surrounding the Nimthian ridge.
“Serkadion Man-” The oath died as he looked up and caught sight of the vast mass of energy before him.
The darkness, a black far deeper than that of the forest, was growing faster than its opposite… and with each increase in size, the forest faded more.
He had no intention of finding out what would happen to him if he stayed so close. Curiosity was one thing, but in the end survival won out. As he rose, Dru cursed his Vraadish arrogance for leading him to this predicament. There were other ways he could have dealt with this situation, only he had refused to see them, preferring to face the mystery personally. Now, it was possible he would pay for that mistake.
His dignity a moot point, the sorcerer fled the way he had come. This time, he ignored the unsettling presence of the trees and charged through them, hoping deep inside that he would not find one that had, for his benefit, chosen to remain solid. That would end his flight very quickly and very painfully.
The mist was thickening even as the phantom landscape was fading. The trees were no more than shadows now, but the uninviting terrain of Nimth was just as murky. It was as if he were caught in between both of them, yet existed in neither. Full panic attempted a coup and was only barely beaten back. Dru stumbled to a halt. So far, he had not been thinking very much and that could prove more treacherous than the mists. Somewhere out there was the cube, his beacon back to reality. All he had to do was feel its presence.
That was all he had to do, yet he could not. Seeking out the cube proved no more simple than seeking out his steed. Nothing met his heightened senses no matter which direction he turned. The sorcerer might as well have been buried deep within the earth, so thoroughly was he cut off from everything. Dru could not even sense the lines of force. It was as if he were trapped in some sort of limbo.
He had only one choice. Though something within him warned that Vraad sorcery stood an equal chance of being either his salvation or his death, Dru had to make use of the one tool still remaining to him… if it still remained.
Curling within himself, Dru forced the teleportation spell through. Where once he could have performed it without conscious thought, now he had to complete the spell a bit at a time, urging each successive step on.
Slowly, the last bits of landscape-both Nimth and its wraithlike brother-dwindled to nothing, and only the mist and a peculiar whiteness that seemed like pure nothing remained. Dru, his body wracked with pain, did not relax, knowing that he was not safe until he stood on solid earth once more.
“Father…”
Sharissa’s voice! Encouraged, the spellcaster pressed harder. In all his existence, he had never struggled so with a spell. The sweat covered his body and every muscle was taut with pain. Only a little more now…
Where had he heard that before?
No! he screamed within his own mind. I will succeed! I will!
A rocky, wind-torn land abruptly greeted his eyes, almost jarring his senses with its sudden appearance. Never before had Dru thought he would be so happy to see the unfriendly domain of Nimth.
“Father! I’m coming! Hold on!”
Straightening, though every muscle shrieked during the process, Dru saw the tiny figure of his daughter running toward him. He stood, it appeared, in the center of where the field had been. Not his destination, not exactly, but close enough. Just so long as he was free of that other place.
With great relief, Dru put his hands to his face and wiped the sweat away. Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he happened to stare at his palms.
They were fading, already translucent enough that he could see Sharissa through them.
“No!” Something that would not be denied began pulling at him. He felt as if his body were being torn asunder. Nimth… and Sharissa… began to fade away once more.
“Father! Run to me! You’re still too cl-”
Her words faded away along with the rest of the world. Dru’s eyes flashed this way and that, seeking some object, however tiny, that he could fix on. There was nothing. Even the mist was gone. The only thing remaining was the white emptiness that he had noted briefly during his attempt at teleportation.
Dru now floated alone in that emptiness… with no idea as to where he was or how he could escape.
V
Gerrod kept his head down as he stood by his father, thankful that the bulky cloak he wore covered so much of his body. Barakas could not see-at least Gerrod thought-that his son was trembling.
Rendel would not have been treated with such scorn. That was true as far as it went. Rendel would, however, face much worse if he did not contact the clan before long. It was not due to any problem with the spell; Rendel had either left the region where he had crossed over or simply refused to respond.
That had only been the latest thrust. The outsider Zeree’s departure-and his refusal to return-were eating at the patriarch as nothing else had. For the first few minutes Lord Barakas had ranted and raved. Then he had fallen into one of his deathly silent moods. Gerrod, who had been the object of his parent’s anger more than once, would have preferred the ranting.
“I wonder what he plots?”
The question, the patriarch’s first spoken words in over two hours, caught Gerrod and the others assembled by surprise simply because they had all been resigned to waiting in silence for the rest of the evening. That was how things normally went. A change in tradition now meant disaster for someone.
“The outsider?” Gerrod ventured.
“Zeree, yes, who else?”
Rendel. Perhaps Ephraim. Are you so blind, Father? The young Tezerenee wanted to shout at the clan master, but knew what results that would bring.
“You said nothing more to him than what you told me?”
“Nothing of importance, Father.” Nothing save his desperate words toward the end.
“Leave it alone, Barakas dear.”
The throaty voice belonged to perhaps the only member of the Tezerenee who could dare to speak back to the patriarch. She strode elegantly into the chamber that the clan had usurped from the city as sort of a second throne room. Clad in green scale, a living warrior queen, she stood nearly as tall as Lord Barakas himself. Her face was more striking than actually beautiful, but the grace with which she moved-or even breathed-was such that it added an entire dimension to her that most female Vraad lacked. The newcomer was desirable, but where Melenea had been a temptress, this woman was a queen.
The patriarch moved to take her hand. “Alcia.”
Around them, the rest of the Tezerenee, Gerrod foremost, knelt before her in obeisance. Most of the clan whispered, “Lady Alcia.”
Gerrod and a few select others simply said, “Mother.”
“The others are getting restless out there, Barakas. You might have another duel or dozen if you don’t let them enjoy themselves.”
“I gave them permission.”
“You have dragon riders perched on every roof nearby. They don’t draw the comfort from them that you do.” She smiled through perfect lips, assuring him that she, unlike the Vraad outside, did share his appreciation.
“It will be done.” Barakas pointed indifferently toward the nearest of his people and snapped his fingers. The appointed messenger rose, bowed to his lord and lady, and vanished. “Where have you been, Alcia? Were you looking for someone?”
“Hardly. I was accosted by that she-devil earlier, though, the one Reegan seems so fond of.” She stared pointedly at their eldest. Not all of the patriarch’s sons were hers, indiscretion a fact of life for beings with countless millennia on their hands, but the heir and Gerrod were. Rendel was also. It sometimes amazed Gerrod that he and Rendel were related to a creature like the burly Reegan.
The heir, titled so only because Barakas felt it necessary to appoint his eldest to such a role, looked sheepish. His lust for Melenea was an open secret with the Tezerenee, made more comical in some eyes by the fact that the
