire, I felt some presence and it may have been as you say, but I could not swear to it.”
“Spoken well. Could you find it?”
“I think it might be possible. What is it, Father?”
Barakas stroked his beard. He gazed thoughtfully at things only existing in his mind. “From bitter Nimth, it could be either our salvation or our death.”
Recalling those left behind, Lochivan said nothing.
“Find out, but be wary. It may be that the avians’ threat has become secondary. Go now!” The Lord Tezerenee chuckled to himself as his son departed to comply with his commands. The irony of what might be out there was not lost on the patriarch. It was possible that he had achieved what he had always dreamed of, uniting the Vraad race, making it one vast force with a common goal.
“How unfortunate,” he finally muttered.
Nimth raged, shrieking its disapproval with thunder and accenting its fury with lightning. Whirlwinds spawned and died. The land shifted and shaped itself. A haze was slowly spreading, one that did not bode well. A few adventurous spellcasters had gone out to study it, the Vraad’s belief in their individual immortality still dominant at the time. That belief, like so much else on Nimth, began to erode when it became evident that the explorers would not be returning.
Dru’s domain gave the thousands some protection, but the storm was all around them, spreading the poisoned magic everywhere. The castle no longer obeyed commands without hesitation. One sorceress had already been lost, crushed between two walls that had closed on her with surprising speed. After that, no one else demanded the right to create for themselves private chambers. The Vraad had become, against their preferences, a socializing people. It was now the only way they felt secure while they waited their opportunity to cross to their new home.
From the top of the tallest tower, the lord of the domain and a figure nearly buried within a massive cloak watched over the proceedings. Just beyond the edges of the Zeree domain, the shrouded realm already intruded. It was a bit of a shock to both men. Their calculations had said the way would open again and it had. What they had not predicted was that it would spread to encompass a region twice as great as the castle of pearl. Dru wondered if the founders had had a hand in the stunning development.
“Dragon’s blood!” the half-seen Gerrod muttered as he watched the latest band vanish. “This is unnerving!”
Dru agreed. His experience with the ghost lands had been from the inside. Seeing the change from without made him appreciate Sharissa’s shock all the more. The group of Vraad riding through the phantom field had started out much the way he had, a living being surrounded by specters of another world. Solid flesh mingling with translucent unreality.
That was the way it began. The deeper and deeper they rode, the less distinct was the difference. Midway to the forest, the riders grew faded around the edges, as if the vision of those observing was failing them. Yet, it was not their vision, but those they watched who were lacking. By the time half the remaining distance was covered, the ruined landscape of Nimth was visible through the backs of the riders as nearly as much as it was through the forest and the field.
When the refugees entered the forest, they were already part of the other world.
“They’re across,” Gerrod said. He mentioned it every time, possibly because he still worried that the cross- over would fail before he had departed Nimth. The hooded Tezerenee had shocked Dru with his knowledge of the shrouded realm and its intrusion upon Nimth, not to mention the horrors racking the Vraad birthplace. Gerrod had not only looked over many of his brother’s notes, but he had discussed Dru’s work with Sharissa over their long trek to the Zeree domain. That, coupled with his own research, made him as capable as Dru in many things.
The Tezerenee was still nervous around his father’s former ally. He had explained his fears, had explained why Sharissa had not received Dru’s summoning, and, despite the assurances he had received in turn, still expected the elder Zeree to turn on him.
With the danger of misdirected sorcery, which they had experienced in the lands of Melenea, they had chosen to use it as little as possible. Food had been the one necessary use. The duo had walked most of the way, limiting teleportation and flight to those areas most stable.
Exhausted by their ordeal, they had finally dared to rest for a time. Sharissa had suffered most since her life had been more sheltered than his. Gerrod allowed her to sleep while he merely rested. It was during that time that Dru had reached out to the Vraad, telling them of Rendel.
“It was that which frightened me, Master Zeree,” the young Tezerenee had said, his face buried deep in the folds of his hood. “I had aided your daughter, but being a Vraad, would you have seen that as sufficient cause to spare me if you, like the rest, were hunting the dragon lord’s children?”
In the end, Gerrod had known he would have to face Dru, if only because the other sorcerer was the only one who knew some path out. Alone, he could never begin anew the recreation of the Tezerenee method. He had not been all that certain he wanted to, either. It had always left him feeling disturbed, as if the final fusion of Vraad mind with dragon-forged host bodies would be some monstrous hybrid.
“How many are across, now?” Gerrod asked, returning Dru to the present. “How much longer?”
“A third are through, maybe a little more.” The immigrating Vraad were crossing in groups of about one hundred, an unmentioned but symbolic reference to the founders that he had decided on. The bands, bringing only what their animals and themselves could carry, were entering the border region as soon as those before them had vanished into the woods. It kept the pace consistent enough to prevent a mad rush by those still waiting. “A good thing we have never numbered more than several thousand. This would have never worked otherwise.”
“Will it be the same over there?”
“I doubt it.” Gerrod seemed to want more of an answer, but Dru had none. There were too many question marks.
“What did happen to Melenea?”
He had tried to put that behind him, but the younger Vraad would not let him. This was the third time he had skirted around the fate of the enchantress, possibly because he could not believe she was gone. Dru could understand that; even now, he sometimes felt as if her eyes were on him. “Are you afraid you might join her?”
His companion swallowed. Dru had meant it as a joke, but Gerrod was still nervous about his own fate. “No! No,” the other replied quickly. “It’s just that… that…” He looked directly at Dru, who tried his best to perceive eyes somewhere within the hood. “It’s just that I still feel as if she’s left some last treat for us. The way she left the one that killed Rendel.”
Gerrod had taken his brother’s death with little remorse. It was disconcerting, however, to note that the Tezerenee had felt the same as he had about the enchantress. What was there about Melenea that she could still haunt them after Dru had meted out justice to her?
Below, a commotion attracted their attention. A rider was approaching, one who had returned from the other realm and raced to the citadel as if a horde were closing in behind him.
“Tiel Bokalee,” Gerrod said. “He is one of Silesti’s new dogs.” Silesti wanted to make an example of the young Tezerenee now that Rendel was beyond him. He had only grudgingly allowed that the hooded Vraad was nothing
