Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,394

could not hold back. “Where is Lochivan now?”

“He is ill… and it is he who watches the demon’s prison.” That was all he would say on the subject, although she was certain there was more he was not telling.

Gerrod pulled free of his guards and, despite his father’s warning, moved closer to examine his former cousin. He touched the leathery skin and removed some of the tattered bits of armor that still hung to the corpse. From what Sharissa could see from her vantage point, the shapeshifting Tezerenee had torn part of his armor off and literally burst through the rest. How much pain had that entailed? How much pain did the transformation itself entail?

The guards moved to bring the warlock under control, but Lord Barakas suddenly waved them back. To his estranged son, he said, “I will want to know how you come to be on this continent later, but for now I would appreciate whatever you can read from this… this horror.”

He received no response, but that was Gerrod’s way. The hooded Tezerenee probed for a moment or two longer and then looked up in the direction of, but not exactly at, his progenitor. “I’d like Sharissa to see this.”

Reegan whispered something to his father, but Barakas shook his head. He looked at the waiting Zeree. “Go to him, but be careful about what you say or do. There will be no second escape. Especially for your elf.”

In response to an unspoken command, one of Faunon’s guards put a knife to the elf’s throat. Sharissa gritted her teeth in order to keep from saying something that her captor would hardly appreciate. Escape was hardly one of her concerns at this time; she lacked the strength for anything so strenuous as that.

Joining Gerrod, she inspected the corpse. As she expected, he wanted to do the talking.

“This is what I’ve feared all these years—this and the fact that we are aging far more quickly than we were prone to back in Nimth.”

“What are you mumbling?” Reegan asked, suspicious of anyone, it seemed, who was on better terms with Sharissa than he was. That included a vast number of people, as far as she was concerned.

Gerrod stared at his elder sibling with disdain. “I was wondering when the first of these appeared.”

“There was one during the journey here,” Sharissa offered. That first one had likely been one of the more magically sensitive Tezerenee. Or perhaps he had been a test for the outcast guardian, a way of assuring that what it sought to do was possible without killing the victim.

“There wasss another,” announced a hissing voice. From one of the passages, an armored figure that could only be Lochivan stumbled forward. Despite the patriarch’s claim that his son was ill, Lochivan wore full armor, even a full helm. He also carried the box, which was evidently making it difficult for him to maintain his balance, but he refused the aid of two warriors who came to his side.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Barakas told him. Nonetheless, he was visibly proud of the fact that Lochivan would not give in to whatever was affecting him. “You should be resting.”

“In thissss place? I heard the voicessss and came to sssee. Gerrod’s question, however, desservess asss complete an answer as possible if we are to deal with thisss matter.”

“When was the first one?” Gerrod acted as if he had never left the clan.

“During the first expedition. He killed another man before we could ssstop him. That wasss why I wasss ready for Ivor. I recognized the sssigns.”

Barakas looked a bit troubled. “You told me they died when one of the drakes went wild.”

Lochivan laughed, harsh and almost inhuman in his manner. He was now at the edge of the circle of nervous bodies surrounding the prisoners, the patriarch, and the poor, twisted form on the floor. “I thought the sssituation under control, even with Ivor’sss appearance. I thought I had made a pact that would sssave usss!”

“What are you talking about? You must be feverish!”

“He’s not.” Sharissa understood. Lochivan had known what was going to happen to her. That was what he had meant that one evening. He had made a pact that included her safety… so he supposed. In a sense he had been correct. Unfortunately, Lochivan had also been dealing with a being that chose to interpret the pact in whatever way suited it.

The patriarch turned on her. “What’s that you say?”

“Tell him, Sharissa!” Gerrod urged. “Tell him, or by