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
