“Me?”
The dragon shape moved, as if uncertain itself about what it said next. You or your kind. They have chosen to give the Vraad race a second chance.
“It wasn’t our own doing that weakened the barriers between Nimth and here?”
Hardly. The guardian paused again. When it spoke, it was already fading away. I have said as much as they desire me to say for now.
“What about our choices? What did they represent?”
A laugh, self-mocking, echoed through Dru’s head. I do not know. If you find out, I would be interested.
The chamber of the dragon lord rematerialized around them.
A golem put its hand on the dumbfounded spellcaster’s shoulder. Dru turned and fairly snarled at the creature before him. “What? What else do you want to amaze and confuse us with? Do you even understand what you’re doing? Are you so little a shadow of what you once were that you perform movements without truly thinking? Why did you even return?”
He knew the answer to the last question, at least, or hoped he did. The guardian had said that the Vraad had been given an opportunity to redeem themselves. If they failed, the experiment failed and the ancients’ dreams would die. The stolen golems gave the land hands to work with if it came down to the physical. Perhaps some elements of the presence had also simply yearned once more for solid flesh.
Dru got no further in his thoughts, for the faceless ones, for lack of a better name, indicated they wanted the twosome to follow them yet again. With little true choice in the matter, the sorcerer and the elf followed wordlessly. Xiri did shift over so that the two of them touched, but they did not so much as glance at one another during the duration of the walk.
Once more, they were returning to the room of worlds.
At the doorway, Dru and his companion finally exchanged looks of frustration. Were they to be shuttled back and forth from the two chambers until they collapsed?
The answer stood before them, its glimmering interior more reminiscent of a predator’s maw than a portal to other worlds.
This time, Dru could sense that there would be no last-minute reprieve. Whatever world the cowled figures had chosen was to be their new home.
Xiri had apparently realized this at the same time, for she tried to push her guide away and break a path to freedom for Dru and herself. As with her earlier attempt, when she had thrown the knife at one of their captors, the golem was barely affected. The elf, despite her speed and obvious battle skill, bounced off the side of the robed creature and into the unprepared sorcerer. It was all Dru could do to keep both of them from falling to the floor. As they regained their footing, their guides reached out and took each by one arm. Both prisoners discovered that struggling from that point on was impossible. Having attempted violence, they had been stripped of control over their very bodies. Helplessly moving in time to their guides’ steps, they walked to the center of the chamber and the patiently waiting Gate.
The spellcaster wished the guardian had not abandoned them back in the other chamber, but he knew that the mock dragon had really had little say. The guardians were used to obeying their masters blindly, and even though they had come to the point of questioning that blind obedience, it was not yet enough to save the two outsiders.
Vraad! the voice of the dragon guardian hurriedly called. They have faith in you.
That was all. One of the blank visages looked to the side, as if seeing to something. Dru felt the guardian retreat in something akin to fright.
They have faith in me? What did that mean?
The Gate shimmered again, causing renewed agitation among its dark denizens. They scurried, if it was possible, even more frantically than earlier.
Nimth greeted the sorcerer’s eyes. He took a deep breath, waiting for it to change to the Void or some other place, but Nimth still beckoned after nearly a minute had passed.
He was to go to Nimth… and they had faith in him. Faith to do what?
“Is that… is that Nimth?”
“Yes.” Dru looked at Xiri. “They want me to go there. I think they want me to bring the Vraad to this world.”
The concept still did not sit well with the elf, though both knew she no longer hated Dru. He, however, was only one Vraad. Dru himself had told her how terrible his kind could be.
“They’ll change when they’ve been here for a time. They have to. The land won’t accept them any other way.”
“What about me?”
He had not thought of that. “They can probably send you to your own people. You can prepare them for our coming.” The Vraad smiled in a cynical way. “Providing they aren’t as bloodthirsty as you, we should be able to live together.”
“I am not going back to my people, not yet.” Xiri looked up into his eyes with a determination worthy of any of his own race. “I think it would be better if I came with you back to Nimth.”
“You don’t want to do that. Not when there must be so many bitter Vraad. Not now.”
“Yes.” She took hold of his hand. He could not have peeled her hand from his even if he had wanted to do so. “Now. With you. I want to see this through to the end.”
Dru looked up and met the sightless gaze of one of the ancients. Even without eyes of any sort, he could feel the creature absorbing every movement, every facial expression. The golems saw more than many who had perfect vision.
“We’re stepping through now,” he told it.
To his surprise, the blank visage dipped in what might have been a nod. The way before them cleared. The Gate waited expectantly, pulsating, it seemed, to the sorcerer’s rapid heartbeat.
Tightening his own grip on Xiri’s hand, he led her into the portal and onto the soil of treacherous Nimth.
XVII
The Tezerenee had planned to strike first, attacking their foes while they slept. Those sent by Barakas to explore the mountains had returned prematurely, bearing a tale of discovery. An aerie existed, a vast cavern from which they had seen the bird people enter and depart.
Lord Barakas had slowly formed a fist when all was said and done, saying, “We will crush them while they still prepare! I want the drakes ready for flight!”
The clan of the dragon had only six representatives of their totem, not counting the eight small wyverns they had come across by sheer accident. The wyverns made good hunting creatures and pets-the first one mindbroken by the trainers had been given to the patriarch as a symbol of luck-but they were ineffective fighters for a foe such as this. Of the six drakes, only four were mindbroken and one of those had struggled too much during the spell, addling its brain. Mindbreaking, the method by which the Tezerenee could quickly and efficiently control and train their beasts, was more of an all or nothing method here in the Dragonrealm. Precision was impossible, and after the damage caused on the one dragon, the trainers had ceased their work, hoping to find a better way.
It was not a well-armed armada that would have flown off to do battle, but they were Tezerenee and that was all that had mattered.
Barakas knew, from examination of the corpse, that the avians were diurnal like his own people. Most would be caught napping. Time after time, the Tezerenee had played their games of war, preparing, through mock combat, for daring strikes such as this. Even though there were probably at least twice as many of the birds as there were the drangonhelmed warriors, the advantage would be on the side of the clan.
“We are might. We are power. The name Tezerenee is power!” Barakas had said. It was a ritual saying, one the clan had heard often in the past, but spoken with the fervor that only the patriarch could summon, it was truth.