breath. The blow stopped in midflight, the hand’s owner only now becoming aware of what was happening. If its empty visage could have indicated anything now, it would have been pleasure-the pleasure of a dead man who had been given a reprieve.
It wiggled the fingers on both hands, seeming to admire the movement that it could not see. The storm was a thing forgotten. The creature put a hand to each side of its head, feeling for and finally locating the budding ears. Like a child, it became aware of yet other alterations in its form. Pale white hair sprouted with astonishing alacrity, lightly covering the body and richly overwhelming the top, back, and sides of the head. He was male, too, a fact that he had known always but could not have proven before this instant. The body itself grew until it was well over six feet in height and swelled as the rib cage expanded and muscles stretched into being.
As the torso transformed, so, too, did the blank countenance. A tiny protuberance rose near the center. Below it, a slit formed, first little more than a tear in the skin, but soon a gap that spread across the emerging visage. Above, two tiny folds twitched, the beginnings of eyes.
Through the thin-lipped mouth and the arrogantly curved nose, he breathed deeply, for the first time, the air of this land. A smile, with just a touch of self-congratulation imbued in it, curled into life. Teeth gleamed white.
The eyes opened, glittery, multihued orbs that saw everything and forgot nothing. For a time, they studied the eye of the storm, a black abyss that was no cloud but the remaining effect of his passage to this new world. Even as he watched, it began to recede, giving way to the heavens once more. He sighed in relief, pleased now where he had been in agony moments before.
Fully whole, Rendel gazed down at himself, assuring that all was in order. The smile broadened.
The chill wind, a last remnant of the storm he had helped cause, reminded him of his lack of protection. The smile died, replaced by a look of petulance with just a hint of confusion added. He gestured angrily at his form.
A dark suit of the finest scale, scale from the greater cousin to the hapless beasts above, wrapped him from neck to toe. A green cloak and hip-high boots completed the image of some majestic but frightful forest king. Rendel left the hood of the cloak back, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face. He laughed, his triumph, which he had begun to doubt more than once since his arrival, completely erasing the earlier pain and fear. That, of all things, pleased him most. To one who had suffered little in the areas of pain and fear before this day, such emotions were doubly strong.
The wind was dying down now. Rendel turned his gaze toward a distant chain of mountains. Among them, he spied a giant among giants, a peak that seemed to summon him.
Turning briefly to the field and the spot on which the golem had lain, the mage executed a low and somewhat sardonic bow. That done, he straightened and, without hesitation, walked off in the direction of the mountains. An arrogant smile dominated his features.
The wyverns watched him depart, now bunched together so tightly that they threatened the stability of their perches. Beyond them and hidden by the tall grass, something else watched the receding figure of the Vraad with deadly interest.
III
With Rendel’s apparent success, Gerrod chose to speak no more concerning his conflicting desires. Dru knew better than to press him. There was enough to ponder and enough to worry about, and joining the other Vraad in the coming was proving a two-pronged decision. What Dru had learned so far only emphasized the need to continue his secret work, which even the Lord Tezerenee, with his multitude of prying eyes, had no knowledge of-he hoped. On the other hand, what Dru had learned also made that work seem superfluous, for what support would he get once Barakas announced to the others that he held the solution to their growing predicament?
Dru left the chamber by himself, Gerrod preferring to monitor the health of his brother’s body rather than join in their father’s encroaching triumph. The news would reach Barakas nonetheless; Gerrod evidently did not want to have to be the bearer, not after what he had confided earlier.
Walking was not a necessity in a city designed to supply its users with all comforts. Dru could have commanded the citadel to carry him along until he arrived at his destination or he could have teleported, but the tall Vraad cared for neither choice. A long, mind-calming trek through the myriad corridors and staircases of the structure was what he needed… that and his daughter.
He had wandered in a gradual upward direction, slowly making his way to where Barakas and the others were gathering, when a slim figure materialized around the corner of the stairway. There was no going around her and it was too late to turn back.
“Dru, sweet thing, I was wondering where you were!”
She had her arms around him and kissed him soundly before he could peel her clinging claws away. The struggle was made all the more difficult by the fact that part of him did not want to break away.
“Melenea… I didn’t see you earlier.”
“Didn’t see or don’t want to, sweet thing? Am I so bland and undesirable?”
In a world where beauty was commonplace, there was nothing common about the scarlet-and ebony-tressed sorceress. Enchantress was a word whose definition included Melenea. Her oval face was the color of pearl. Her lips, round and sensual-and soft, Dru recalled almost with shame-complemented her partly upturned nose and the narrow, tear-shaped eyes. Her brows were arched high, which tended to give her a calculating and commanding look. She had chosen to emphasize her cheekbones further than in the past and the effect was such that the memories it brought to life made Dru regret his not having departed instantly upon first sighting her. Her hair was short and tightly wrapped about her head, almost like a helm. Wisps of hair darted across her cheeks from each side, complementing her bone structure.
Where many of the female Vraad openly displayed their continually changing attributes, Melenea had, in contrast to the last time they had met, worn a form-fitting, glittering dress of deep green. The dress, by virtue of its clinging, displayed her full shape to far greater success than her counterparts. One reason Dru suspected he had not seen her earlier-and he had been watching just so he could have avoided this moment-was that she had likely been surrounded by admirers of both sexes vying for her favors.
Once, Dru had been one of the more ardent.
Melenea laughed lightly, pure music, and Dru’s pulse quickened. He realized he had been staring.
“Sweet thing.” She put a hand on his cheek and caressed it. Dru wanted to but did not move. “You’re so much more fun than the rest.” Her eyes twinkled, a trick she had mastered as no other had. The smile grew knowing. “You play the games with more feeling, more defiance.”
That snapped the spell. He reached up and grabbed her tiny, firm hand, but not before she left bloody memories of her long, sharp nails in his cheek. With a careless twitch, he healed the wounds.
“I don’t play your games. Not anymore.”
The laugh, the smile, they both taunted and tempted him. He knew his face had grown crimson long ago, but that was one thing beyond his abilities to prevent.
“You will, dear sweet Dru. You’ll come to me because I am the only way you can pass the centuries without thinking too deeply.” She artfully turned his grip on her hand into an opportunity to let her lips brush against his knuckles. Dru released her hand instantly, pulling his own to his side.
She took a step toward him and watched with visible amusement as he forced himself to stand his ground. “How is darling Sharissa? It’s been so long since I saw her. She must be a beautiful and desirable woman by now… and so new.”
“Sharissa is well… and no longer any concern of yours.” He would not give her this victory! He would not flee from her!
“She will always be my concern, if only because she’s your concern.” Melenea waved off the subject as if it no longer entertained her. “Barakas is making his silly speech and simply destroying the mood of the coming. A shame what he did to Dekkar and Silesti, isn’t it? I understand neither of them will be coming back.”
Dru gritted his teeth. There was no way to avoid some loss of face; he had to get away from her now!
“If Barakas is speaking, I should be up there. I trust you will be able to do without my company, Melenea”-he executed a mock bow-“as I have been more than able to do without yours.”
