“Barakas!” Sharissa reached the patriarch, who stood staring at his lost son and not moving at all. “Barakas! I can help you!”
That brought him back to the present. “What can you do, Lady Sharissa?”
She pointed at the collar. “There are only three here who have power enough to stop Lochivan! I know him! Let it be me!”
“Release you? You have no care for Lochivan, Sharissa! He betrayed you, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean I want him ending up like this! He may even kill all of us if you don’t!”
Barakas glanced at his son, who was trying to catch one of the four remaining adversaries unwary. The circle had moved so that the unconscious warrior was now safe, but not for long if even one more man fell.
“Very well.”
To her surprise, he simply reached over and gently removed the tiny band. “As simple as that?”
“Of course, but only I can do it.”
She whirled and faced Lochivan. In her mind’s sight, she saw the rainbow and the lines as only she of all the Vraad could see them. They were one and the same, only a matter of perceptions, but they represented the lifeforce, the power of this world. A force only she could, so far, manipulate to the necessary intensity.
Let my spell work! Let him not be too strong!
The battle had kicked up clouds of dust, and that was what she chose to use as the base of her containment spell. Faunon might think she would choose to kill the monster, but Sharissa could not do that. She was not a Tezerenee; she would imprison Lochivan if she could.
Lochivan, bloodlust evidently blocking all thought, did not notice how the dust settled thicker and thicker on his body. The Tezerenee did, however, and sought to take advantage. They were using their swords now that the clan master was safe. One of them thrust and caught Lochivan on the arm. He tried to grab the blade but missed.
“Stop! Kill only if you have to!” Barakas called. The decision was not likely to be popular, but the warriors would obey.
By now, Lochivan realized that something was wrong. The draconian visage curled up in animalistic anger, and he shot a deadly glance at the only one his mind recalled could be the source.
“Sharisssssa!”
She almost lost concentration at his call. Had she not been so worn from riding, the spell would have been completed by now. As it was, the sorceress had to struggle the nearer she came to the finish, and each second meant Lochivan was still a threat.
“Sharissssa!” He struggled toward her, moving almost in slow motion. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks, but then she realized that he was glowing. Lochivan was fighting the spell.
“No!” She threw all that she had left into it.
The misshapen form froze, an earthy statue of a beast enraged because it could not claim at least one last victim.
“The Dragon of the Depths be praised!” Barakas whispered.
“You might thank Sharissa, too!” Faunon muttered.
Sharissa smiled in relief and nearly fell into the elf’s arms. “That was too close!”
One warrior went to check his unconscious comrade. The others waited by the encrusted figure, their swords raised and their helmed visages turned toward their liege.
“What do we do, Father?” Gerrod, still atop his beast, asked.
Barakas glanced at his remaining son, at Lochivan, and then at Sharissa. His voice shook at first, but he quickly corrected the shameful error. “Mount up. Everyone. Now.”
“The dead, my lord?” one of the warriors asked.
“There is no time for them. Remember their names and that will be sufficient for their immortality.”
Sharissa separated from Faunon and moved close enough so that she could whisper privately to the patriarch. “The spell won’t hold him forever. He’s growing stronger and stronger… and his body’s growing, too.”
“Will it hold long enough for us to be far from here?”
“It should, but-”
The lord of the Tezerenee turned from her, walking slowly toward his own beast. “Then that is all I need to know.”
Gerrod rode over to Sharissa and Faunon, two riderless drakes sandwiching his own. He handed the reins to the elf and smiled grimly at Sharissa. “Do not ask me to explain his decision. I think I am just as surprised as you.”
The wounded Tezerenee was helped atop his drake. He would see to his arm as they traveled. The other warrior, now conscious, needed help in the guidance of his mount from one of his brethren, but seemed all right otherwise. By the time Sharissa had mounted, the remnants of the party were ready to ride. Barakas took one last lingering look back at the still figure, then signaled the advance.
Beyond the horizon, the citadel and its own mysteries awaited them.
XX
It seemed much too soon and far too late when they arrived at the outskirts of the walled citadel of the Tezerenee.
“The gates are open,” Faunon informed them while they were still a distance away. His eyes were much better than theirs. Once it would have been next to nothing for the Vraad to alter their eyes to their needs, but none of those with the elf even voiced the thought, not with the unpredictability of sorcery.
“I hear nothing but the birds in the trees,” Gerrod added. “The citadel is silent.”
Sharissa glanced at the patriarch and saw that his hands gripped so tightly around the reins that it was a wonder the reins did not snap. She could see that he wanted desperately to ride as swiftly as he could through the gates and see what had befallen his empire, but the training that he himself had imparted upon the clan held him back. No warrior went riding madly into danger unless he had something in mind.
The sun of a new day was barely over the horizon. No one spoke of Lochivan’s tragic struggle, for fear of the look that crossed the patriarch’s countenance when that event was even hinted at. Besides, now was the time to worry about what lay before them-and whether or not it might be better to turn and ride away.
“Stay together,” Barakas finally muttered. He started to urge his mount forward, but Sharissa reached over and put a hand on his arm. He looked at her with nearly dead eyes.
“A suggestion… and a request.”
“What?”
“Darkhorse. He’ll help us here, especially when he knows I mean to enter regardless of his protests. It would be the best for all our sakes.”
“Very well.”
She blinked in surprise, watching as he lifted the box so that it rested on his lap. The ease with which she had convinced him worried her at the same time that it cheered her. Much of the patriarch’s indomitable spirit had died over the past days. There was no predicting what he might do in his present state, and the sorceress had no desire to become part of some death wish. Still, she had sworn to help him for the time being, and she would not break that promise.
To herself Sharissa admitted again that she wanted to know what had happened-provided she survived that knowledge, too.
The Darkhorse who fled from the box this time was a greatly subdued creature. He did not shout, nor did he stamp and gouge the earth to show his fury. Instead… he wavered.
“What… what is it now, dragonlord?”
“Darkhorse!” Sharissa was stunned by the tentative tone of his voice. He had almost as little spirit as the patriarch. Her sympathy for the clan master dwindled to a shadow of itself as she wondered what sort of punishments he had meted out to the eternal.
