The Quel leader chose to decline that offer.
Blinding brilliance filled the image, forcing many of the huge, armadillolike creatures to shield their eyes and momentarily stunning the unprepared human. Gerrod blinked time and time again until at last some semblance of vision returned to him. He looked up, trying to see around the swimming spots that dotted everything in sight. The image, too, had cleared, and the warlock was able to make out glittering hills and the occasional tough plant. Of the Seeker, he saw no sign.
The same Quel who had controlled the crystal before now touched it again. Gerrod watched the scene shift, abandoning the sky view for one that observed more of the surface. The leader hooted, his tone and stance smug.
When he saw what remained of the ambassador of the Seekers, the Tezerenee was relieved that he could not smell it as well.
The Quel were well-defended. The lone avian never had hope. In what reminded Gerrod of a horrible parody of many a fine meal he had eaten, her charred corpse lay sprawled on the hard ground. The female’s face, what was left of it, was buried in the soil, saving the warlock from seeing her accusing eyes. She had come in peace-unless his captors knew otherwise-and they had burned her to death.
Their weapon had been the land itself. Many of those gleaming fragments seemingly scattered about the countryside actually served another purpose. Like the array of gems that brought light to this world beneath the surface, these had been arranged just so. With their knowledge, the Quel merely manipulated a few at a time to create a beam of intense light. It was a horrific application of the childhood habit of burning bugs with a simple lens.
Our people are truly related, he thought in disgust. Such a trick would have appealed greatly to many of his fellow Vraad. His father would have found it a marvelous toy to add to his arsenal.
Around him, the various Quel began to lose interest now that the crisis was past. Only Gerrod seemed concerned over what the Seeker had wanted in the first place. It was not likely she would sacrifice herself. Something had concerned her and her kind enough for them to take this chance. He wished he had studied her closer. What condition had the avian been in before her death? Was it only his imagination or had she seemed worn, defeated in purpose?
Madness… bird people… death… statement!
The Quel who always accompanied him had returned to his side. The message was garbled, but at least they were communicating with their “guest” again. Gerrod understood enough; his host thought the Seeker had to have been insane to do what she had done. As for whose “death” the huge creature referred to, Gerrod could not say. There were too many interpretations that made sense considering the enmity between the two races.
Certain that he and his companions would be departing, Gerrod turned toward the chamber’s mouth and took a step. A heavy hand belayed that thought by catching at the shoulder and twirling him about until he came to face the leader again.
The Quel leaned close-too close, as far as the warlock was concerned. He covered his nose.
Tomorrow… cavern of crystal… Gerrod/elf/Vraad searching… Seekers dying… statement!
The hooded figure could only nod wordlessly as his eyes met and broke away from those of the Quel master. Something had come of this after all. He would finally be returned to the cavern. At last, he could study the ancient wonder and find the reason for its existence, for those damnable faces. In the process, he would turn it to his own needs, not those of the armored monstrosities who held him.
Yesss…
The short, sibilant response was not Quel in origin, yet neither did it seem human. Gerrod hesitated, not certain whether he had imagined it or not. The Quel moved about as if nothing were amiss. Beside him, the leader indicated that it was now time to depart. Gerrod obeyed without question, but his mind still searched for a repeat of the brief yet chilling statement.
Nothing. A figment of his imagination, most likely. He could come up with no other satisfactory explanation, yet even that one felt weak. What else could it be, though?
Gerrod was quietly but soundly urged toward the corridor by the same massive paw that had halted his progress a moment before. Just as he reached the mouth of the cavern chamber, however, he paused again, unable to relieve his mind of this peculiar burden. If only a figment, why did it seem so real, so familiar? Why could he not dismiss it, a simple one-word phantasm of his mind?
And why did he now, without warning, fear to enter the very cavern he had so desired to return to for the last two days?
The Quel urged him on again. As he walked, the warlock could not help wondering once more just what it was the Seeker had wanted and what possible threat ignorance of her message would bring down upon his captors… not to mention himself?
XIV
Barakas gazed up at the mountains towering before them and smiled. “Magnificent! Truly worthy!”
Even Sharissa, whose mind continued to dwell upon that terrifying yet sad incident of a few nights before, had to agree with him. The mountains were majestic, more so because they were natural formations, not something that had been conjured up, as in the old days of Nimth.
“No one can long look at the Tybers and not feel their power,” Faunon whispered to her. He had, in the last day, been given leave to ride at the head of the expedition alongside Sharissa. The elf had finally agreed to guide them, mostly out of concern for the young sorceress. She found his interest in her both pleasant and embarrassing, and matters were not helped by his occasional glances and reassuring smiles.
Merely fellow prisoners, she told herself. Our only common interest is escape from here. That he was a welcome change from most of her kind she was not yet willing to admit to, not even to herself.
Escape was still out of the question so long as the patriarch controlled or contained Darkhorse. Sharissa tore her eyes from the grand scenery and studied the box that was slung near the Lord Tezerenee’s leg, ready for quick use, if necessary. It was never far from his side, and she already knew that the spells were specifically tied to him, making the chance of someone else opening it slim-at least without injuring or even killing the occupant within the box. Darkhorse could be destroyed; that was something she knew to be very true by now. He was not the invincible, godlike being from beyond that her father’s tales had once indicated to her. Rather, he was very, very vulnerable to many things. Too many things.
“This would be a good place to strike,” Faunon whispered to her, meaning the Seekers, who had yet to make an appearance during this entire journey. Even though they had at last reached the mountains, which still meant another day’s journey to the base of the one they sought, the Tezerenee were not acting overconfident. Many of those born to the clan were undoubtedly replaying their near massacre by the avians some fifteen years before over and over again in their thoughts. Everyone talked of the incident with the unfortunate Ivor, a victim, it was decided, of some twisted avian spell.
Faunon had tried to convince them otherwise, but his voice went unheard in this matter. He was convinced that Ivor had been transformed into that monstrosity by another power he claimed lay deep beneath the caverns the Seekers had used as an aerie. Only Sharissa believed him, and she had to admit that part of her belief was based on growing emotions for Faunon.
Up ahead of the column, scouts on airdrakes were flying back to the column. Lochivan rode the lead beast, his own request. The expedition halted at the patriarch’s command and waited for the scouts to land.
“Father.” Sharissa noted that his voice had grown hoarse. Lochivan leaped off his mount and knelt before Barakas. He gave his elder brother a cursory nod and said, “We ride amidst a region soaking in untapped power.”