“Careful!” Faunon caught her. It seemed that someone was always catching her. Sharissa felt brief pangs of frustration, but forgot her aggravation with herself when she saw who-or rather, what-she had nearly tripped over.
It was one of the Tezerenee. His head had been nearly severed from his body, but with good reason. With his helm off to one side, the trio could see that he, like Lochivan, had progressed through a part of the transformation.
“He was perfectly normal when we last saw him!” Gerrod objected.
“But he isn’t now!” Sharissa forgot about the body and rushed to the doors.
“Help me get these open… and pray we don’t find another like him waiting for us!”
They heard yet another hiss down one of the corridors. Heavy thuds warned them in advance that this part of the citadel was not empty.
The doors proved not to be bolted, but something had been placed behind them that made it difficult at first to push them open. The combined efforts of the three, not to mention the knowledge that another dragon was only minutes from discovering them, proved superior to whatever held back the doors.
Sharissa peeked in as the doors spread apart and barely held back a gasp.
Lord Barakas stood with his sword out before him, as still as a marble statue. The great hall was in ruins, and she saw part of the mangled corpse of one of the patriarch’s remaining two men. The other was nowhere to be seen, although it was almost a certainty that he, like the first, was dead.
Facing the clan master from where the thrones had once stood was the largest of the dragons that any of them had yet seen in the citadel.
“Now what do we do?” Gerrod asked.
The hissing in the corridors had multiplied. Sharissa did not think they had any choice, especially since it sounded as if the outer doors were beginning to give. She gritted her teeth and replied, “One dragon is always better than two or three!”
They stepped inside, and Faunon and the warlock quickly closed and bolted the doors behind them.
Barakas and the dragon before him had still not moved. It was as if they were waiting to see who would look away first. The dragon, a huge, emerald and black beast, bled from a number of cuts around its eyes and throat. Part of the patriarch’s armor was in tatters, and he looked to be bleeding, although it was hard to say since his back was turned to them. Sharissa wondered why the dragon looked so familiar and then realized the monster resembled the ancient dragonlord in the ruins of the founders’ settlements. Was this what the renegade had wanted the Tezerenee to become?
Reptilian eyes glanced the trio’s way, but Barakas, oddly enough, did not choose to strike. The dragon, turning its attention back to the patriarch, almost appeared disappointed in his lack of effort.
Barakas, never taking his eyes from the dragon, called back, “Get out of here! I command you! Go on without me!”
“We would like to, Father,” Gerrod responded with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, “but the family insists we stay for dinner!”
Outside the great hall, they could hear the hissing of more than one drake.
“Gerrrrod?” The dragon leaned forward, completely ignoring the armed Tezerenee, yet Barakas still made no move. “Gerrrod.”
“Gods!” The warlock stumbled back as the jaws opened, and they stared into the beast’s huge maw.
The behemoth suddenly recoiled. Sharissa thought it looked ashamed and horrified by Gerrod’s reaction. The mighty head turned and reptilian eyes stared down at the patriarch. “Let it be donnne!”
Before their eyes, the dragon struck at Lord Barakas, but in so clumsy a manner that its lower jaw missed the top of the clan master’s helm by several inches. The attack also left the dragon’s throat completely open, but even then, Barakas hesitated before striking. When he finally attacked, it was as if his draconian adversary had purposely left itself open, for it delayed in withdrawing its head.
The patriarch’s sword, propelled by his tremendous strength, went up through the throat, the back of the jaws, and directly into the brain of the beast.
The silence of the tableau lent an eerie feel to it. Making no sound despite the horrible pain it felt, the dragon pulled back. Barakas remained where he had been since the threesome had entered, defying almost certain death if the thrashings of the dying creature proved very violent.
Yet, the dragon did not thrash. It twitched as it moved, and the blood, a trail that began on the chest and hands of the clan master and continued back to the dais, continued to pour from the wound like some hideous river. With so much pain evident, it was surprising to all of them that the dragon seemed almost at peace.
Heavy thuds against the doors reminded Sharissa and her companions of their own danger. They moved closer to the center of the great hall. Barakas still had no eyes for them; he only seemed interested in the death of the leviathan. As it began to settle into the final moments of life, the patriarch walked slowly toward the dragon’s head. The eyes, already glazing, watched him with what interest the dying beast could muster. It made no attempt to snap at him. Barakas knelt beside it and, removing his gauntlets, began caressing his adversary on the neck.
“Lord Barakas,” Sharissa dared call out. “We need to leave this place! The others will be through those doors before long!”
He looked up at them. There was no life in his voice as he said, “I killed her.”
“You cannot kill them all, though, Father!” the warlock argued, evidently thinking that the patriarch was intending to take on each and every beast as it came.
Sharissa understood what Gerrod did not and tried to keep him from saying anything more. “Lord Barakas! Is there another way out of here that might lead us to a safer place?”
“I killed her because she asked me,” he replied, rising and staring at his son.
“It was a struggle for her to keep her own mind, but she was always the strongest besides myself. I almost thought she might have fought back the foul magic as I had done.”
Gerrod’s eyes jerked from his father to the dead beast. “Dragon’s blood, Father! that… that cannot be-”
“Yes, Gerrod. That is my Alcia.”
“That thing is-was mother?” The younger Tezerenee, Sharissa realized, had never taken the transformations and followed them to their logical conclusions. If one Tezerenee was affected, they all were, even the lord and lady who ruled. Barakas had survived through his incredible will. The Tezerenee still back at the caverns had probably survived in part because of his very presence. Of course, there was also the possibility that the renegade guardian had acted more cautiously in the caverns, considering that the region was a former stronghold of its creators.
A downpour of heavy thuds left cracks in the walls and ceiling of the chamber. Sharissa stood directly in front of Barakas and forced him to look at her. “Barakas! Is there a place we can go from here where the dragons won’t be able to reach us?”
Behind the helm, his face screwed up in thought. He almost looked pained by the effort. She pitied him for what he had been forced to do, but there was no helping Lady Alcia anymore. Now was the time to worry about those still living.
He finally shook his head. “No. Nothing. The other entrances lead out into the main corridors.”
“Which we know to be filled with our friends,” Faunon remarked. He had the bow ready. The first drake through would have little room to navigate, making it a perfect target for one of his skill.
“We’re trapped, then,” she said. “Unless we teleport from here.”
“Very risky!”
She indicated the buckling doors. “Compared to that?”
“A communal effort will be needed. I doubt I have the power to either tele-port us or open a gate long enough for us to go through. Do you think you could do it?”
“No.” That had been one of her first considerations. A communal effort was the only choice she had discovered. Sharissa had hoped the elf might suggest another. “We’d best get to it, then! Gerrod! Are you up to it?”