Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,297

covertly tested the doorway to Zeree’s pocket universe. In most cases, they had not even been able to locate it, much less try to enter. Those that had managed to discover the tear in reality walked through it as if the rift were only air and not a gate at all.

“He walked through with ease.”

“Interesting.” Barakas stalked down the hall, each element of information being turned over and over in his mind. Lochivan scurried along, knowing he had not been dismissed yet. As he had expected, his father’s interest was piqued.

Sentries in the corridor snapped to attention as their lord walked past, unmindful of their presence. Lochivan, trailing, nodded to each and scanned them for any slack behavior. That many were related to him did not matter; if he failed to report or reprimand someone who was not performing their duties to their best, it would be he who suffered, son or not. After all, Barakas had offspring to spare; one son more or less would not touch the patriarch’s heart.

“He will have to depart Zeree’s bottled world at some point,” Barakas announced.

“Yes, my lord.”

“He is a creature of vast power. Not as vast as the Dragon of the Depths, of course, but still a creature to be wary of, I suppose.”

“It would seem that way.” Lochivan’s visage, what could be seen of it behind the helm, had grown perturbed.

“And we have some little power to work with, especially if we work in concert.” To a point! Barakas added to himself. It was becoming more and more difficult to do even that much, almost as if the land was seeking to wipe all vestiges of Vraad sorcery, which demanded and took rather than worked with the world, from existence.

Lochivan chose to remain silent, trying to decipher what it was his father intended.

The Lord Tezerenee turned down a side corridor. His eyes wandered briefly to a nearby window that overlooked the jagged, decaying courtyard of some ancient noble—so he imagined it to be, that is. Whether this had been the home of some noble was a matter of conjecture; the truth was lost to time. Barakas liked to think of it as such, however, just as he liked to think of the debris-covered yard as his personal training ground. Each day, Tezerenee fought on the treacherous surface, testing their skills against one another or some outsider seeking to learn from them. The ground was left purposely ruined; no true battle took place on a clear, flat surface. If they fell, they learned the hard way what could happen to a careless fool in combat.

Tearing his gaze from the window, Barakas made a decision. He smiled and continued down the corridor at a more brisk pace.

“Lochivan,” he summoned.

“Father?” Lochivan stepped up his pace and managed to catch up to Barakas, though it was hard to maintain a place at his father’s side. Barakas moved with a swiftness most of the younger Tezerenee could not match at their best.

“You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sire.” It was to his credit that the younger warrior did not question his abrupt dismissal. During the course of his life, he had come to know when his father was formulating some plan and needed to be alone. Lochivan turned around and returned the way he had come. Barakas took no note of his departure. Only the thoughts melding together within his mind interested him.

A patrol, making its rounds, quickly made a path for him. There were three warriors, one a female, and two drakes about the size of large dogs. The warriors, their faces obscured, stiffened like the newly dead. Barakas started past them, then paused when one of the drakes hissed at him, its darting, forked tongue seeming to have a life of its own.

Barakas reached down and petted the beast on the head. Reptilian eyes closed and the tail swept back and forth, slapping against the legs of its human partner. The Vraad tugged on the leash he held, pulling the drake’s collar a bit tighter in the process. Studying beast and handler, the patriarch’s smile widened.

TO SHARISSA, IT was as if her father had become a small boy. He had greeted Darkhorse with an enthusiasm second only to that which he displayed for his own family. She understood his excitement. Friendship was rare among her kind. Only the circumstances of their escape from Nimth had forced the Vraad to treat one another in a civil manner. Many still held their neighbors in some suspicion, although that had