not remain so. If these dragons were what she thought they were, then wings might be merely the next step in their evolution.
Together we can do something, she kept telling herself. With my power, Faunon’s, and what the rest can contribute, we should be able to teleport us all to safety.
Should was the optimum word.
So engrossed was she in the planning of their escape that she nearly fell across the body lying across the closed doors of their destination.
“Careful!” Faunon caught her. It seemed that someone was always catching her. Sharissa felt brief pangs of frustration, but forgot her aggravation with herself when she saw who—or rather, what—she had nearly tripped over.
It was one of the Tezerenee. His head had been nearly severed from his body, but with good reason. With his helm off to one side, the trio could see that he, like Lochivan, had progressed through a part of the transformation.
“He was perfectly normal when we last saw him!” Gerrod objected.
“But he isn’t now!” Sharissa forgot about the body and rushed to the doors.
“Help me get these open… and pray we don’t find another like him waiting for us!”
They heard yet another hiss down one of the corridors. Heavy thuds warned them in advance that this part of the citadel was not empty.
The doors proved not to be bolted, but something had been placed behind them that made it difficult at first to push them open. The combined efforts of the three, not to mention the knowledge that another dragon was only minutes from discovering them, proved superior to whatever held back the doors.
Sharissa peeked in as the doors spread apart and barely held back a gasp.
Lord Barakas stood with his sword out before him, as still as a marble statue. The great hall was in ruins, and she saw part of the mangled corpse of one of the patriarch’s remaining two men. The other was nowhere to be seen, although it was almost a certainty that he, like the first, was dead.
Facing the clan master from where the thrones had once stood was the largest of the dragons that any of them had yet seen in the citadel.
“Now what do we do?” Gerrod asked.
The hissing in the corridors had multiplied. Sharissa did not think they had any choice, especially since it sounded as if the outer doors were beginning to give. She gritted her teeth and replied, “One dragon is always better than two or three!”
They stepped inside, and Faunon and the warlock quickly closed and bolted the doors behind them.
Barakas and the dragon before him had still not moved. It was as if they were waiting to see who would look away first. The dragon, a huge, emerald and black beast, bled from a number of cuts around its eyes and throat. Part of the patriarch’s armor was in tatters, and he looked to be bleeding, although it was hard to say since his back was turned to them. Sharissa wondered why the dragon looked so familiar and then realized the monster resembled the ancient dragonlord in the ruins of the founders’ settlements. Was this what the renegade had wanted the Tezerenee to become?
Reptilian eyes glanced the trio’s way, but Barakas, oddly enough, did not choose to strike. The dragon, turning its attention back to the patriarch, almost appeared disappointed in his lack of effort.
Barakas, never taking his eyes from the dragon, called back, “Get out of here! I command you! Go on without me!”
“We would like to, Father,” Gerrod responded with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, “but the family insists we stay for dinner!”
Outside the great hall, they could hear the hissing of more than one drake.
“Gerrrrod?” The dragon leaned forward, completely ignoring the armed Tezerenee, yet Barakas still made no move. “Gerrrod.”
“Gods!” The warlock stumbled back as the jaws opened, and they stared into the beast’s huge maw.
The behemoth suddenly recoiled. Sharissa thought it looked ashamed and horrified by Gerrod’s reaction. The mighty head turned and reptilian eyes stared down at the patriarch. “Let it be donnne!”
Before their eyes, the dragon struck at Lord Barakas, but in so clumsy a manner that its lower jaw missed the top of the clan master’s helm by several inches. The attack also left the dragon’s throat completely open, but even then, Barakas hesitated before striking. When he finally attacked, it was as if his draconian adversary had purposely left itself open, for it delayed in withdrawing its head.
The patriarch’s sword, propelled by his tremendous strength,