Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,355

its neck. The shot had been so perfectly aimed that death had been instantaneous.

“Inside!” a voice shouted.

Two Tezerenee in full armor came rushing in. One of them bent down and inspected the sprawling figure while the other kept his sword ready should it turn out that, impossible as it was, the monster still lived.

“Well?” roared the same voice that had ordered the two inside. Lochivan peered in, his bow ready.

“Dead, milord.”

“Roll it over.”

The warrior who bent by the corpse removed the arrow and did as Lochivan commanded. Everyone stared at the horrible features.

“This is the armor of one of our own, milord.”

“I can see that.” Lochivan looked up at Sharissa. “Are you injured at all?”

“No.” For the first time in weeks, she was actually happy to see him. “I held it back, but it had sorcery of its own.”

“Yes, I know. It killed one of the sentries outside by sorcery. Quietly, too. The other sentry did not notice until the first fell to the ground. By that time, it was too late for him to save himself, much less the first man.”

“Milord!” The Tezerenee who had studied the dead monstrosity stumbled back, unable to hide his shock. “This is one of us!”

“What? Impossible!” Handing his bow to the other man, Lochivan knelt and inspected his kill. His hand roved over what remained of the armor and then to the face. He stared hard and long, trying to make sense of what lay before him.

Sharissa, too, was staring long and hard. Unbidden came the memory of the warrior she and Lochivan had confronted in the corridor just before her public humiliation by Barakas.

“Lochivan,” she started. “Do you recall the man we met in the hall? The one doubled over from illness?”

He looked up. “I recall him.” Unlike his father, the sorceress was aware that he could name every Tezerenee in the clan, be they born by those of the founding blood or outsiders who had joined the ranks at one time or another. It was even a point of pride with him. “That would make this…” Lochivan turned to one of his men. “See if Ivor can be found! He was among the chosen for this expedition since he was a part of the first.”

Hearing this, Sharissa’s brow furrowed. Was it pure coincidence? “Is Ivor a relation?”

“A cousin. Obedient, little else. He was one of the earliest to cross over from Nimth.”

As the one warrior departed to fulfill his desires, others arrived. One saluted Lochivan, who stood. “Well?”

“There are three dead. We found another man gutted a short distance from here.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing.”

“Dispose of this… this… dispose of him in a discreet manner. Is that understood?”

“Yes, milord.”

While the others began dragging the body out, Lochivan noticed Faunon for the first time. Ignoring Sharissa, he marched over to the elf and knelt by him.

“What trick was that, elf? Are your fellows out there now?” He gripped Faunon’s jaw in one hand. “Have I been too lenient with you?”

Sharissa’s relief at seeing Lochivan faded. He had no right to treat Faunon so. “What could he know? What part could he have played, Lochivan? Look at him. You’ve reduced him to little more than a shell!”

“It… it… is all r-right, my l-lady.” With the return of the Tezerenee, Faunon was exaggerating his condition. Sharissa tried not to react, understanding that Faunon wanted them to believe he was weaker than he was. To Lochivan, the captive replied, “I know… nothing, friend. That I swear t-to you. Do you think I w-would have invited such… such a menace into this p-place when I cannot even defend myself? I w-would rather you slit… slit my throat than for… for me t-to be torn apart by so grisly a beast.”

“Do you claim that the elves did not do this?”

“Your man was ill before this, Lochivan,” Sharissa reminded him again. It had not been proven that this was indeed the one called Ivor, but she suspected such evidence would be forthcoming. “It could have been something else.”

He sighed. Standing, the Tezerenee removed his helm and scratched at his throat, where the dry patches of skin had spread. It had become so familiar a habit with him that he no longer even complained when it itched. “Perhaps you are correct. The Seekers have been conspicuously absent.”

She did not understand. “I thought the aerie we travel to had been abandoned and the Seekers were dead.”

“There are a few to weed out. Survivors, nothing more.”

A change in the expression on the elf’s visage