“Gods!” The other Vraad looked up, an envious expression blossoming as he admired her handiwork. “If only I could…”
“You came to see me for a reason?” She did not care for the way his eyes grew covetous when he turned his attention back to her. He could see her much better in this light, true, but it was not merely lust for her that she read. Bethken was one of those to whom a loss of power was like stealing the food from his mouth. He hungered for it, and the wonders it could give him. In Sharissa he saw much of what he hungered for.
“It is always glorious to see such skill in these dark times, lady.” The man fairly fawned upon her. Any success he might have had, however, was countered by the constant shifting of his loose skin as he talked and moved. “Would that we could return to the days of our greatness.”
“I doubt even you would want to return to Nimth now.”
“Hardly!” He looked shocked, as if she were mad to even make mention of such a thing.
“Good.” Sharissa nodded. “Now, what is it you want? I have many things to do.”
“The demon; he is not about?”
“Darkhorse is no demon, Bethken, and, as far as your question… do you see him here?”
His laughter was forced. “Forgive me, Lady Sharissa. I meant him no insult. It’s just that it would be better if he were not here; he might grow heated at some of what I wish to convey to you.”
If you ever succeed in conveying it, the sorceress thought wryly. “Go on, please.”
Bethken bowed again, sending his folds of skin into renewed jiggling. “You know that Silesti’s faction has been vocal concerning their fear of the dem-your companion?”
“Of course.”
“I have heard that Silesti thinks to go beyond mere words, that he desires to remove the creature.”
He was obviously hoping for some sort of dramatic reaction, but Sharissa had no intention of satisfying him. She had heard the rumor already and knew it to be false. Silesti had admitted to Dru that the thought had crossed his mind, but he had decided that it would be a breach of faith to Sharissa’s father, whom he respected and, though neither man would admit it, even liked. Silesti trusted Dru, and the elder Zeree trusted the somber, black-suited figure.
“Your news is hardly news to me.”
The man looked crestfallen. It was interesting how so many people came to her with what they imagined was important information. Like Bethken, they wanted compensation, of course. To be owed a favor by any of the members of the triumvirate or even someone close to them was a coup indeed.
“He seeks to call a meeting of the triumvirate, at which point he will-” the unsightly man babbled.
“Strike. He’ll kill my father and the Lord Tezerenee and chain Darkhorse.” As if chains could hold an entity such as the shadow steed.
“I thought-”
“You do have my thanks for trying, Bethken. I’m sorry that you went to the trouble of coming all the way here for this. I hope you don’t have far to walk.”
Her less-than-subtle hint that he had overstayed his welcome mortified the wrinkled figure. He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then bowed once more.
“Perhaps another time, Lady Sharissa. It was no trouble, and I have the satisfaction of retaining a memory of your beauty. That is reward enough. Good night!”
Bethken remained bent over as he backed out of the chamber. It was not until he had vanished from sight that Sharissa recalled his oil lamp. She started to call after him, then decided that he knew by this time that he had forgotten it. Certainly walking about in the dark should have informed him of the fact. If Bethken returned for the lamp, Sharissa would give it back to the horrid man and turn him out again. If he did not, she would have someone return it in the morning.
Her research soon enveloped her in a cocoon of forgetfulness. More than once she had followed in her father’s footsteps, sometimes finding the morning sun creeping across the table where she worked. Each time that happened, Sharissa swore she would not do it again.
She finished writing notes about another of her pet projects, a study of the effects on the various individuals who made up the population of the city. Of late, many Vraad had grown more weathered in appearance. She could not bring herself to think of them as old, because then she would have to think of her father dying at some point. Still, it was highly probable that, in abandoning Nimth, the Vraad had lost part of what made them near immortal. Something in the sorcery of Nimth that was missing in this world… unless this was some trick of the lands themselves.
Looking up, Sharissa thought, Could what Gerrod said once be true? Could this world be changing us to suit its, the founders’, desires? Is that what the Faceless Ones are doing among us?
Almost as if conjured by her thoughts, a shape seemed to move across the entranceway. Sharissa squinted, but the figure, if it had been there, was now gone. Thinking of Bethken, she rose and walked carefully toward the outside corridor. At her command, the ball of light floated down from the ceiling and preceded her into the hall. Sharissa glanced left and right, but the corridor was empty.
She had no idea what the hour was, but knew it had to be very late. Returning to her notes, Sharissa started to straighten things away, fully intent on returning to them after a good sleep. Her task had barely begun, however, before her attention was caught by a flickering motion to her side.
It was the oil lamp. The sorceress smiled at the apprehension she had briefly felt touch her. Reaching over, she doused the flame.
Her hands succeeded in preventing her fall to the floor, but only just so.
If someone had asked Sharissa to describe the sensation she had just experienced, the young Zeree might have best put it as the lifting of a veil from her eyes. The night was the same, but it was now part of her existence, not merely a thing in the background.
… sa!
“Darkhorse?” She shook her head in order to clear her thoughts further. Had there been a voice in her head, one that reminded the sorceress of the ebony stallion? Sharissa waited, hoping to catch something more. The Vraad had some ability in mindtalk, but this had been no Vraad. She was not even certain there had been a voice. Perhaps it had been a stray thought of her overworked mind, but then, what had it concerned? Sa was no word she recalled, but it was the last syllable of her own name, and Sharissa had, at that instant, felt an urgency.
The nearest window gave her a view of the center of the city. She strode over to it and peered outside. One of the moons was visible-Hestia, if she recalled-but nothing out of the ordinary was revealed in the dim illumination the harsh mistress of the night offered.
“I’m a tired fool,” she muttered, smiling at her own silliness. If Darkhorse had called to her, he would certainly have tried again after having failed to reach her the first time. The eternal was nothing if not persistent. In fact, it was more likely that he would have materialized before her rather than call to her using the less-than- trustworthy method of mindtalk. For one with the stallion’s abilities, it was a simple thing. For the weakened Vraad, it was much, much more difficult. No, Darkhorse had not called her; she could not sense his presence anywhere-
Anywhere? Her mind snapped to full alertness at last.
Sharissa could not sense Darkhorse anywhere. He was in neither the city nor the surrounding countryside. When he had first come to the western shores of this continent, the sorceress had felt him almost at once. She had been the only one, as far as she recalled. If she could not find him, then it was certain that no one else could either.
Sirvak Dragoth! He has to be there! Though there was no reason to believe the eternal was in danger, Sharissa had a feeling of foreboding. She knew that he was not in Sirvak Dragoth. Even from there, Sharissa had always been able to vaguely detect his odd magical emanations, an apparently natural and ongoing process of the stallion’s nebulous “body.”
Nothing. It was as if Darkhorse had left the continent. While it was very possible he had, she could not see him leaving in so abrupt a manner, even after his petulant attitude earlier. He would have come to speak to her, to say goodbye. In many ways, the leviathan was very predictable. Sharissa knew him very well after only these past few days. His habits were ingrained to a degree that even the most predictable human could not match.
Her work completely abandoned now, Sharissa pondered what to do next. If her fears were without merit, then she was thrusting herself into a mad, futile chase. If there was merit, then what had happened to her father’s
