He swore at himself and forced such dangerous notions from his mind. He would save Sharissa and the creature Darkhorse and that would be the end of it. His other goals, his dreams, would have to wait for a different solution. To touch upon the lifeforce of this domain would be tantamount to surrendering to it the way the others were, one by one. It would also open him to a fate worse than dying-becoming a monster like the Seekers.
The Tezerenee knew he was stalling, that he was, deep inside, afraid to take the final steps.
“Sharissa.” His own blood held her prisoner. The lord drake and his children. His father. His father had Sharissa.
Gerrod slammed the crystal onto the floor, knowing it would take harsher treatment than that to crack the artifact. Afraid he might be, but he would hold back no longer. If nothing else, the warlock would go through with the rescue, not just for the sake of the woman, but to shatter the arrogant dreams of his former people… and especially his not-so-dear father.
He smiled as he thought the last.
“That was not there when we came this way,” Rayke commented.
“Yes, I think I would have noticed it,” Faunon retorted. He reprimanded himself immediately after, knowing that Rayke’s statement was born of un-certainty, possibly even a little fear. Faunon could not blame him or any of the others for that fear; his own rash reply had sprung from the same emotion.
“Where did it come from?” one of the others asked. The elfin leader was certain each and every member of the party had asked the same question over the last hour.
Well? he asked himself. Where did it come from?
They peered through the woods at the huge stone citadel, a masterful yet oppressive piece of building. It looked massive enough to house a few thousand folk, and its principal tower rose so high into the air that Faunon almost wondered if it overlooked some of the lesser mountain peaks. He knew the last was only a trick of the eye, but still…
“No elf ever built something like that! No Seeker, either!” Rayke’s hand squeezed the grip of his sword.
“Not in only a few days’ time.”
“Look there!” whispered a younger elf to Faunon’s right.
A drake rose into the sky. The elves shunned the creatures out of principle; they were ill-tempered monsters who tended to try to take bites out of anything that moved. Drake meat was not all that tasty, either. It was not the beast that caught their attention, however, but what journeyed with the draconian horror.
“Someone rides it!” Rayke blurted. His eyes grew large. Faunon stared in wonder at the rider. It was roughly the size of an elf, though much more massive. The dark green armor it wore blended with the skin of the drake, making the two almost seem like one. A ferocious helm that mirrored the toothy visage of the mount obscured the rider’s features. Faunon was not even certain the newcomer resembled anything approaching elf. While it appeared to be shaped akin to the members of the expedition, the same could have been said of the avians or the Quel.
“There is another one!” someone else whispered.
“More than one,” Faunon corrected. Behind the second duo came a third and a fourth. “It is a patrol.”
“We should leave here, Faunon!”
“They might find us any moment-”
“Be silent!” Rayke hissed. “Lest you help them find us all the sooner!” Faunon’s second turned to him. “What do you say? Do we leave or do we risk it longer? This must certainly be of interest to the elders!”
“But not at the cost of our own lives. We should move farther back and to the west. We will find thicker cover there, but a much better view.”
The party took heart from his rapid decision. Faunon hoped they felt calmer than he did. This was hardly what he had expected. When he had asked himself who would be the future rulers of this domain, he had hardly expected the answer so soon. It was very obvious that these newcomers had arrived with the intention of conquering themselves an empire. Sooner or later, they would cross paths with the elves. It behooved the party to discover what they could of these potential-potential?… certain! — adversaries.
Moving with a silence that would have done them proud even among their own kind, the elves abandoned their position. A good thing, too, Faunon saw. The route the flyers were taking would soon bring them too near the elves’ former location. Had the group stayed where they were, the patrol would have seen them from the sky.
Against aerial combatants, Faunon knew his men had no chance. It would take more than a few arrows to pierce the hides of the drakes and, judging by the skill with which the armored figures controlled their beasts, trying for an eye or mouth would be nearly impossible. The newcomers did not wear their armor purely for show; they moved like warriors born.
Time passed far more quickly than the elfin leader would have preferred. He glanced back and saw that the drakes had not yet reached the abandoned position. That struck him as a little odd. Their pattern of flight should have brought them over the wooded area by this time. It was that danger that had made moving quickly so critical.
Rayke came up beside him, trying to make out whatever it was that disturbed his companion. “What is it? Have they seen us?”
“It could be nothing…”
They heard a faint crackling in the woods to the east. To Faunon, it sounded like a death knell… for all of them.
“Ready yourselves!” he whispered. “They are coming for us!”
More than a dozen toothy monstrosities, each carrying one of the armored figures, burst through the woods not more than a breath or two after his warning. That was time enough for the elves, however. Arrows flew from those who had carried bows, striking at the forerunners. Each struck a vital part of some rider’s body, but, unfortunately, the armor proved too strong. Even tinged with elfin magic, the shafts only bounced off, save one lucky strike that went through one of the eye holes of the nearest rider. The figure fell backward, dead in that same instant, but his stirrups would not allow him to fall off and so he bobbed up and down like some macabre puppet while his mount kept pace with its brethren.
“Archers! Mounts first!” Faunon knew the riding drakes could not be maneuvered so well this close. The trees and bushes worked to his advantage for the moment, but soon the drakes would be close enough to make use of their talons and teeth. He wanted them dead before that.
Though the results were, for the moment, unseen and unfelt, a second battle had also progressed. Elfin magic met a sorcery that felt so vile, so self-destructive, that Faunon wondered what sort of creatures they fought. He had hoped his men would have an advantage there, but such was not to be. At the moment, the two warring magics were at a stalemate, though how long that would last was anybody’s guess. Faunon suspected the tide would not be turning in the elves’ favor. Already he could feel the strain on his mind, and he was only shielding, not attacking, with his somewhat lesser sorcerous ability.
The riders were being forced to spread their line because of the trees. An arrow burst the eye of one drake, causing the draconian horror to halt in its charge and seek in vain to remove the cause of its pain. The rider struggled for control.
We have a chance! Faunon thought as he readied himself for the first attacker.
He heard the beating of wings above him and knew they did not belong to the Sheekas.
The aerial patrol had known their position all the time. “We have been tricked!” With a sinking feeling, Faunon watched the drakes descend even as those on the ground continued to surge forward. Of the dozen who had burst through the trees, two were dead. Nine riders still lived, but four of them were on foot. Perhaps if his men broke for the thicker foliage, they might be able to regroup and make a better stand there-
“Faunon! Watch your back!”
The voice was Rayke’s. Faunon rolled to one side and heard a whoosh! as one of the flying drakes soared upward again, its wicked claws thankfully empty.
Another elf was not so lucky. One of the archers, paying too much attention to the armored figures darting in and out of the trees, did not notice the diving horror until he was plucked from the ground. The hapless victim had only time for a short scream before the drake took his head in its massive maw and bit down.
Faunon turned away, wanting then to heave the contents of his stomach out. He fought the nauseating feeling, but only because he knew others might suffer while he was giving in to his lesser emotions. Better to turn those emotions to energy.
