Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,376

sorts outlining the successive yet failing races of the lands now called the Dragonrealm.

While there were traces of those who had preceded them, it was the handiwork of the last inhabitants, the avian Seekers, that was most dominant. Other than a few broken medallions, she had never seen any products of their civilization. The paintings covering one smoothed wall, however, could only be Seeker in creation. Each spoke of freedom of the sky and conquests, many of them against the creatures called the Quel. There were scenes of aerie life, such as the raising of young and what appeared to be a festival. Some of the paintings were life-size, and all of them were oddly colored, as if the bird folk perceived colors differently. Angles were also askew, and Sharissa recalled how truly birdlike the avians’ eyes were.

They were, she had to admit, beautiful. Beautiful and sad, in retrospect of what had happened.

Sculptures and reliefs, mostly of Seekers in flight, also dotted the chamber. One was simply that of a head more than twenty feet in height. The subtle differences in each figure made her wonder if they represented specific folk in the avians’ history. She would probably never know. If the Tezerenee worked true to form, most of this would be replaced. The Seekers had likely acted the same centuries ago when they had taken this cavern over from the previous tenants.

So many other things drew the eyes, but what demanded the most attention in the end were the rows of towering effigies made to resemble creatures both true and fanciful. It was possible, Sharissa thought, that they even represented some of the races that had preceded the Seekers. Like a swarm of ants, the Tezerenee began to spread out as they approached the huge figures. Reegan and Sharissa followed the patriarch. Lochivan was one of the few who seemed little interested in what he saw. He seemed satisfied to stand back while the others wandered over to the massive, lifelike statues. Sharissa, noticing his reluctance, saw him touch the box. Darkhorse, still pacing Barakas, suddenly froze in mid-step. She was certain that the ebony stallion was still conscious, but the spells of the patriarch prevented her from discovering whether or not that was true. The young Zeree lost her interest in the marvels around her and tried to go to him. Reegan, seeing the object of her change of heart, refused to release his grip, however.

“Nothing’ll happen to the demon,” he muttered, trying not to disturb his father, who was lost in study of the statues. “Lochivan will just keep him out of the way.”

There was a crash from behind them. Sharissa, the patriarch, and the rest whirled around, fully expecting that a trap had been sprung at last. Instead, a fearful warrior stood beside a platform that he had bumped into. A crystal and parts of the platform itself had shattered. The fragments glowed briefly with escaping power.

Barakas stared the man down, then turned to the rest of those in the cavern. “The next man who breaks something will find himself in as many pieces! Explore, but do so with care!”

He turned his attention back to the statues. Some of them were damaged, and a few had been tipped in what had nearly been a domino effect. Barakas touched one of those standing, a figure that was tall, gaunt, and resembled one of the walking dead.

“Gods!” he shouted, pulling his hand free almost the instant after he had touched the effigy.

“What is it, Father?” Reegan asked, not so much concerned as fascinated by his father’s surprise.

“It… there’s… forget it! No one touches these until I say so! Do you all understand me?” His eyes focused on Sharissa. “Not until more is known about them.”

“We should be away from this place,” Faunon suggested, both unnerved and frustrated at being here.

“Nonsense.” Almost in defiance of the elf’s words, Barakas pointed to a series of tunnels to the left of the cavern entrance. “I want those traced for a good thousand paces. If they go further, mark your place and return here. The same with those behind this,”—the patriarch surveyed what stood behind the effigies. It was a ruined set of steps that rose for some distance and ended nowhere in particular—“this dais. Yessss, a throne must have stood here once.”

Soldiers rushed to obey, their places instantly filled by newcomers. Barakas removed his helm and watched them for a moment. The dragonlord then smiled at Faunon as if he had