She rose. “I’ll see what it is.”
“You could be killed!”
“I’ll not wait for whatever it is to come to us!”
With great caution, she reached for the door handle. Sharissa raised her other hand, ready to cast a spell the moment she opened the door.
A hulking figure from without burst through the door as if it were dry kindling.
“Lllaaady Zzzzzerrreeeee,” it hissed.
It wore what looked like the remnants of armor, not that it needed any, for it had a natural scale armor of its own that went from head to foot. The fiend was almost human in form, but bent awkwardly, as if it was trying to move as a man but not built for the purpose. The hands were more like the paws of the riding drakes and ended in equally sharp talons.
Worst of all was the visage. As the body could only mock that of a human, so too did the face, only more so. The eyes, though crystalline like a Vraad’s, were long and narrow. The horror’s nose was virtually nonexistent, two mere slits in the center. Its mouth was full of teeth that were pointed and made for tearing flesh from a kill.
It was coming for her.
“Lllaaady Sharissssssa!” It reached out for her, but she jumped back just in time. The creature was like some legacy of mad Nimth. She tried to concentrate, knowing that only seconds separated her from death. Physically, the frightened sorceress was no match, but her powers might save her if she could only think.
If only it would stop flashing those teeth! she kept thinking. “Sharissa!” Faunon called from behind her. That snapped her out of it. It would not only be she that perished if she failed to act, but also Faunon, who could not even defend himself.
“Lllaaady, I-”
Whatever it sought to say, Sharissa would never know. A spell formed in her mind and was completed accordingly. Brilliant, scarlet bands swarmed around the reptilian terror, who fought them with the savagery of an animal cornered. The bands began to tighten around its arms and legs. Sharissa breathed easier.
A yellow aura originating from the creature evaporated the bands just as it seemed the battle had been won.
“Yooou mussst-” the creature started to say, forked tongue lashing in and out of its mouth.
Before her eyes, it twitched once-and fell forward, already dead.
There was an arrow in the back of its neck. The shot had been so perfectly aimed that death had been instantaneous.
“Inside!” a voice shouted.
Two Tezerenee in full armor came rushing in. One of them bent down and inspected the sprawling figure while the other kept his sword ready should it turn out that, impossible as it was, the monster still lived.
“Well?” roared the same voice that had ordered the two inside. Lochivan peered in, his bow ready.
“Dead, milord.”
“Roll it over.”
The warrior who bent by the corpse removed the arrow and did as Lochivan commanded. Everyone stared at the horrible features.
“This is the armor of one of our own, milord.”
“I can see that.” Lochivan looked up at Sharissa. “Are you injured at all?”
“No.” For the first time in weeks, she was actually happy to see him. “I held it back, but it had sorcery of its own.”
“Yes, I know. It killed one of the sentries outside by sorcery. Quietly, too. The other sentry did not notice until the first fell to the ground. By that time, it was too late for him to save himself, much less the first man.”
“Milord!” The Tezerenee who had studied the dead monstrosity stumbled back, unable to hide his shock. “This is one of us!”
“What? Impossible!” Handing his bow to the other man, Lochivan knelt and inspected his kill. His hand roved over what remained of the armor and then to the face. He stared hard and long, trying to make sense of what lay before him.
Sharissa, too, was staring long and hard. Unbidden came the memory of the warrior she and Lochivan had confronted in the corridor just before her public humiliation by Barakas.
“Lochivan,” she started. “Do you recall the man we met in the hall? The one doubled over from illness?”
He looked up. “I recall him.” Unlike his father, the sorceress was aware that he could name every Tezerenee in the clan, be they born by those of the founding blood or outsiders who had joined the ranks at one time or another. It was even a point of pride with him. “That would make this…” Lochivan turned to one of his men. “See if Ivor can be found! He was among the chosen for this expedition since he was a part of the first.”
Hearing this, Sharissa’s brow furrowed. Was it pure coincidence? “Is Ivor a relation?”
“A cousin. Obedient, little else. He was one of the earliest to cross over from Nimth.”
As the one warrior departed to fulfill his desires, others arrived. One saluted Lochivan, who stood. “Well?”
“There are three dead. We found another man gutted a short distance from here.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing.”
“Dispose of this… this… dispose of him in a discreet manner. Is that understood?”
“Yes, milord.”
While the others began dragging the body out, Lochivan noticed Faunon for the first time. Ignoring Sharissa, he marched over to the elf and knelt by him.
“What trick was that, elf? Are your fellows out there now?” He gripped Faunon’s jaw in one hand. “Have I been too lenient with you?”
Sharissa’s relief at seeing Lochivan faded. He had no right to treat Faunon so. “What could he know? What part could he have played, Lochivan? Look at him. You’ve reduced him to little more than a shell!”
“It… it… is all r-right, my l-lady.” With the return of the Tezerenee, Faunon was exaggerating his condition. Sharissa tried not to react, understanding that Faunon wanted them to believe he was weaker than he was. To Lochivan, the captive replied, “I know… nothing, friend. That I swear t-to you. Do you think I w-would have invited such… such a menace into this p-place when I cannot even defend myself? I w-would rather you slit… slit my throat than for… for me t-to be torn apart by so grisly a beast.”
“Do you claim that the elves did not do this?”
“Your man was ill before this, Lochivan,” Sharissa reminded him again. It had not been proven that this was indeed the one called Ivor, but she suspected such evidence would be forthcoming. “It could have been something else.”
He sighed. Standing, the Tezerenee removed his helm and scratched at his throat, where the dry patches of skin had spread. It had become so familiar a habit with him that he no longer even complained when it itched. “Perhaps you are correct. The Seekers have been conspicuously absent.”
She did not understand. “I thought the aerie we travel to had been abandoned and the Seekers were dead.”
“There are a few to weed out. Survivors, nothing more.”
A change in the expression on the elf’s visage made the young sorceress’s eyes dart to Faunon and quickly back again. At mention of the caverns, he had become lost in thought, as if making some connection that she could not. Once Lochivan left, perhaps she could-
“I am afraid that I must terminate your conversation with the prisoner,” the armored figure said at that moment. “You will be given another chance to speak with him, I think. For now, I would prefer that you be where I can guard you better.”
“Me? It was one of your people that suffered-”
“And he came for you. It may be that you are seen as a risk to whoever is responsible. I want nothing to happen to you, Sharissa.” Lochivan’s tone softened toward the end.
She wanted to argue, but the outcome would be the same regardless. Behind the Tezerenee, Faunon indicated that she should agree. Too much protest and they might change their minds about allowing her to talk to him again.
