Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,322

tore his fingers off yanked the long, narrow sword from his grasp. It went spiraling through the air, at last landing perfectly in the left hand of the massive warrior. Reegan turned and nodded to his companion, as if proud of what he had just accomplished.

“I told you. The power has returned to us. I don’t know how or why, but it has.” Lochivan had ceased his scratching. A vivid red mark covered his neck. He smiled slightly at the wounded elf, who was starting to sink to the ground from a combination of exhaustion, pain, and simple frustration. “Reegan is very fond of weapons,” he explained companionably. “More so than most Tezerenee.”

“Is that what you are… Tezerenee?” It was not a name familiar to Faunon, yet it filled him with relief. Their bearing, their arrogance, had reminded him of something else, some fearsome demon from stories that his mother had told him.

“We were born to the Tezerenee, the clan of the dragon,” Lochivan offered. He replaced his helm, and Faunon, studying it, could not help but be drawn by the eyes of the dragon. They matched those of the man who wore the helm. Lochivan indicated Reegan. “My brother and I. These others, they are Tezerenee by adoption; that is why they fight with less skill. All of us, however, are known together as the Vraad.” The warrior cocked his head in what might have been actual curiosity. “Being an elf, I thought you might have heard of us.”

Faunon pressed himself against the tree that was still, at least in theory, supporting him. He stared without hope at the two mounted riders.

“I think we can take that for a positive response,” Lochivan finally said. He glanced at the warrior standing ready by the corpse of his fellow.

“Bind him and drag him back to the citadel.”

VIII

“YOU SEE, DEMON? I keep my promises. You’ve done what I’ve asked and I’ve woken her. I hardly need to have done that, you know.”

Sharissa’s soul swam in a sea of emptiness. The voices were all she had to latch on to, and they had, until now, seemed so very, very far away. Now, however, she found herself moving toward them with ease.

“I see that you like to give freely what is not yours to give, what actually belongs to the one you claim to give it to! That is what I see!”

They were familiar voices and, though she did not care for one of them, they promised light where she could only recall darkness.

“Do not bestir yourself, demon. The bonds that hold you have not weakened in the slightest. I would rather have your willing cooperation than this need for pain.”

Closer. Sharissa knew she had almost found the light.

One of the voices shrieked in unbridled agony. Her flight slowed as she sought some way to give solace to the one in pain. There was nothing Sharissa could do, however. She knew she would have to wait until she was back in the light.

The shriek died down into silence. Then, just as she feared she would become lost again, the first voice spoke. Its tone was smooth and, despite the sympathetic words, mocking. “You force me to do things I would rather not do, demon. You are the one causing yourself pain.”

“Darkhorse?” Sharissa could not yet see, could not even sense her very body, but memory, at least, was returning. At the moment, it seemed the most precious thing she possessed.

“That should be enough to satisfy you. Now, back where you belong.”

“The Void swallow you, Lord Bara—”

“Darkhorse?” Sharissa struggled to open her eyes. Memories of the attack returned. She had been a fool. Something in the spell of the lamp had alerted the Tezerenee to the fact that she had freed herself a second time. It was a simple spell, one well within the ability of many Vraad, and she had not thought of it.

Why the lamp, though? Why cloud her perceptions if they planned to take her?

“Are you feeling ill at all?” Barakas Tezerenee asked from the darkness.

A dim crack of light sliced its way through the endless black void. As the sorceress struggled, it grew into a band of murky shapes and movements. “Darkhorse, where—”

“Shh! Take it slow, Lady Sharissa. You’ve been asleep for over three days. That deep a slumber turns the body numb. It takes time for the blood to regain momentum.”

“Barakas.” She turned the name into a curse. “What have you done to Dark-horse? To me?” Sharissa regained a vague