Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,215

nothingness surrounding it, and finally fell to the floor with a howl of frustration and pain.

The citadel shook.

“I knew it!” Gerrod stumbled toward her, trying to reach out. Sharissa remained where she was, her thoughts in turmoil. She still trusted Melenea, but the young Tezerenee’s nearly suicidal rescue of Sirvak, who could serve him no useful purpose, touched her. If there was a grain of truth in anything he had told her…

“What have you done, Tezerenee?” demanded Melenea. She fell against Cabal. The familiar somehow succeeded in regaining and then maintaining its balance, unlike Sharissa, who rolled helplessly on the carpet as the building trembled again and again.

“I only added to an overfilled pot, witch!” He groped for Sharissa, but she succeeded in steering herself away.

Though Melenea failed to understand, Sharissa did. She realized that this stronghold sat near an area that had grown unstable. Her companion had continually utilized her sorcery as if nothing had changed, as if the Vraad were still in full command of Nimth. Gerrod must have known what an effect such a concentration of power would have and how this battle would only serve to aggravate things. It was unlikely that he could have predicted the tremors so precisely, but the clever Tezerenee had probably researched her father’s work enough to know that the potential for some disaster was high.

Above her, Sirvak hovered. The beaked familiar’s wings beat slowly, barely enough to keep the creature aloft. Sirvak appeared not to notice, evidently still more concerned with its mistress and her safety than its own magical existence. “Mistressss! Are you injured?”

“No, Sirvak, I’m not!” Its concern was so genuine she could no longer believe the familiar was a puppet of Gerrod. Either Sirvak had broken free of whatever spell the shadowy Vraad had cast upon it, or it had never been under a spell at all. If the latter was the case, then much of what Melenea had said became questionable.

“Sirvak! Does Gerrod speak the truth?”

“Shari darling, you cannot—”

“He speaks truth!” the flying beast shrieked, purposely drowning out the enchantress. “She is evil! She only loves pain, mistresss! Others’ pain! That is the nature of her gamesss!”

A portion of the ceiling gave way, crashing down very near Sharissa. Reacting instinctively, she rolled away. Her maneuver brought her nearer Melenea.

“Cabal!” the enchantress shouted.

The deadly familiar suddenly stood over Sharissa, its hot, stinking breath bathing her face. She grimaced and tried to drag herself away from the stench.

The wolf laughed. “Play with Cabal!”

“No, Cabal!” Melenea commanded. “Gently!”

Twisting its visage into an expression of annoyance, the massive beast bent its head low and caught Sharissa by the arm. The jaws clamped tight, not enough to cause great pain, but enough to keep the young Zeree from daring to pull free.

“Mistresss!” Sirvak came down low, but the winged familiar dared not attack. Cabal had bitten off its foreleg with the least of efforts; it would not take much more for the huge wolf to snap Sharissa’s arm apart. Any assault by Sirvak would endanger her further.

A burst of thunder deafened the novice sorceress. As she pulled without success, she saw some of the statuettes leap off their pedestals and run off, scampering through doorways and windows before the startled Vraad. The pedestals themselves were melting.

“Bring her, Cabal!”

The familiar tried, but the floor beneath its feet had begun to grow soft, and though it did not yet impair Sharissa’s own progress, the tremendous mass of the monster was enough to make its paws sink. It growled, all the while maintaining its hold on its unwilling companion, and tried to lift one of the paws out. Sharissa ran her free hand across the floor; it felt more like soft butter than marble. Her father had warned her that this sort of thing would happen. Random waves of wild magic, the culmination of centuries of misuse. It would pass eventually, but other waves would come as the days progressed, until there came a time when the area would be forever beyond the control of anyone and nothing would be safe from change.

“Nimth’s blood!” Melenea was wiping at her arm, where the sleeve of her gown now moved of its own volition. It appeared to be attempting to envelop her hand, almost like a mouth. As Sharissa watched, the enchantress, modesty the least of her interests at this point, tore off the crawling garment and threw it to the floor, where it attempted to return to her. Melenea pointed at the gown, fury marring