Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,352

quiet voice, added, “It may come as no surprise to you that you are being watched.”

“I hardly thought Lord Barakas wouldn’t safeguard against my good intentions. I think I know what might happen should I desire to test my abilities.”

That produced another good-natured laugh. “You would be wasted on Reegan, Sharissa.”

She busied herself with her blanket and did not reply.

“I am dismissed, I see. Should I gain permission for you to speak to the elf, I will send word. Until then, good evening to you.” His heavy boots crushed fallen twigs and leaves as he moved off. Sharissa waited until the sounds grew faint before turning around to watch his departure.

“I would rather marry Reegan,” she whispered. “At least he I can trust to be consistent.”

“LADY SHARISSA?”

The sorceress blinked sleep from her eyes. Night still shrouded the land, but that did not tell her anything of import. “Is it near morning?”

“No, my lady.” A female warrior was bent over her, helm in one arm. Dressed in something finer than armor, she probably would have been attractive. Tezerenee had in general done without magical alterations to their face and form, preferring to live with what nature had chosen for them. For many Tezerenee, that meant less-than-pleasant features. A few of the patriarch’s offspring, such as Gerrod or his late brother Rendel, had been fortunate enough to gain more from their mother than their father.

“What hour is it?”

“We are barely past midnight, Lady Sharissa.”

The warrior was scratching her cheek. In the light of the partial moons the sorceress could see that the same dryness that many Tezerenee suffered had spread to this one’s cheek, ruining what beauty she did have.

Sleep made the sorceress slow. There was a reason why a Tezerenee might have come to her now, but she could not think of what it was. “Then why have I been disturbed?”

“The Lord Barakas Tezerenee has given you permission to speak with the elf.”

“Alone, of course.”

“Of course, my lady.”

They both knew this was far from the truth, but arguing about it would avail Sharissa naught. She would merely have to be careful how she spoke with Faunon. He would understand why. The elf was no one’s fool.

Sharissa rose. “Give me a moment.” She picked up some of the food, including some of the Tezerenee wine Reegan had given her. That the clan of the dragon could make such excellent wine was their only saving grace in her eyes.

When she was ready, the Tezerenee led her to the wagon where Faunon was kept. Two sentries stood ready to receive them. Sharissa expected to see Lochivan nearby, but could not find him. It did not break her heart.

Her guide spoke to the others and indicated Sharissa. One of the guards nodded and both stepped aside. Nodding as if their obedience was to be expected, the sorceress strode past them and over to the wagon door. The Tezerenee preferred a wagon that was more of a room on wheels, including windows and a door. There was no real need for such an elaborate structure where a simple cloth-covered wagon would have sufficed; the wagon was merely a result of the clan’s tastes. In some ways, it resembled a tiny citadel. Sharissa knew that it was even protected to some extent by defensive spells.

A light from within blinded her when she opened the door. Her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, took a moment to recuperate. Sharissa saw that a lamp illuminated the interior and wondered if it had been left specifically for her use. The lamp hung on a hook in the ceiling. Beyond it were several mysterious sacks from which emanated a slight magical aura, but nothing that made her worry. Supplies of some sort; she had seen their like often.

Other than the sacks and the lamp, only one other item decorated the wagon’s interior.

Faunon.

He was chained so that he could sit on the floor with his legs outstretched, but there were other chains above those, an indication that sometimes he was forced to stand, probably during questioning. Physically, Faunon looked no worse than he had the last time the tall sorceress had spoken to him. Vraad torture, however, did not necessarily leave its marks on the skin.

She closed the door behind her, even though that did not mean that they could not hear her. It would give them a sense of privacy at least. “Faunon?”

The worn figure did not respond.

“Faunon?” Sharissa’s voice quivered. Had they killed him and left the corpse there for her