Gerrod had had enough foolishness. The words escaped his mouth before he considered that he was turning attention away from his brother and back onto himself. “A kingdom we can no longer promise to deliver to them!”
His father jerked straight, causing the wyvern to flutter off in shrieking panic, but the Lady Tezerenee, standing to his left and just behind him, put a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Hush, darling. Gerrod is correct. The thing to do now is recoup our losses and see if we can salvage some sort of victory.”
“I would rather recoup the heads of Ephraim and his band.” Barakas took a deep breath, which threatened to exhaust the air supply in the room, and calmed himself. He turned away from Gerrod, who let out a silent sigh, and focused on one of the coven assigned to monitor Rendel’s passage. They had given up trying to keep the body alive; it had passed away shortly after the initial news that the cross-over itself was in danger. “Esad! How many golems remain?”
The newcomer knelt instantly. “Father, there are some two hundred plus golems ready. That is the best we can say at this point.”
“Acceptable.” Barakas scratched his chin. “More than enough for us to cross over and still have some left for those we deem our allies. As for the rest”-he shrugged uncaringly-“they, being mighty Vraad, should be able to fend for themselves.”
Which still did not answer the initial questions raised earlier, Gerrod thought bitterly. What had actually happened to Ephraim and those of the clan whose task it had been to create and shape the golems? Those shells were to act as the Vraads’ receptacles when their kas passed across to their new domain. When it was reported that they had not responded to a summons, the Lord Tezerenee himself had gone out to find the reason why. All they had found were the pentagram etched in the dead soil and a few minor items that individuals in the band had carried with them. There had been no sign of a struggle and no misty apparition marking an intrusion by the other domain.
The patriarch was of the opinion that the band had somehow crossed, abandoning their bodies in some well-hidden cave so as to delay discovery of their deed. It was possible to create a lifeline of sorts that would enable the kas of each of them to cross, down to and including the last man. Such a task would require the first arrivals to remain linked mentally with those to follow. It was that part of the plan that Rendel had abandoned earlier.
“It is settled, then.”
The gathered Tezerenee, mostly the combined sons and daughters of the lord and lady, grew silent, whispered conversations dying in midsentence. When no one else dared to ask, Gerrod took the burden onto his shoulders, as it always seemed he did, despite a continuing lack of gratitude on the parts of his siblings. “What is settled, Father?”
Lord Barakas glared at his son as if Gerrod had turned into an imbecile. “Pay attention! Our course is settled! We begin transferring over to the Dragonrealm before this day is over. I will summon those who will join our ranks. The announcement will go out that they will be but the first, overall order being done by lottery.”
“They will never believe that.”
The patriarch gave his son an imperious glare. “They will believe that because I will stake the bond of the dragon on it.”
So it had come to that, the younger Tezerenee marveled with distaste. The fine line of honor!
In truth, his father could not be said to be lying, for lottery was to have been the original system, albeit with a few strings. The supposedly random pattern of who would depart first had been first suggested by Rendel. Gerrod’s elder brother had reminded them that no Vraad felt they should come second to another. The lottery, with a promise that no influence would be made when the names were chosen, had subdued many arguments. What the other Vraad did not know, however, was that only certain names went into the first batch. Those were the ones Barakas knew could either be turned or bullied into submission. The rest would have eventually found themselves offering up their own wills in return for survival.
With the rampant displays of Vraad sorcery going on even now, Nimth would not last half as long as had once been supposed. The Vraad, certain of their continued existence, assumed that there was no reason to hold back and were celebrating accordingly.
Gerrod, his mind on such thoughts, abruptly found his air cut off and his body being dragged by some invisible force around his neck toward his father. The Lady Tezerenee gasped, but that was the only sound other than Gerrod’s futile attempts for breath.
“You are proving yourself to be quite inadequate, my son,” the patriarch said in the smooth voice that unnerved all, especially those for whom his words were intended. “I left you to organize the transfer. Its control escaped you. I left you to organize the creation of the golems, our hope for the future. Control of that escaped you as well. I placed the young Zeree female in your hands… and now she has run off to her father’s citadel, no doubt.” The spell holding Gerrod ceased, leaving the younger Tezerenee to gasp in precious air. “You constantly question my wisdom when you cannot trust your own.” Barakas turned from him to his bride. “I have done all I can with our son. If he cannot redeem himself, there are others willing to take his place once the cross-over commences.”
Lady Alcia started to protest, but noticed something in her husband’s eye that warned her to remain quiet.
Barakas took her arm and started to lead her out. As the two departed, the patriarch calmly commanded to those behind him, “Begin the transfer. Reegan, you control it.” The Lord Tezerenee gave Gerrod one last withering glance. “As for you… find out what the Zeree hatchling has in mind that she first holds back information and then sneaks off to the protection of her father’s domain. If you manage to succeed, there will still be a place for you.”
Gerrod nodded, keeping his visage composed since his father’s sorcerous reprimand had knocked the hood back. Deep inside, however, he seethed. His progenitor was insane, highly so, though there were none here who would back up such a notion. Each of the “failures” mentioned had hardly been the fault of Gerrod, yet it was on him whom the iron hand of Barakas had fallen. Simply because he would not be one of the clan. How Rendel managed all this time, the young Tezerenee could not say, but he now understood that there might have been many reasons Rendel had chosen to abandon them.
When the lord and lady of the clan had departed, Reegan regained his nerve and began giving orders. Most of them were more apt for going into battle than organizing the cross-over, but he had been given control of the plan and there was nothing Gerrod could do about it. With his eldest brother in charge, though, he wondered whether any of them would make it across.
He began to wonder again if he really wanted to cross at all.
It was a ridiculous thought. Here, he only faced death. In the realm beyond the veil, there was a chance for survival. Even despite his feeling that colonizing the so-called Dragonrealm would not prove so simple as his father had thought, it was better than remaining here and watching Nimth simply rot away over the centuries. He would not even survive long enough to see its end.
That in mind, Gerrod drew his cloak about him and departed from the domain of Dru Zeree.
In the selfsame castle that Gerrod sought to reach, Sharissa berated Sirvak. The familiar crouched before her, pitiful but still unremorseful about its actions.
“You disobeyed me, Sirvak! How many times do I have to tell you before you understand that?”
“Understand, mistressss! Only obeying master’sss ordersss! No one but you to enter here!”
“Father isn’t here! I’m trying to save him and she can help!” Sharissa waved a hand in the direction of a bemused Melenea.
“Calm yourself, sweet thing,” Melenea said soothingly. “I’m certain Sirvak meant well. You cannot expect it to so easily disobey an order given to it by Dru. After all,” she added, smiling at the nervous familiar, “it has a limited imagination, a limited mind.”
Sirvak dared a hiss at the intruder. Sharissa would have been dumbstruck if she knew all that the beast struggled with in that “limited mind.” Powerful as it was, the familiar was next to nothing to Melenea now that she was inside. With the defenses of the citadel behind it, Sirvak could have matched her and more. Inside, however, the familiar faced her with only its own abilities. Sirvak feared for Sharissa’s life if it dared reveal what it knew of the enchantress. From experience, the winged beast knew that Melenea would not hesitate to kill both of them.
