“Lady Sharissa,” Lochivan announced, at the same time falling to one knee in deference to his parents. Sharissa made no move to follow his example; she was no Tezerenee, and kneeling would be seen only as a weakening of her will. Instead, the captive sorceress nodded to her hosts, beginning with Lady Alcia.
Barakas gave her a patient smile. “My Lady Sharissa Zeree. Welcome.”
She said nothing. Beside her, Lochivan rose.
“Your reluctance to be here is understandable, and your will is admirable. You have been very patient-”
“I’ve had no choice!” the sorceress snapped.
“-and I hope that soon you will be able to dispense with that uncomfortable collar.” The patriarch went on without pause. He straightened, and turned to the rest of those assembled. “Loyalty is utmost. Obedience is rewarded and defiance is punished.”
On an unspoken signal, a Tezerenee brought forth a large box. It was elaborate in design and, although Sharissa’s senses were dulled, very likely magical in some respect. The warrior knelt before Barakas and presented it to him. Nodding, the patriarch took the object and dismissed the newcomer. Barakas turned back to Sharissa and her unwanted companion.
“Please be so kind as to step back.”
Lochivan took her arm and pulled her gently but firmly to the front row of the assembled followers. As he did, he whispered, “Say nothing! Watch first!”
Sharissa, who had been on the verge of speaking, clamped her mouth shut. She had wanted to ask again where Darkhorse was and when she would be able to see him. She had even planned on mentioning how the patriarch had promised her and then apparently broken his promise. Despite the absolute power he wielded among his clan, Barakas was a slave to his pride.
“We have come into our own once again!” the Lord Tezerenee uttered. His hand ran along the side of the box, as if he were caressing it. The young Zeree realized he was performing some sort of spell as he spoke. “Our powers are still far from their glory, but they have increased, almost as if we are linked to Nimth once more!”
The last statement made Sharissa frown. There was something in it she felt she should know about, but what that was she could not say. What concerned her more at the moment was the box and its purpose in all of this.
“I now demonstrate for our guest some of the extent of our might!”
He opened the box.
“Freeeee! By the Void! Freeee!” The near-mad voice bellowed in relief. Sharissa felt the floor vibrate as the prisoner of the box burst forth, still screaming its happiness at being released.
A thick black substance poured from the box to the floor below the dais. As it flowed, it took on shape, becoming more and more one distinct form. Sharissa needed no one to tell her who it was; his voice alone had sufficed.
“The emptiness! All alone! Curse you, Barakas Tezerenee! Only you could make a place more horrifying than the Void!”
Darkhorse stood before the patriarch and his mate, pupilless, ice-blue orbs glittering in swelling anger. His hooves tore at the stone floor, gouging valley after valley.
The sorceress could hold back no longer. She pulled free of Lochivan, who was somewhat dazed by the shadow steed’s remarkable entrance. “Darkhorse!”
“Who calls?” The ebony stallion swung around and glared her way, not immediately recognizing her. When he finally did, he was so overjoyed he laughed. Most of those in the chamber put their hands to their ears. Barakas remained unmoving. “Sharissa Zeree! At last!”
He started toward her running figure. They were almost within reach when Sharissa felt the familiar but frightening touch of her collar. She could no longer breathe. Darkhorse halted at the same time she did, but not, it appeared, because of her predicament. Rather, he was trembling, as if he, too, suffered from pain.
On her knees, she tried to imagine what to do. Her collar was choking her, but she had made no attempt to touch it. Strong hands took her under the arms. As the slim woman fought for breath, she was dragged back from her one friend.
The collar grew loose.
“You… you call me demon, Lord of the Tezerenee! You are the monster!” Darkhorse trotted a few steps farther away from the sorceress. “I might have survived, but you would have killed her!”
“She will be fine,” the patriarch responded. He remained calm, almost uninterested in events.
Leaning against Lochivan, who was the one who had pulled her away, Sharissa realized that Barakas had once more planned well. He had allowed both of them to learn in the most deadly way that they could not come within a certain range of each other, lest one or both suffer. More than likely it would be her, although the patriarch had evidently discovered many of the eternal’s weaknesses.
“Can you stand?” Lochivan asked quietly. He sounded both unnerved and ashamed. “I had no idea what he planned. I would have warned you about your friend if I had.”
She did not reply, choosing instead to break free of his grip and rise on her own. Once certain her legs were sturdy enough, she looked first at Darkhorse, who still looked to be in pain, and finally at the patriarch.
“I must apologize, Lady Sharissa. A necessary measure. The demon has been of great value, doing by himself what we cannot-as yet-do en masse.”
“I always-” She coughed, her lungs still not fully satiated. “I always thought you believed in as little sorcery as possible. Was it not you who preached of the true strength being that of the body?”
“A good warrior utilizes the best of weapons for each situation. Your demon friend gave us access to our rightful empire. While we experimented with the powers we found reemerging within us, he built this citadel with his own skills. Through his efforts, we were able to secure ourselves while we developed.”
“And this is how you reward him!” She indicated the box. “What sort of horrible trap is that?”
“This? This is merely a box.” He held it up for her to see. Across from her, Darkhorse cringed like one whipped again and again who must now stare at the very tool that had done the evil work. “There are a few minor additions, spells that make it impossible to hear all but my voice and prevent something within from speaking to any but myself. It is proof against his sorcerous being and only I can open it, but it is, in the end, still only a box. It inflicts no pain upon him.”
“It is agony incarnate!” roared Darkhorse. “I cannot move! I cannot speak! He becomes my only contact! I have been so alone!”
Careful to avoid stepping too near Darkhorse, Sharissa moved toward the patriarch’s throne. Sentries instantly appeared before their lord, their weapons ready for the sorceress.
“Away!” Barakas rose and pushed them aside with his free hand. He put the open box in the crook of his arm and surveyed the defiant Zeree. “You had something to say?”
What could she say that would not be empty bitterness? Barakas held the upper hand. He had given her this audience just to humiliate her, to show how hopeless her cause was. “Would anything I say make a difference to you, drag-onlord?”
“Very much, in fact,” he said, reseating himself. Though he now wore an apologetic expression, as if he regretted his earlier actions, Sharissa knew better. “The collar is a great travesty that you should not have to endure. Your place should be beside us!” At those words, Reegan, who had been standing quietly behind his parents, suddenly grew attentive. Feeling his eyes upon her, Sharissa forced herself to keep her own attention focused on the patriarch. She would not acknowledge the heir, her intended mate if Barakas had his way.
“I have no desire to even stand near you, Lord Tezerenee. I never will.”
The assembly broke into a fearful murmur. Others had likely died for saying less to the very face of Barakas Tezerenee. Yet, despite the implications, the patriarch seemed unconcerned about the remark. Instead, he stroked the lid of the box once, then gently closed it. Darkhorse shuffled back a few steps out of what could only be fear. Energy crackled around the subdued stallion, and he seemed to freeze. Some bond tied him to the box.