Faunon saw a pale visage that, if it struggled, might be called handsome in a poorly lit chamber. He studied the ears. Unlike an elf’s, they were rounded.
The eyes were the most disturbing feature. They were crystalline. He had never heard of such a thing. Beautiful but cold. Round where the elfin orbs were almond-shaped.
Could they be…
“Bothering you again, Lochivan?” the ursine rider asked. For the first time, Faunon noticed how that one’s helm had been designed so as to allow the heavy beard to flow free.
Lochivan was scratching at his neck. “I must be allergic to something here! It’s been worse since we crossed!”
The third rider, who had been inspecting the warrior sprawled in the grass, called out, “He’s dead. Blade severed the artery in his neck.”
“A good strike,” Reegan complimented. “Let me see your weapon.”
“You don’t think-” A force that nearly tore his fingers off yanked the long, narrow sword from his grasp. It went spiraling through the air, at last landing perfectly in the left hand of the massive warrior. Reegan turned and nodded to his companion, as if proud of what he had just accomplished.
“I told you. The power has returned to us. I don’t know how or why, but it has.” Lochivan had ceased his scratching. A vivid red mark covered his neck. He smiled slightly at the wounded elf, who was starting to sink to the ground from a combination of exhaustion, pain, and simple frustration. “Reegan is very fond of weapons,” he explained companionably. “More so than most Tezerenee.”
“Is that what you are… Tezerenee?” It was not a name familiar to Faunon, yet it filled him with relief. Their bearing, their arrogance, had reminded him of something else, some fearsome demon from stories that his mother had told him.
“We were born to the Tezerenee, the clan of the dragon,” Lochivan offered. He replaced his helm, and Faunon, studying it, could not help but be drawn by the eyes of the dragon. They matched those of the man who wore the helm. Lochivan indicated Reegan. “My brother and I. These others, they are Tezerenee by adoption; that is why they fight with less skill. All of us, however, are known together as the Vraad.” The warrior cocked his head in what might have been actual curiosity. “Being an elf, I thought you might have heard of us.”
Faunon pressed himself against the tree that was still, at least in theory, supporting him. He stared without hope at the two mounted riders.
“I think we can take that for a positive response,” Lochivan finally said. He glanced at the warrior standing ready by the corpse of his fellow.
“Bind him and drag him back to the citadel.”
VIII
“You see, demon? I keep my promises. You’ve done what I’ve asked and I’ve woken her. I hardly need to have done that, you know.”
Sharissa’s soul swam in a sea of emptiness. The voices were all she had to latch on to, and they had, until now, seemed so very, very far away. Now, however, she found herself moving toward them with ease.
“I see that you like to give freely what is not yours to give, what actually belongs to the one you claim to give it to! That is what I see!”
They were familiar voices and, though she did not care for one of them, they promised light where she could only recall darkness.
“Do not bestir yourself, demon. The bonds that hold you have not weakened in the slightest. I would rather have your willing cooperation than this need for pain.”
Closer. Sharissa knew she had almost found the light.
One of the voices shrieked in unbridled agony. Her flight slowed as she sought some way to give solace to the one in pain. There was nothing Sharissa could do, however. She knew she would have to wait until she was back in the light.
The shriek died down into silence. Then, just as she feared she would become lost again, the first voice spoke. Its tone was smooth and, despite the sympathetic words, mocking. “You force me to do things I would rather not do, demon. You are the one causing yourself pain.”
“Darkhorse?” Sharissa could not yet see, could not even sense her very body, but memory, at least, was returning. At the moment, it seemed the most precious thing she possessed.
“That should be enough to satisfy you. Now, back where you belong.”
“The Void swallow you, Lord Bara-”
“Darkhorse?” Sharissa struggled to open her eyes. Memories of the attack returned. She had been a fool. Something in the spell of the lamp had alerted the Tezerenee to the fact that she had freed herself a second time. It was a simple spell, one well within the ability of many Vraad, and she had not thought of it.
Why the lamp, though? Why cloud her perceptions if they planned to take her?
“Are you feeling ill at all?” Barakas Tezerenee asked from the darkness.
A dim crack of light sliced its way through the endless black void. As the sorceress struggled, it grew into a band of murky shapes and movements. “Darkhorse, where-”
“Shh! Take it slow, Lady Sharissa. You’ve been asleep for over three days. That deep a slumber turns the body numb. It takes time for the blood to regain momentum.”
“Barakas.” She turned the name into a curse. “What have you done to Dark-horse? To me?” Sharissa regained a vague sense of her body. She tried to move her hands, but was unable to tell if there were any positive results.
“You will come to understand, my lady. Before long, you will even stand in the forefront of our destiny.”
“The Faceless Ones take your speechmaking!” she shouted, putting all her renewed energy into her response. To her dismay, she almost found herself sinking back into the darkness because of her anger.
“I warned you to take it slow. You’ll likely have a rampaging headache because of your tirade.”
Sharissa tried to draw upon the lifeforce of the world, only to find a wall within herself that would not permit even the least of spells. It was a mental block, as if each time she sought to do something, her concentration slipped just enough to make her attempt fail.
Something wrapping around her throat…
“What did you do to me, Barakas?”
His form-it could only be his form-grew larger, nearly filling her limited field of vision. He could be no more than a yard away, yet the patriarch would still not come into focus. “Merely something to keep you from reacting without thought. This is something that should be talked out after you’ve had an opportunity to see what we’ve accomplished, what we intend.”
“My father won’t stand for this, Barakas! Neither will Silesti! Between the two of them, they have the numbers to overwhelm your pathetic little army.”
Her body was nearly her own again, though, at the moment, that seemed no great victory. Every muscle screamed agony, not surprising since she had not moved in three days. With an effort, the sorceress reached for her throat.
“It won’t come off unless I wish it.”
“You expect me to follow you in anything when you treat me like this? What have you done to Darkhorse? I thought I heard-”
“He will recover. He left me no choice. Perhaps you will be able to convince him of the correct way of things once you’ve had a chance to taste our harvest.”
The huge armored figure was slowly coalescing into something with distinct features. Sharissa, struggling, was able to raise herself enough so that she could rest on her elbows. It allowed her to focus her gaze better on the patriarch’s own crystalline eyes. “You are waxing poetic, Lord Tezerenee, but all the pretty words and familiar speech won’t convince me of anything other than the fact that you are not to be trusted.” She gritted her teeth, knowing how her next words would probably affect him. “You, patriarch, have no concept of honor whatsoever. I’d rather believe that the smile of a drake has nothing to do with its hunger than believe one promise of yours.”
