It was unfortunate, then, after all that had been planned, that the avians attacked while the Tezerenee were still organizing themselves.
The new keep was little more than a dark, morbid box around which a pathetic, half-grown wall stood. As with the drakes, it was all the clan sorcery could provide under present circumstances. There was only one room, a communal hall. Most of the Tezerenee were presently occupied with matters outside. Esad, chosen for the dubious honor of being one of the three dragon riders, was working with his mount, letting the large green beast familiarize itself with his scent. He and the other riders had the task of taking out whatever sentries the avians had posted. They were also supposed to prevent too many of the birds from gaining a flying advantage. Esad had his doubts about his ability to perform his task, but his fear of his father prevented him from doing anything about it.
He looked up and barely saw the winged silhouette in the thin sliver of the pale moon.
“Dragon’s blood!” The Tezerenee abandoned his mount and went rushing to the keep. He kept silent, hoping that he could spread the word through contact and give the clan some slight advantage of surprise yet. Esad knew that if he died before he was able to alert someone, the blame for the deaths that followed would fall to him.
An armored figure, female, nearly collided with him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and whispered, “The birds attack any moment! Spread the word, but do it quietly!”
She nodded her understanding and started to move away.
A bolt of blue lightning caught her in midstep… and left only a thin trail of smoke to mark her passing.
The time for silence, Esad realized in horror, was over.
“Defend yourselves! We are attacked from above!”
The air was swarming with black shapes that fluttered into and out of the dim light of the two moons.
They had let him watch. Watch as they began what would, it seemed, be the end of the Vraad race. He was treated well, since it was his knowledge of the tactics of the Tezerenee that the avians had used and might still need, yet he was still a prisoner, not the ally they pretended he was. Bereft of his powers and watched over by fierce companions, it was a wonder the avians even made the pretense of calling him an ally.
Despite all that, Rendel was quite satisfied, though he knew better than to show it. It was not the destruction of his kind that pleased the sorcerer, but rather that his own plans still moved on unimpeded. The cavern was virtually empty of its inhabitants, Rendel’s practiced words-images? — impressing upon the aerie’s overlord that nearly every able fighter was needed. It was a lie not that far from truth. Even with the advantages of first strike and dominance in the night sky, the birds would take hard losses. The Tezerenee would not die without a fight… and would not even die, if things went as planned.
After all, he preferred human subjects to feathered monsters like his captors.
The young who had been deemed too untrained to fight and those responsible for their care had retreated to lower caverns on the off chance that some danger might threaten the aerie. That fear had been planted, albeit surreptitiously, by the Vraad during his communications with what he still liked to term the council of elders for lack of a more defined description. To the avians, it seemed a reasonable precaution. As with now, he had barely been unable to suppress his pleasure. Rendel had succeeded in assuring that he would be left with only a few guards to watch over him.
In fact, there were three. A few others were scattered about the mountain and the mouth of the cavern, but the arrogant creatures actually believed that they had tricked their captive. Glancing at those standing around him, Rendel marveled that this race had become the dominant one in the Dragonrealm. Two were tall, muscular warriors, one of whom the Tezerenee believed was the leader of the patrol that had taken him prisoner. His remaining watchdog was the balding elder who had spoken out during the offer of alliance. The overlord was not here, having chosen to lead the attack, something that would have earned Barakas’s respect, but received only silent amusement from Rendel. It had never made sense to him to dangle such a prize as a leader before an enemy. Let the lessers take the damage. There were always more of them.
The male he believed was his original captor squawked something. Rendel turned completely from the glittering crystal that acted as his eyes in the attack and allowed the avian to touch him, establishing the link between the two of them.
The vision of two birds falling prey to a dragon rider’s mount was followed by a wave of anger. Rendel surmised that the image he had been shown was only one example of how the clan was fighting back. His erstwhile allies could evidently see in the dark better than he could, either that or the mind link was even stronger than he supposed, for the Vraad could not recall any such image in the viewing crystal. That did not matter; he believed the avian when it spoke of the dragons and their deadly strength. Much larger than either a Vraad or bird man, the three flying drakes were wreaking havoc. The invaders, Rendel was informed, were refraining from using their medallions for fear of striking down their own. Drakes were swift and agile despite their girth. It would require a practiced aim and great daring to bring down the beasts without adding a few feathered misfits, too.
Rendel shot back the image of his people as warriors, leaving an unformed question concerning the avians’ abilities in the same role. As he had expected, it made the huge figure furious. He removed his hand from Rendel’s forehead and pulled the hapless sorcerer forward so that the razorlike beak was within snapping range of the spellcaster’s pale visage. The Tezerenee stumbled at the last moment, falling against his irate captor. The creature pushed the cloaked figure back. With its great strength, Rendel fairly flew, landing several paces from where he had stood. To his surprise, the two warriors dismissed him from their attention, refocusing on the scene in the crystal. They apparently felt they had no more use for his knowledge, something he was not ready to dissuade them concerning. Only the elder still eyed him.
Rising to his feet, the sorcerer pretended to brush himself off. The damnable, half-plucked bird was still staring at him when he finally gave up the effort. Rendel put one hand to his mouth and coughed, starting back to the trio at the same time.
The elder’s attention strayed back to the images of the battle before it evidently occurred to him that their prisoner was a thing not to be trusted despite the dampening of his sorcery. A watery but wary eye looked Rendel’s way.
It was a decision made a breath too late. The unsupervised moment was all the Tezerenee needed. The one thing Barakas had taught him that Rendel had come to appreciate was to use anything possible as a means to an end. He had planned something similar to the provoked attack by his one guard, but a bit later. Circumstances had, however, worked to his benefit.
He had the medallion focused on the trio even as the ancient one became aware of the threat the Vraad intended.
Rendel had palmed the medallion knowing only that it had been designed to kill. He neither knew nor cared what sort of deadly force had been trapped inside by its maker, only that it would suffice as a means of removing the three tensed figures before him. The avians had assumed he did not know how to utilize it, but the spellcaster had used every glance to study the artifacts, noting how the markings were fingered and how it had to be focused. Now, his studies had rewarded him. He concentrated, willing the spell of the medallion to come forth and looking forward to the pathetic cries of those who had dared to make him their slave.
Nothing happened.
The amusement in the eyes of the one he had stolen the magical item from told the story. Rendel’s prize was an empty vessel, a useless ornament. They had allowed him to betray himself, to pick the time of his own demise. As his face reddened in anger-anger at himself for being so easy a pawn-Rendel thought how like the clan of the dragon these creatures were. How often had Barakas employed similar methods?