Lochivan chose to remain silent, trying to decipher what it was his father intended.
The Lord Tezerenee turned down a side corridor. His eyes wandered briefly to a nearby window that overlooked the jagged, decaying courtyard of some ancient noble-so he imagined it to be, that is. Whether this had been the home of some noble was a matter of conjecture; the truth was lost to time. Barakas liked to think of it as such, however, just as he liked to think of the debris-covered yard as his personal training ground. Each day, Tezerenee fought on the treacherous surface, testing their skills against one another or some outsider seeking to learn from them. The ground was left purposely ruined; no true battle took place on a clear, flat surface. If they fell, they learned the hard way what could happen to a careless fool in combat.
Tearing his gaze from the window, Barakas made a decision. He smiled and continued down the corridor at a more brisk pace.
“Lochivan,” he summoned.
“Father?” Lochivan stepped up his pace and managed to catch up to Barakas, though it was hard to maintain a place at his father’s side. Barakas moved with a swiftness most of the younger Tezerenee could not match at their best.
“You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sire.” It was to his credit that the younger warrior did not question his abrupt dismissal. During the course of his life, he had come to know when his father was formulating some plan and needed to be alone. Lochivan turned around and returned the way he had come. Barakas took no note of his departure. Only the thoughts melding together within his mind interested him.
A patrol, making its rounds, quickly made a path for him. There were three warriors, one a female, and two drakes about the size of large dogs. The warriors, their faces obscured, stiffened like the newly dead. Barakas started past them, then paused when one of the drakes hissed at him, its darting, forked tongue seeming to have a life of its own.
Barakas reached down and petted the beast on the head. Reptilian eyes closed and the tail swept back and forth, slapping against the legs of its human partner. The Vraad tugged on the leash he held, pulling the drake’s collar a bit tighter in the process. Studying beast and handler, the patriarch’s smile widened.
To Sharissa, it was as if her father had become a small boy. He had greeted Darkhorse with an enthusiasm second only to that which he displayed for his own family. She understood his excitement. Friendship was rare among her kind. Only the circumstances of their escape from Nimth had forced the Vraad to treat one another in a civil manner. Many still held their neighbors in some suspicion, although that had lessened since the first turbulent year.
Watching him now, standing among the sculpted bushes of the courtyard and talking in animated fashion with the huge, soot-skinned Darkhorse, Sharissa realized how much her father himself had changed over the last few years. She had always marveled at the differences he made in this little world and the one outside, but never at the changes those endless tasks had performed on him. His hair was a dying brown, more white now save for the impressive silver streak running down the middle. He was still narrow and nearly seven feet tall, which somehow was short in comparison to the shadow steed, but his back was slightly stooped and he had lines in his hawkish visage. The trimmed beard he wore had thinned out, too.
Fifteen years had altered him, but, for a short time, he was again the majestic master sorcerer that she had grown up loving and adoring.
“He had always hoped the dweller from the Void would find his way back,” a strong yet almost musical voice to Sharissa’s side informed her.
Ariela was shorter than Sharissa, which made her much shorter than her husband, Dru. Her hair, like the younger Zeree’s, was very pale and very long, though in a braid. Her arched brows and her tapered ears marked her as an elf, as did her emerald, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a robe akin to the dark-blue one worn by her mate, but this one somehow found the curves of her body with no trouble whatsoever. Ariela was trim, athletic in form, and skilled with a number of weapons, especially the knife. Her aid had proven as invaluable as that of the Tezerenee had in keeping the refugees alive until they could fend for themselves.
“I can’t blame him. Darkhorse is unbelievable! What is he? I still don’t understand!”
“Dru calls him a living hole, and I am inclined to believe that.”
“He has flesh, though.” It looked like flesh upon first glance. Sharissa had even touched it. She could not deny, however, that she had felt a pull, as if the ebony creature had been about to swallow her… body and soul.
Ariela laughed lightly. “Do not ask me to explain any further! Even your father admits that he only hazards guesses.”
Nodding, Sharissa looked around. Other than the four of them, there was no one in sight. During every other visit she had made to Sirvak Dragoth, the Faceless Ones had been visible in abundance. Now, as it had been in the square, they had vanished. “Why are we alone?”
The elf frowned. “I have no idea, and Dru was too excited to notice. They were here until just before you announced yourselves.” She studied her step-daughter’s eyes and whispered, “Is there something amiss?”
In a similar tone, Sharissa replied, “You know how they seem to be everywhere. Before Darkhorse materialized in the city, I came across one that I can only describe as agitated. It hurried away, and when I looked for it I couldn’t find it. Then, when I reached the square, I found hundreds of Vraad but not one of them!”
“That is not normal… if I may use the term in regard to them.” The not-people were watchful to the point of obsession. Any event of the least significance was liable to attract their unwanted attention. An event of such magnitude as Darkhorse’s return should have attracted more than a score. Though only living memories of the founding race, the entities had continued to perform their ancient tasks without fail. That they would cease now was beyond comprehension.
“You chose to return to this place? Remarkable!” the fearsome steed roared. Both women turned and listened.
“My curiosity overcame my fear,” Dru responded. He indicated the tall structure that was the bulk of the citadel. “So much our ancestors knew! So much that was lost when they passed beyond!”
“Not far enough for my tastes! I still desire another confrontation with their servants! They had no right!”
Dru had no answer for that. Sharissa had heard him say the same thing more than once. He had feared that his unearthly companion would be forever lost in the Void or some place even worse… if any place could be worse than a true no place like that.
Darkness was beginning to descend, and the shadows began to shroud the sorcerer. Neither Dru nor his daughter had ever found a plausible explanation for the heavens and the differences in time among the various realms created by the founders. How could there be suns and moons for each? Dru had explained once that the ancients had succeeded in separating slices of reality, so to speak, from the true world. Each realm was a reflection of the original, but altered drastically by both the founders and time. The spellcasting necessary for this was all but forgotten.
It was disturbing to understand that Nimth, too, had been but one more reflection, a terrarium where the Vraad had been raised up and then abandoned.
“I understand your feelings, Darkhorse,” Dru was saying, “but Ariela and I have come to care for Sirvak Dragoth as much as anyone could care for their home.”
“Sirvak Dragoth? Is that what this place is called?”
“I named it thus.” The elder Zeree glanced at his daughter. Sharissa felt her eyes grow moist as he explained the origin of the name. “I had a familiar, a gold and black creature crafted with careful attention to its personality. Sirvak was loyal and as good a companion as any. It helped me raise Sharissa after her mother died. Sirvak perished saving her life just prior to our leaving Nimth. For what deeds it performed for both my daughter and myself, I saw no more fitting memorial than to give its name to this citadel.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’d rather have Sirvak back… but a new familiar could never be the same creature.”