Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol II - By Richard A. Knaak Page 0,420

area. “I had not given it much thought, not with that thing around, but… could it be it has not left after all?”

That might be the answer, but Sharissa could not accept it. This was something she had felt before, a familiar presence or presences. Not the guardians, but…

Stepping away from Faunon, the sorceress faced the seemingly empty woods. “Very well! You’ve been polite! You’ve not shocked me! I know you’re there now, so you might as well come out!”

“Who are you—” The elf forgot his question as several figures slowly emerged from the trees. There was no place they could have been hiding. One moment they had not been there, the next they were. A dozen at least, all wearing the same long, cowled robes and moving with the symmetry that only they could accomplish. One might have thought they were all of one single mind.

The not-people, the Faceless Ones as others had called them, circled the Vraad and her companion.

“Sharissa! Do they mean us any harm?”

“One never knows,” she answered truthfully. “I hope not.”

A wan smile touched his face. “Since I have met you, my Vraad, I have been in one constant state of disarray. I never know what to expect!”

“I’ve fared no better,” she admitted. One of the blank-visaged beings separated from the rest and stopped before her. “You’re here.” The sorceress tried to act as brave as she sounded. “What now? Why have you come?”

In answer, the long figure raised its left hand and pointed. They looked.

Like the Faceless Ones, it was standing where it could not have been standing a breath or two earlier. It was wide enough to admit both of them, though that was not what first drew their attention. As ever, it was the artifact itself that commanded the viewer’s gazes. Standing there was an ancient stone arch-way upon which scurried a multitude of tiny, black, reptilian creatures in one seemingly endless race. The gray, stone archway covered with ivy was only one of many shapes this thing had, but each one radiated a feeling of incredible age and the notion that this structure was more than the portal it appeared to be. This was a thing alive.

“My father calls it the Gate,” she informed Faunon. “A capital on the noun. He always felt it was more of a name, not a description.”

“Is it truly alive?”

A shrug. “Was that thing that attacked us alive? I’m beginning to think that this is a world as insane as Nimth.”

The leader pointed again.

“It wants us to enter, I think, Sharissa. What do you suggest?”

She did not trust the Faceless Ones completely anymore. They had an agenda of their own, and she was certain it did not always match that of her folk. Still, she could think of no reason to refuse—and wondered then if the cowled beings would even let her. “I think we should go through. I think it might be for the best.”

He squeezed her hand. “We go through together. I have no desire to be left behind.”

That thought frightened her. Would the not-people do that to her? Did Faunon have no place in their plans? Sharissa tightened her grip and nodded to the one before them. “Together, then.”

Acting as if it wanted to assuage their fears, the leader led the way to the living portal. The featureless figure did not even pause. As it walked through the arch, they saw a flash and then the image of a building that the sorceress had no trouble recognizing.

Her face lit up. “Follow it! Now!”

They fairly leaped through.

On the other side, she paused and took a deep breath. Faunon caught the smile on her face and relaxed. “Are we there?”

She indicated the magnificent citadel on the top of the hill. Between the two and the grand structure was a well-groomed field of high grass and blossoming flowers. Sharissa could not recall a sight that had ever filled her with such relief and happiness. She started to run, pulling Faunon along and shouting to him, “This is home!”

So thrilled was Sharissa that she would later have trouble recalling the trek from where they had materialized to the gates where her father and stepmother had been waiting.

“THEY WANTED US OUTSIDE,” Ariela told her stepdaughter. “We wondered why. I often wish they would at least create mouths with which to talk.”

“They might have to explain too much, then,” Sharissa returned. “I don’t think they would like that.”

The foursome stood in the courtyard of the citadel that was the