“I am in your hands. Thank you for giving me something to think about.”
For some reason, his last statement, coupled with his expression then, made her redden. The sorceress rushed to the door leading out of the building and quickly listened for any sound of movement. It had long ago occurred to her that she had been extremely fortunate so far. Was it possible that they had wanted her to meet with Faunon? It was the sort of devious plot that Barakas appreciated.
So much the better. If they were willing to give her the opportunity, she would find a way to make them regret it.
There were a few Tezerenee in sight, but none of them was facing her direction. Sharissa slipped out the door and hurried away, trying to put as much distance between her and the elf as possible. They might be watching her at this very moment, but she could play the game. If it turned out that she was incorrect and that no one knew where she was, then her precautions were appropriate.
Sharissa had a sudden desire to return to the days of her childhood, when things had been much, much more simple and straightforward.
Lord Barakas summoned her later that day. It was a formal audience, meaning she would stand and listen, speaking only when required. Her bodyguard informed her of this latter part as they walked to the audience. Sharissa hardly paid her any attention. She would not change. The patriarch expected her to be defiant, and she had no plans to disappoint him.
They were nearly there when a tall, dragonhelmed warrior stepped out of a side corridor and blocked their path. “I will escort the Lady Sharissa from this point on. You may retire for a time.”
“Yes, my Lord Lochivan.”
Neither said anything until the other Tezerenee had departed. Then, before the sorceress could build her bitterness up for a sufficient verbal volley, Lochivan removed his helm and said, “I apologize for bringing you to this place. I tried my best to leave you out of all of this, but you were too willful.”
“You mean I saw through your treachery!”
“Too late, if you recall. It was not treachery, either. You know my first loyalty is to the clan. I did succeed in convincing my father that, if you were left behind, there would be less support for Master Zeree if he chose to follow us. For you, the other Vraad would rally; for Darkhorse, they would be less inclined. You and your father were the only danger to the success of our plan.”
His manner was companionable, as usual, but Sharissa had no faith in appearances. “Whether you tried to help me or not hardly excuses what you helped to do to Darkhorse! Where is he? Again and again, I’ve asked the patriarch about him! He promised to let me see Darkhorse, then refused later!”
Lochivan scratched his throat with his free hand. The young Zeree saw that the rash had spread; the Tezerenee’s skin was red and dry, almost scaly. She almost felt a compulsion to touch her own throat, but she knew that it was not a rash that afflicted her. Only a collar.
“Matters came up.” The warrior would not elaborate on the subject, but continued, “Tonight is intended to make up for that. You will see Darkhorse at the audience.”
“Will I be able to talk to him?”
“That I cannot say.” Replacing his helm, Lochivan reached for her arm. She gave it to him with great reluctance and only because she now desired the audience. He smiled through his helm, but Sharissa turned away, choosing instead to look forward. Her companion grunted and began to escort her to the Lord Tezerenee’s court.
The two of them had barely started when another warrior came down the hall. Lochivan stiffened, and Sharissa instinctively clutched his arm tighter. The Tezerenee coming toward them weaved about as if either drunk or wounded. No blood decorated his breastplate or his dragon-scale armor, but neither did he appear to be inebriated.
Lochivan was furious. He released Sharissa and stopped before the newcomer. “What is the matter with you?”
“Painnnn…” the Tezerenee rasped. He refused to look up. One arm wrapped across his torso, while the other helped him guide himself along the corridor. Sharissa’s fear turned to sympathy. Now that he was closer, she could see that he was wracked by pain. Tezerenee or not, he needed help. The concerned sorceress reached for him, but Lochivan barred her with one arm.
“Leave him be.” To the bent-over figure he commanded, “Stand up! Remember that you are Tezerenee! Pain is not a consideration!”
Sharissa glanced at her companion, who had, while he talked, almost become his father.
“Yesss… yes, my lord!” The warrior straightened, but his body quivered. He did not look at the two, however, and Lochivan did not seem inclined to press the suffering warrior for any more.
“That is better! Have someone look at you! You may go!” Lochivan turned away with an imperious air about him, as if the warrior no longer existed in his eyes.
“By your leave,” the trembling figure managed to get out. He marched away, stumbling now and then.
Sharissa watched him vanish down another hall. She whirled on Lochivan.
“That man was practically dying! He could have found someone to look at him by now if you had not insisted on appearances!”
“I held him for only a short time. He is a Tezerenee; he is trained to live with pain.” He took her arm. “Now, come! The Lord Barakas Tezerenee awaits you!”
She allowed him to take her arm, but made it clear with her tentative touch that she loathed his very existence. Since his treachery, the sorceress had seen Lochivan in a new light. Many of his mannerisms now appeared forced, as if the true Lochivan was some creature hidden within the body that walked beside her, a creature that only played at humanity. He might as well have been a drake instead of a man.
They had walked little farther when they arrived at their destination. Two iron doors, again flaunting the dragon or drake that was the symbol of the Tezerenee, stood before them. Even as they neared the doors, guards reached out and opened the way for them. Within the chamber, someone who evidently had remained alert announced their coming.
“Lady Sharissa Zeree! Lord Lochivan!”
Sharissa was just wondering whether all the Tezerenee went by “Lord” or “Lady”-all of the patriarch’s children did-when the sheer immensity of the grand court finally struck her.
The chamber almost seemed designed to hold the entire clan, plus every outsider loyal to the patriarch. The ceiling floated so high above her head that, had it been colored the same as the sky, she would have been willing to believe that they were outside. Banners hung everywhere, almost as many as there were Tezerenee. Fully armed guards lined the walls from the entrance to the marble dais on the far end. Wary handlers kept leashed young drakes under control. On the shoulders of several of the assembled figures, both armored and not, were perched hunting wyverns.
“Come along,” Lochivan whispered. She had been so over awed by the assembled throng and the massive dimensions of the chamber that she had paused.
Ahead of them, seated on tall thrones that were, in turn, located on the uppermost level of the dais, were the lord and lady of the Tezerenee. Lady Alcia sat in regal splendor, calmly observing the two newcomers. Lord Barakas, on the other hand, leaned on an elbow and brooded over some thought. From his expression, it was clear he barely noticed Sharissa or his son.
Between and a step behind the thrones stood Reegan. His hands were behind his back, and he stood as if inspecting his legions… which, in a sense, he was doing. For the first time, she saw him as the power he would become should Barakas die. He only needed more tempering, something the patriarch wanted her to take a part in.
I might as well marry a drake!
Lochivan continued to walk her down the long, carpeted path that led to the clan master and his bride. When they were nearly halfway there, Barakas finally looked up. By the time they had reached the end of their journey, an open area just before and below the dais, his eyes had become fixed on her.