the Void!”
Darkhorse stood before the patriarch and his mate, pupilless, ice-blue orbs glittering in swelling anger. His hooves tore at the stone floor, gouging valley after valley.
The sorceress could hold back no longer. She pulled free of Lochivan, who was somewhat dazed by the shadow steed’s remarkable entrance. “Darkhorse!”
“Who calls?” The ebony stallion swung around and glared her way, not immediately recognizing her. When he finally did, he was so overjoyed he laughed. Most of those in the chamber put their hands to their ears. Barakas remained unmoving. “Sharissa Zeree! At last!”
He started toward her running figure. They were almost within reach when Sharissa felt the familiar but frightening touch of her collar. She could no longer breathe. Darkhorse halted at the same time she did, but not, it appeared, because of her predicament. Rather, he was trembling, as if he, too, suffered from pain.
On her knees, she tried to imagine what to do. Her collar was choking her, but she had made no attempt to touch it. Strong hands took her under the arms. As the slim woman fought for breath, she was dragged back from her one friend.
The collar grew loose.
“You… you call me demon, Lord of the Tezerenee! You are the monster!” Darkhorse trotted a few steps farther away from the sorceress. “I might have survived, but you would have killed her!”
“She will be fine,” the patriarch responded. He remained calm, almost uninterested in events.
Leaning against Lochivan, who was the one who had pulled her away, Sharissa realized that Barakas had once more planned well. He had allowed both of them to learn in the most deadly way that they could not come within a certain range of each other, lest one or both suffer. More than likely it would be her, although the patriarch had evidently discovered many of the eternal’s weaknesses.
“Can you stand?” Lochivan asked quietly. He sounded both unnerved and ashamed. “I had no idea what he planned. I would have warned you about your friend if I had.”
She did not reply, choosing instead to break free of his grip and rise on her own. Once certain her legs were sturdy enough, she looked first at Darkhorse, who still looked to be in pain, and finally at the patriarch.
“I must apologize, Lady Sharissa. A necessary measure. The demon has been of great value, doing by himself what we cannot-as yet-do en masse.”
“I always-” She coughed, her lungs still not fully satiated. “I always thought you believed in as little sorcery as possible. Was it not you who preached of the true strength being that of the body?”
“A good warrior utilizes the best of weapons for each situation. Your demon friend gave us access to our rightful empire. While we experimented with the powers we found reemerging within us, he built this citadel with his own skills. Through his efforts, we were able to secure ourselves while we developed.”
“And this is how you reward him!” She indicated the box. “What sort of horrible trap is that?”
“This? This is merely a box.” He held it up for her to see. Across from her, Darkhorse cringed like one whipped again and again who must now stare at the very tool that had done the evil work. “There are a few minor additions, spells that make it impossible to hear all but my voice and prevent something within from speaking to any but myself. It is proof against his sorcerous being and only I can open it, but it is, in the end, still only a box. It inflicts no pain upon him.”
“It is agony incarnate!” roared Darkhorse. “I cannot move! I cannot speak! He becomes my only contact! I have been so alone!”
Careful to avoid stepping too near Darkhorse, Sharissa moved toward the patriarch’s throne. Sentries instantly appeared before their lord, their weapons ready for the sorceress.
“Away!” Barakas rose and pushed them aside with his free hand. He put the open box in the crook of his arm and surveyed the defiant Zeree. “You had something to say?”
What could she say that would not be empty bitterness? Barakas held the upper hand. He had given her this audience just to humiliate her, to show how hopeless her cause was. “Would anything I say make a difference to you, drag-onlord?”
“Very much, in fact,” he said, reseating himself. Though he now wore an apologetic expression, as if he regretted his earlier actions, Sharissa knew better. “The collar is a great travesty that you should not have to endure. Your place should be beside us!” At those words, Reegan, who had been standing quietly behind his parents, suddenly grew attentive. Feeling his eyes upon her, Sharissa forced herself to keep her own attention focused on the patriarch. She would not acknowledge the heir, her intended mate if Barakas had his way.
“I have no desire to even stand near you, Lord Tezerenee. I never will.”
The assembly broke into a fearful murmur. Others had likely died for saying less to the very face of Barakas Tezerenee. Yet, despite the implications, the patriarch seemed unconcerned about the remark. Instead, he stroked the lid of the box once, then gently closed it. Darkhorse shuffled back a few steps out of what could only be fear. Energy crackled around the subdued stallion, and he seemed to freeze. Some bond tied him to the box.
“Remove the collar.”
Renewed whispers spread through the clan. Lochivan marched up to Sharissa, who stood as lifeless as stone. What could the patriarch be planning? Did he think she would simply stand there once her abilities were hers to utilize again? She could-
As Lochivan reached up to her neck and touched the collar, Sharissa realized she could do nothing. Fight? Even if she were the greatest power among these Vraad, she could hardly expect to take them all on and win. Barakas would be the most well-protected target of all. Flee? Where would she go? What would happen to Darkhorse… or even Faunon, whom she had made a pact with? She could hardly escape without them, especially with both so helpless. Who was to say how much Darkhorse in particular would suffer?
Lochivan slipped the magical collar from her throat, but Sharissa felt no eagerness. Another collar now threatened to suffocate her. It was a collar forged from her fear for the others, notably Darkhorse. She saw now why Barakas had not taken her insult to heart; he knew she would follow him, if only because she could not abandon a friend. He might not even know about her visit to Faunon, but he certainly knew how much the ebony eternal had come to mean to the sorceress.
“Sharissa…” Darkhorse muttered, his tone indicating he also knew why she did nothing now that her powers had been restored.
She was once more alone before the clan master, Lochivan having stepped back with the deadly manacle. One hand slowly went to her throat, where she absently rubbed the skin. The act unexpectedly recalled to her the constant scratching many of the Tezerenee did during the course of the day. Sharissa let her hand drop.
“Good,” Barakas said, nodding at the same time. “You see? Your welfare means much to us, Sharissa Zeree. I want you to work with us.”
Cooperation? Work with the Tezerenee? Was there something more to this audience besides her humiliation? Had the patriarch found himself in need of her abilities?
Barakas leaned forward, as if speaking to the sorceress as a fellow conspirator in some plot. His voice, however, was loud enough for all to hear.
“There is to be a second expedition, a larger one, to the mountain aerie abandoned by the bird people. It will be led by myself and leaves in the morning.” He shot a glance at Darkhorse. Though the shadow steed moved his head and glared back, it was evident that he could still do little else. Whatever spell bound him to the box made his ability to move subject to the will of the patriarch. He might as well have been a puppet on strings.
Pretending to forget the eternal, Barakas looked at the cautious spellcaster before him and continued, “Your knowledge and skills would be invaluable to our effort, Lady Sharissa. We would like you to join us.”
Or Darkhorse will suffer? she wondered. Had the patriarch passed on to her a silent, veiled threat or had he so turned her that she now saw imaginary plots in each movement, each breath he took?
“Of what use would I be to you? Even now, shorn of your trinket and in full use of my powers, there’s nothing I can do that you cannot do.” Now it was her turn to glance at Darkhorse. “Through fair means or foul.”
Again there was stirring among the Tezerenee. A normal court under the patriarch no doubt consisted of Barakas preaching and his followers nodding in silent obedience. Even Sharissa’s rebuffs, as futile as they probably were, were jarring to the Tezerenee and their loyal outsiders.
Barakas leaned back in his throne. The time had come for the fatal thrust. She steadied herself, wondering what he could throw at her that would bring about her willing cooperation in a Tezerenee effort.
“Are not the founders a particular interest of yours?”
