Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

V

Valea whirled as the door slammed behind her. She could sense no magic in the action, yet clearly some spell had come into play. However, before she could study it, the hooded figure said again, “Sharissa . . . You should’ve known better . . .”

Turning back, Valea saw the ghost vanish. She and the prisoner stared at one another as if both had sprouted second heads.

His eyes narrowed. “You are not she . . . but you are.”

“She?”

“My Sharissa-no-she was never my Sharissa.” He looked down in shame. “For her entire life, she never knew that desire.”

From what Valea had seen of the ghost, she doubted that this Sharissa had been so ignorant of the man’s interest. He had held some place in her heart, if not the one for which he had hoped.

She took a step toward him. “Who are you?”

“The fool of fools, the coward of cowards, the sorrow of my father’s grand existence . . . Gerrod, by name, Tezerenee by birth, my unfortunate lady.”

The last meant something to her. It was a name out of one of her father’s journals, from his study of the Vraad. She could not recall what it was that had been written about them, though. “Why are you a prisoner?”

“Because my cousins are malicious and obsessive.” Gerrod’s features twisted into distaste. “And quite gruesome.” He forced the expression away. “But come! I’ve been remiss! So seldom do I get a visitor other than them! In fact-never!” He indicated the bench. “Please. Sit. I’d offer you something, but-but I’ve nothing.”

“I’ve no intention of staying here,” Valea informed him. “The two of us are leaving.”

She looked at the door, concentrating. For a brief moment, it trembled.

Then, nothing.

“You fail to understand, my lady,” Gerrod said, coming up next to her. “They expected you to come.”

“How do you know that?”

He looked at her in open surprise. “Why, Ephraim told me so.”

“And who is-”

“I am Ephraim,” came a voice from behind them.

Valea let out a gasp of surprise, then turned. Another gasp escaped her, this one of horror.

The figure stood a head taller than Gerrod and was clad from head to toe in black armor with the symbol of the dragon emblazoned on his breast plate. A thick, dark cloak hung over his shoulders and draped his back nearly to the floor. His helmet was topped with a savage dragon head crest.

But her horror came not from the sinister garments themselves, but rather their monstrous condition-and, worse, that of the wearer himself.

She took a step back as her eyes fixed on the rusting metal, the gaps where bone barely covered by dry skin could be seen. Within the helm itself the enchantress could make out part of the leering, fleshless mouth and the two gaps where the nose must have once been.

And the eyes . . . they still had the appearance of crystal, but within them flared a crimson light, an evil force that in itself stirred revulsion.

“Ephraim,” Gerrod remarked almost casually.

“Gerrod . . .” the ghoul rasped. “You see? I brought her for you . . . as promised.”

“You know that she is not who you pretend her to be.”

“But she is,” the Lord raised one gauntleted hand, his bony wrist just visible enough to shake Valea further. “Or are you blind?”

“I know what she looks like and what lurks within her . . . but she is still not her.”

The Lord stepped toward Valea. Instinctively the enchantress raised her hand in defense.

A guttural chuckle escaped the ghoulish necromancer. “In this place you have no power.”

Despite his words, Valea attempted to cast her spell. Nothing happened. She could faintly sense and see the lines of force crisscrossing the chamber, but they were, as so much else in these still lands, ghosts of what they had been.

Ephraim reached up and, with the arrogance of one supremely in command, took hold of Valea’s face by the chin. He turned it for Gerrod to see. “Look beyond the face, which already tells the tale, and read into the eyes what you seek.”

Gerrod’s crystalline orbs reluctantly stared into her own frightened ones. Some of Valea’s fear dwindled as she felt the sadness and shame of the hooded figure as he intruded in her very soul.

But as Gerrod invaded her, he, in turn, revealed something of himself. It was not intentional, merely a fact of his existence. Valea sensed it just as she had earlier sensed Shade’s magical signature.

Which was, in fact, also Gerrod’s.

The knowledge so startled her that she managed to pull free of Ephraim’s grip. Gerrod, in turn, pulled away from the enchantress, again looking ashamed.

Ephraim, of course, laughed.

“What did you do?” asked Gerrod angrily.

“While you learned of her, she learned of you.”

The prisoner scowled. “Ever you had more than one reason for doing anything!”

Valea eyed him. Shade’s magical signature. She knew of no manner by which anyone could so duplicate it . . .

Gerrod was Shade?

Before Valea could delve further into the matter, the necromancer continued, “Well, my friend? You are convinced?”

“Whether I’m convinced doesn’t matter, Ephraim.”

The macabre figure tilted his horrific head, the lipless mouth ever in its eternal, mocking smile. “But it does, for it means you will do as I have requested. You will, won’t you . . . dear cousin?”

“At least leave her out of this!”

“But like you, she is key.” Ephraim leaned toward the enchantress again. “And in one manner or another, she will serve the purpose. You, Gerrod, have only to tell us how.”

She looked from the ghoul to the prisoner and found the latter no more comforting. Gerrod wrestled with his decision, upon which her life clearly depended.

His shoulders slumped. “Very well . . . it’ll be as you planned.”

“Excellent!” Ephraim chuckled. “Then soon, very soon, Sharissa will be yours . . . and you will once more have hands with which you can finally hold her.”

Despite her growing horror, the last statement made Valea frown. “What does he mean by that?”

The Lord evinced actual surprise at this question. “Dear cousin, have you been so hesitant? I would have expected you to try to welcome her with open arms-even though you do not have any!”

“Ephraim-”

“Take his hand, my lady . . . now.”

His tone brooked no objection and Valea saw no reason to hesitate. She stretched a tentative hand toward Gerrod’s. He started to pull back, then, with further resignation in his expression, reached to meet her fingers.

Valea’s hand slipped through his.

Like all else in this realm, Gerrod, too, was a phantasm.

The hooded prisoner snatched back his hand, burying it in his cloak. Ephraim nodded triumphantly.

“Soon it will be different, though, cousin. Soon, that which is rightfully yours will be returned to you. Gerrod Tezerenee will live again . . . and Shade will truly be a shadow of the past . . .”

The landscape gradually took on a terrible monotony. Cabe grew more and more frustrated. He could sense that the trail continued on ahead of them, but something told the wizard that they should have reached Valea by now. The Lords of the Dead intended something, but what it was he could not fathom. Cabe did not like having to