Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,212

of which even he would have admitted were complete mysteries, but that would not remove Sharissa Zeree from the ministrations of the viperous Lady Melenea.

“Masterrr Gerrod!” Beside him, crouched low, was Sirvak. The familiar was in what seemed to the warlock a constant state of frenzied anxiousness. “She could be dead! She could be dead!”

“She’s not, Sirvak. Now be quiet.” He was, admittedly, a bit uncertain himself. Things had taken much longer than he would have liked. Day, such as it was, had returned to Nimth before he was confident enough of his own plan. All of it had depended on just how well the temptress’s home was being affected by the instabilities.

“It must be as physical as possible,” he reminded Sirvak. “Trust sorcery only when needed.” Sirvak, out of necessity, had drawn first strike. It could fly. Gerrod would have to trust to small teleports and simple running.

“Understand, Masterrr Gerrod.” Eagerness suddenly flooded the familiar’s unsettling eyes. Its mistress was within the citadel. It had the help of a powerful ally, one it could trust as much as Vraad could be trusted. Gerrod could see that it would perform its task to perfection or die valiantly in the attempt.

Under former circumstances, the Tezerenee would not have feared for himself. Even Melenea had respected the clan of the dragon. With anarchy soon to erupt (if it had not already), she would have no qualms about killing both Gerrod and Sharissa. Worse yet, death might prove slow in coming. Gerrod respected Melenea’s deceit. Her citadel might be one massive trap waiting to be sprung… if his theory proved inadequate.

The shrouded images of the other realm grew more distinct. “Go now!”

Sirvak leaped into the air and was gone from sight a moment later.

The wait tore at Gerrod’s patience. His active imagination conceived of every flaw, every overlooked threat. His memories reminded him of Melenea’s past games. He shivered.

When the time finally arrived for his part, he was thankful. His mind turned to the patriarch as he rose.

“Charging headlong into the enemy. I am your son in the end, just as Mother said.”

He dared to teleport.

SHARISSA WOKE, KNOWING she had slept for quite some time, but barely able to keep from falling once more into a deep slumber. She struggled against the urge, forcing herself to a sitting position.

A form shuffled near her. Through sleep-filled eyes, the young sorceress caught sight of the overwhelming form of Cabal, Melenea’s familiar. The massive blue-green wolf yawned in her direction, once more revealing to her a multitude of savage teeth.

“Mistress says for you to lie down. To rest.” Its rough voice assaulted her ears and made her head pound.

“I’ve rested long enough. It’s day outside, isn’t it?” She shifted closer to the edge of the furry bed. Doing so seemed to clear her mind more.

Cabal did not answer her. Unlike Sirvak, the wolf seemed more an extension of its mistress. What was it the creature had said to Melenea? The words were slow in coming, but Sharissa finally recalled them.

I obey knowing my life is yours or something to that effect. She frowned. Not at all a pleasant phrase. It almost indicated that Cabal expected death if it failed in its duty. Not like the Melenea that Sharissa knew.

With the wolf following every movement, she dared to stand. There was a brief instant when the sorceress thought the familiar was about to pounce on her, but it turned out Cabal was only resettling itself so that it could watch her better. Though it seemed foolish to believe anything would happen to her here, Sharissa could not help being cautious.

“Cabal? Where’s Melenea?”

“The mistress rests also. She has worked hard. You should rest, too. Sleep until the mistress comes again.”

“I’m not tired.” It was true. Now that she was away from the soothing confines of the bed, Sharissa was wide awake. It was almost as if the bed encouraged slumber.

Cabal said nothing more, but it continued to play the role of sentinel.

Sharissa wandered about the room, admiring the statuary and other items that decorated it. During her arrival, she had only given the chamber a cursory scan. Now, however, the young Zeree was able to study detail. The capering figurines at first seemed comical until she leaned forward and looked again. Up close, the expressions on the tiny faces gained a cruel twist, as if the statuettes had no desire to play whatever game it was they played. She also read new actions in their movements. Instead of