“You want the demon?” He struggled to regain composure and succeeded-in part. “Take him! Even with our sorcery reduced, we will prevail!”
“Then you have my cooperation.” Her words were said in a simple and straightforward fashion.
Her quiet response made him halt his tirade. Barakas took a deep breath before saying, “My gratitude, Lady Sharissa. You will find I will keep my word in this, despite my sons and their opinions otherwise.”
Meaning Gerrod and Reegan, she thought.
“Now that it is settled,” the patriarch continued, “I may tell you that the drakes are ready for us. Guards!”
In quick order, they were brought to their feet and marched through the cavern until they came to the entrance that Sharissa and the Tezerenee had entered by almost a week ago. To her surprise, the patriarch bypassed several powerful flying drakes and started down the side of the mountain to where the wingless riding drakes awaited.
“We’re not going by air?”
Gerrod, who understood the workings of his clan better than did his companions, explained. “It is Father’s evident opinion that we would be too conspicuous from the sky. Besides, for the speed of this journey, travel by land will be swifter. An airdrake must rest more often, especially if it is carrying someone.”
“That explains our relatively slow pace coming here,” Faunon suggested. “He wanted time for his second force to reach here and be rested.”
Aside from their guards, a handful of other Tezerenee were supposed to accompany them. Sharissa was surprised but relieved to see that Lochivan was one of them and that he still carried the box with him.
Barakas noticed his ill offspring. “Who told you to be here?”
“I mussst redeem myssself.”
The patriarch looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted all the eyes around him to be looking anywhere else but at him and Lochivan. “Your illness…”
“I will keep it under control,” the tall figure said in his strange voice. He did his best to allow no one else to see his face, possibly because he was so ravaged it would have disgusted some of his folk.
“I wonder…” Gerrod muttered.
“You wonder what?” she asked.
He turned, not having realized that he had spoken out loud. “Nothing. Just a thought.”
The conversation between the patriarch and Lochivan grew muted. After a short exchange, Barakas finally nodded. It was difficult to read Lochivan by his movements, but he seemed very relieved.
“We’ve lost much of the day already,” Barakas said to the others. “Please mount up.”
They obeyed. When everyone was ready, the patriarch turned in his saddle and faced those of his people who would remain here. One of the Tezerenee held high a staff upon which the banner of the clan waved in the wind. Under the fluttering flag, the rest of the warriors, Reegan included, knelt.
“I shall return shortly. We have defeated threats both physical and magical, and this cavern, this natural citadel, will be the base from which an empire spanning this entire continent will be ruled. I have designated kingdoms for each of my most loyal sons,”-Barakas did not even glance in Lochivan’s direction-“and my eldest, Reegan, will co-rule here until my death, when he becomes emperor. Thirteen kingdoms and, within those, twenty-five dukedoms for those deserving!”
“Another grand and glorious speech,” Gerrod whispered in sour humor to Sharissa.
The patriarch did not hear him-or chose not to. “We have been separated from our people, and there is concern for their safety! In my mind, there is little to fear, but it behooves me to ride there in person! Once I have satisfied myself that things are in order, I shall return with more of our brethren and we shall began the true process of making this land ours!” He stared at Kivan Grath, as if it represented the entire continent. “We will shape this domain to our will!”
Barakas folded his arms, the signal that his speech was at an end. The Tezerenee rose and cheered as they were supposed to. Reegan unsheathed his sword and raised it in salute.
“Pomp and circumstance,” Gerrod muttered.
“We ride now,” the patriarch informed them, glaring at his unrepentant son.
Not completely willing to trust the outsiders, the patriarch left the managing of their drakes to the guards who rode beside them. One of those sentries took the guiding rope of Sharissa’s mount and began to lead it, but slowly so as to allow the clan master’s animal to move ahead. It was mandatory that the Lord Tezerenee lead, if only as a symbolic gesture.
The remnants of the expeditionary force continued to sound their approval and allegiance as the party moved out. Had she not been so exhausted already-and thinking about how tired she would be when they finally stopped-the sorceress would have admired their enthusiasm much more. As it was, she only hoped that they would still have such enthusiasm a month from now.
One of the Tezerenee standing nearest to where she was removed her helmet and began to scratch at an ugly patch of dry, red skin covering most of her throat and part of her chin. Sharissa stared at it briefly, but then the warrior guiding her drake pulled on the rope and the animal turned, putting the warrior woman and the others behind the young Zeree. Exhausted as she was, she did not bother turning around to get a second glance.
Besides, there were too many more important matters to consider. Far too many to worry about an annoying but evidently insignificant rash.
XIX
It was well after the midnight hour when the patriarch gave in to the urgings of his people to rest the drakes before they collapsed in midrun. By that time, Sharissa was nearly asleep in the saddle. Despite the clan master’s assurance that she would come to learn how to truly rest while riding, the sorceress was more than happy to crawl off the unruly beast and drag herself to a safe and secure spot where she could try to regain at least a tiny portion of her strength. Gerrod and Faunon were not much better, nor were the Tezerenee themselves, even though they had actually had some rest at one point or another.
Only the patriarch seemed energetic, but it was the energy of the anxious, the worried. If he kept it up too long, it would drain him.
Sharissa’s sleep proved little more relaxing. She dreamed as she never had before, but there was little in those dreams to give her comfort. In one, a hand rose from the earth and seized her, twisting her like clay and reshaping her in a hundred myriad forms, all horrific. In another, Faunon and she were embracing. It was a pleasant scene, and she knew that she was about to be kissed. Then his face had become some reptilian parody, but he had still tried to kiss her. That one had woken her up and kept her awake for more than half an hour, so real had that close visage been.
There were others, but they by and by were only shadowy memories, too vague to bother her much. Only one thing about them remained with her, and that one thing was enough to make her shiver.
Throughout several of the nightmares, she could hear the sound of the insane guardian’s mocking laughter. It seemed to cross from one dream to the next. It was still ringing in her ears when a tap on her shoulder woke her again.
Sunlight burned her eyes. Faunon smiled down at her. He seemed fresher, but there were still marks of exhaustion on him. Sharissa did not care to think what she must look like. It amazed her that anyone could still find her attractive. At present, it would not have surprised her to look into a mirror and see a visage that would make a drake beautiful in comparison.
The elf extended a hand, which she took. As he pulled her to her feet, Faunon said, “It was a choice of one of them waking you or me taking on that task. I knew you were still exhausted, but I thought you might like to see my pale face a bit more than you would their metal masks.”
“Very much so.” She enjoyed the contact between them and let it linger a bit before releasing his hand. “Is there food?”