He almost did not answer, but, seeing her face, the eternal gave in. “Not, I think, in your lifetime. Not even in the lifetimes of your grandchildren, I suspect.”
Suddenly, the woods seemed a very dismal and dark place. “Father will be upset with you. You only just came back into his life.”
A stentorian sigh. “I will miss both of you. Give him my gratitude for his teaching and his friendship. I will treasure them both as I mend myself.”
“Will you return?”
“Someday. Good-bye.”
Sharissa blinked. Darkhorse was no longer there. She felt a sudden urgency and quickly reached for Faunon. “You won’t leave me now, will you?”
“Hardly. They would have to drag me away fighting.”
The Vraad sorceress restudied the lands around them, frowning. “I still don’t know where we are.” The wind blew her hair in her face. She pushed it aside and added, “We could be on the far side of the continent.”
Faunon squinted to the west. “There is a hill that stands out among the others in that direction. If we climb it, we should be able to see for mile upon mile.”
“Climb it?” Sharissa did not feel up to breathing, much less climbing.
“Walk to it and climb it. Both a must, I regret to say, my Vraad, unless you have the will and strength to teleport us there. I think my own reserves a little doubtful at the moment.”
Her heart was willing, but that was hardly sufficient. Sharissa shielded her eyes and studied the descending sun. As much as she wanted to be home, there were other things to consider-their helpless companion, for one. Barakas was even now simply standing and staring at his gauntleted hands-which were still covered in the blood of the transformed Lady Alcia.
That settled it for her. “I have a better idea. I think it best if perhaps we stayed here, rested the night, and proceeded in the morning. We can’t be very close to the colony or else I would have sensed something. Tomorrow, we’ll both be better. Besides,”-she indicated the patriarch. As he stared at his bloody fists, he continued to mumble his nearly incomprehensible litany. The sorceress wondered how long he would remain that way-“I’ve got to help him wash away that blood, if only for my sanity!”
Faunon accepted her judgment and volunteered to find wood for a fire and food for their much-abused stomachs. He pulled out the crystal that Gerrod had given to him. “Do you still have yours?”
“I do. I cupped it when the spell failed. I couldn’t bear facing Gerrod if I lost a second one.” Now she would never have to worry about that. The somber warlock was far, far away and would likely never return. She considered their present location. “There must be water around somewhere. That’s what we should look for first.”
They were in luck. A small stream lay only a short distance from where Darkhorse had brought them. It was little more than a thin trickle, but even that seemed overwhelming to the suddenly thirsty duo. Even Barakas found interest in drinking. Sharissa had hoped that the cool water would snap the patriarch back to his senses, but he merely wiped his mouth and sat down by the stream. The former clan master had not even removed his gloves, so detached was he from everything.
Some sun still remained. Faunon disappeared into the forest, moving with the speed and quiet Sharissa had always imagined his kind capable of. She, meanwhile, started the task of helping Lord Barakas clean his armor. Had anyone told her that she would someday be doing this, the tall woman would have laughed. Now, it seemed like the correct thing to do. The patriarch was little more than a baby at present.
Her efforts were more or less wasted. The blood had already stained and dried on his clothing. She was, at best, able to lessen the horrifying effect of his appearance, but anyone taking a closer look would see the telltale stain on the armor. Tomorrow, when her will was stronger, she would use sorcery to eliminate what remained.
Barakas noted her efforts in an almost casual manner, occasionally breaking from his mutterings, which now sounded like “Prrr…” and “Tze…,” and telling her, “They won’t come out. The blood’s seeped to my skin. It will never come out.”
After she had given up, he returned to his same somnambulant state. Sharissa finally brought him over to a tree and let him sit there with his back against the trunk. She then turned to attending to her own needs.
Darkness was now fast approaching, and Faunon was still not back. Sharissa understood how difficult his task might be, but she still began to worry. Even knowing she was here on the other continent, the sorceress feared that the night would somehow separate her from her last and most important companion. Barakas, in his present state, did not even count. She was alone, for all it mattered. Trying not to think of that, the Vraad began picking up fallen branches with which she could start a fire. Sharissa thought of creating one without wood, but even that effort seemed too much. Besides, she had always prided herself on not depending on her abilities when simple physical work was sufficient. To be any other way went against what her father had taught her.
At sundown, Faunon returned. He had wood to add to that which Sharissa had gathered from the nearby area and, most important, berries and a rabbit. She was thankful that he knew how to prepare it; the thought of having to cope with that after trying to wash the blood from Barakas almost made her ill.
The meal was sparse, but sufficient for their present needs. Sharissa gave the patriarch an equal share, which disappeared into his mouth in quick time. She had removed his helm, and so during the meal it proved impossible not to keep searching his face for some response, but the only thing he did when not muttering was screw his face up in thought again. She wondered what it was he was thinking about. There was a desperation in his eyes, that much she could see.
After the meal, they chose to retire. Faunon volunteered the first watch, assuring her that, as an elf, he could rest while still remaining conscious of what was around them. When she gave him a threatening look, he promised that he would wake her when her time came. Sharissa did not want him trying to take on the entire task by himself. Faunon was as worn as she was.
Sharissa fell asleep almost before her head even touched the ground. The dream began in that same instant. It was a chaotic chase of sorts, with the weary sorceress trying to keep ahead of a dark, loathsome thing of mist that stared at her with a thousand eyes. She escaped her horrific pursuer only to walk into the open maw of a great dragon with Gerrod’s head upon it. Sharissa turned and fled from this monstrosity, only to hear the vicious laughter of the renegade guardian.
The chase went on and on, monsters and memories mixing in haphazard fashion.
When she jerked away, her first thoughts were of the relief of being freed of the endless cycle. Then she realized what had woken her and wondered whether or not the dreams might have been preferable.
“Nooooo! I am Tezerenee! Tezerenee is power!”
Faunon was already up and running toward the patriarch, who knelt against the tree and held himself so tight that Sharissa wondered if he thought he was going to come apart. His shouts became less and less coherent, reducing to the clan name and “power.”
Sharissa moved to his side and tried to get through to him. “Barakas! Listen to me! There’s nothing wrong! You’re safe here!” It occurred to her that he might be physically injured, but in the chaos no one had looked beyond his outward appearance. “Lord Barakas! What ails you? Tell me and I might be able to help!”
“Tezerenee… Powerrr…”
“I think he might be calming,” suggested Faunon. Barakas seemed to be slipping back into his catatonic state. She hated to see that, but it was better than his wild manner. The patriarch was strong enough to injure both of them.
The worried sorceress leaned closer. “Barakas?”
His movements were lightning, even against those of Faunon. Barakas shoved the two of them aside and, with an animalistic roar, ran for the deepest part of the forest.
“Stop him!” Sharissa cried.
“Too late,” her companion muttered, but he tried regardless. The two of them followed the dragonlord’s trail, trying to listen for the heavy footfalls that should have been so evident in the silence of night. Yet, the patriarch was as silent as a specter and faster, it seemed, than even the elf.
They gave up the chase only a few minutes later, forced to admit they could not even find his trail. For the elf, a creature of the woods, this was especially exasperating.
“It’s as if he floated off or simply vanished! I should be able find some trace!”
