Citadels of the Lost

by Tracy Hickman

  “I beg a question.”

  Sjei frowned. It was Wejon Rei, the Fifth High Priest of the Myrdin-dai and councillor to Master K’chok Valerisom, the Grand Master of their Order. He was a stooped, round-shouldered elf, shorter than most, who had an unfortunate tendency to interrupt others with what he believed were more important or pertinent thoughts of his own. His voice, however, was like honey: smooth, rich, inviting, and occasionally overpowering. It did not help that the Myrdin-dai were still basking in the favor of the Emperor, as Wejon seemed talented at keeping his particular brand of sunshine blinding the members of the Imperial Court. The darker truths of the disaster in the Western Provinces were still effectively hidden from the Emperor’s eyes. So Wejon could afford to interrupt the senior Kyori of his rival Order without fear of reprisal for the time being.

  If Wejon had no fear of the Occuran, then he certainly had no fear of opposing Sjei.

  “The Myrdin-dai have already addressed this matter,” Wejon said with smiling condescension. “We were first aware of this incident in the Provinces and our illustrious Grand Master Valerisom took decisive action that should serve our interests. Our Iblisi brothers . . .”

  Sjei could feel Kyori stiffen. The Iblisi were allied with Kyori’s own Order. Wejon was rubbing the aging patriarch’s face in the recent changes of favor at court.

  “. . . investigated the matter at our request and have since provided us a most satisfactory report in all its particulars. The reports of trouble in the Provinces have been greatly exaggerated and the problem has been fully contained through the mutual efforts of the Myrdin-dai and the Iblisi. I put forward the dismissal of this discussion and the adjournment of this forum.”

  Wejon turned toward Sjei, flashing a syrupy smile as he bowed.

  Kyori glared at the short elf opposite him.

  “I am compelled to remind our brother Wejon Rei,” Sjei said with a courteous nod of his own, “that no member of the forum may put forward either discussion or action before the assembly when begging a question.”

  Wejon’s smile dimmed even as his eyes brightened.

  “Our brother Kyori holds the attention of this forum still and . . .”

  “Then I would urge this forum,” Wejon’s voice cut across the hall, “to reject my brother’s suggestion that the great members of the Modalis should concern themselves with a matter that has already been resolved!”

  Sjei’s eyes narrowed. The Myrdin-dai must be very sure of themselves if Wejon thinks he can interrupt the Sinechai of the Modalis. You’re getting careless, Sjei thought. It will cost you dearly.

  “I beg a question!”

  Sjei turned toward the high, nasal voice two seats to his left.

  “Your question, Brother Liau?” Sjei said, turning away from Wejon. Liau Nyenjei was the Director of the Ministry of Thought and, ironically, rather slow-witted on his own but his timing was impeccable.

  “Unlike our brother,” Liau tossed a sneering nod in the direction of Wejon, “I actually do have a question. Is there any evidence of what actually happened out in the Provinces? All due respect to our brother and the incomparable thoroughness of the Iblisi, the failure of Aether Wells over such a wide area as we have come to understand warrants more consideration than vague and simple assurances from our brother Myrdin-dai . . .”

  Wejon jumped to his feet, his black eyes flashing in the column of light striking down from above. “Does our brother insult me thus? Am I to endure this outrage without the satisfaction of his blood?”

  Liau did not move from his chair but only turned his head slightly in the direction of Wejon. “No matter how strong the wind, the stars remain fixed. Blow all you like, Wejon, but it is unbiased confirmation that we lack.”

  Wejon reached for the handle of his sword.

  “If the assembly will indulge me . . . I have evidence to present in the matter.”

  Sjei turned his solid-black eyes languorously toward Ch’dak Vaijan. He was the Imperial Emissary from the Ministry of Law—a middle-level position, but his family’s influence was beyond reproach. He was the one member of the Modalis that everyone in the forum knew to be beyond influence.

  He was the first elf Sjei had learned to manipulate.

  “Will Kyori yield the forum for evidence?” Sjei asked the elder Occuran who was still standing, waiting to present the rest of his motion.

  “For evidence,” Kyori said carefully.

  Sjei nodded then turned back to Ch’dak. “The forum is yielded to Ch’dak Vaijan for evidence.”

  “What is the nature of this so-called ‘evidence’?” Wejon hissed through his bared, sharpened teeth.

  Ch’dak stood and stepped into the light in the center of the forum. “The best evidence. I have a witness.”

  “A witness?” Wejon mocked. “What witness could you possibly present?”

  “One who was there at the very heart of what happened,” Ch’dak continued. He lifted his hand, gesturing to the guardians at either side of the forum doors. “One who can tell us who is responsible for what we believe to be the worst disaster to befall our Empire in over a hundred years. One who comes to warn us of even greater disasters to be visited upon our Empire unless we act quickly and decisively. One who can tell us the truth of who is responsible . . . and help us to know what must be done to stop them. Hear her now!”

  The doors at the end of the hall opened and a thin elven figure with a bowed head walked into the forum. It was a female elf, young by the look of her build, but her face was careworn. She lifted her head as she stopped in the center of the circle of light.

  “I am Tsi-Shebin, daughter of Sha-Timuran of the fallen House of Timuran,” the young girl said, her voice clear and her black eyes shining in the light. “I was there.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Mutual Interests

  SHE WORE THE SAME STAINED and tattered dress that she had been discovered in amid the ruins of her household. Some of the rips in the cloth seemed a bit too strategically located to have occurred entirely by accident, showing off her young figure to better advantage. She put them there herself, Sjei thought. And the stains are still in the cloth. Surely the brothers of the council are not so gullible as to think she’s worn this same dress for the last two months since her House fell. Her face is even smudged! Still, it is an excellent bit of theater . . . and just look at them; she’s got their sympathies already.

  Ch’dak stepped to the edge of the light, his features cast in stark relief. His voice was firm but had a soft edge to it. “Tell us, child, what happened to you in the Western Provinces.”

  Tsi-Shebin raised her head, lifting her chin with seemingly enormous effort. “My father took us some years ago to establish our House in the Western Provinces. He was a devout citizen of Rhonas. We moved there so that my father might better serve the Emperor’s Will.”

  Sjei smiled inwardly. Everyone who knew him reported that ShaTimuran was a crass, opportunistic fool with a violent temper and delusions of grandeur far above his Estate. He was generally despised at court and only moved to the frontier when no other form of easier social advance was available to him.

  Ch’dak continued. “And where do you reside now?”

  Sjei glanced at Ch’dak with a slight frown. The answer to that question might prove awkward to the Quartermaster.

  “I am currently living off the graces of my remaining relatives here in town. My home is gone, our estate is in ruins, and I have lost everything in the fall of my father’s House from the wanton and utter destruction of our Aether Well.”

  Sjei raised an eyebrow, drawing in a relieved breath. Shebin had not only avoided divulging her living arrangements but had brought old Ch’dak back to the point of the performance. This young girl was proving more adept at this game than he had hoped. In the next moment he realized that he would have to reevaluate her strengths in this regard—and take care to never underestimate her again.

  Ch’dak nodded at the response. “And you were there when your House
fell?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Shebin’s whisper carried clearly throughout the hall.

  “Then tell us what happened,” Ch’dak spoke gently.

  Shebin raised her eyes toward Ch’dak but seemed not to see him as she spoke in flat, distant tones. “It was during our evening Devotions. Father had heard the report from a few of his returning Centurai warriors early that afternoon in his court. They were the first to return from the Dwarven Wars and had been expected as their trophies from the war had arrived earlier in the day. Father was angry with the Captain of the First Octia because he had lost the great prize in the final battle and had only returned with meager and unimportant dwarven trifles . . .” Shebin’s voice trailed off to nothing.

  “You say this warrior had lost a prize?” Ch’dak prompted.

  “Yes,” Shebin said, gaining her voice once more. “The warrior had reached the Crown of the Last Dwarven King and held it in his hands. Then he had thrown it away.”

  “Thrown it away?” Arikasi Tjen-soi chuckled loudly. Arikasi was the Minister of Occupation whose concerns largely touched on any of the conquered lands beyond the traditional borders of Rhonas. Once, many years before, he had been a warrior subjugating those lands—now, by the look of his growing midsection, he preferred to administer them from a distance. The fall of Aether Wells in the Western Provinces was of peripheral interest to Arikasi who preferred distant maps to nearer territories. The conquest of the Ninth Dwarven Throne and its associated crown, however, was firmly within his purview and seemed to awaken him. “You are mistaken, child. That crown was the expressed objective of the campaign, burned into the Devotions of every Impress Warrior taking the field that day. None would have been capable of doing such a thing.”

  “My father believed that it happened,” Shebin replied, lifting her chin with just the right mixture of pride and hurt in her expression. “The other warriors who were with him confirmed it . . . and I heard it from his own lips.”

  “But why?” Arikasi pressed. “Why would a slave so willfully break the bounds of his Devotions?”

  Sjei frowned. Arikasi was derailing Shebin’s narrative with unnecessary issues. The Sinechai leaned forward, opening his mouth to speak.

  “I cannot say, Master,” Shebin responded. “Perhaps it was his first willful act of rebellion . . . the moment when the Captain of the First Octian conceived the tragedy that destroyed my home, saw my father torn limb from limb and my mother’s charred remains impaled atop the ruins of our subatria wall with a spear.”

  Sjei leaned back slowly. Shebin was good indeed. In a stroke she had both answered Arikasi’s question and put him back on the point of this entire performance.

  “Go on, child,” Kyori urged quietly into the short silence that followed. “Tell us what happened.”

  “It was during evening Devotions,” Shebin said quietly. “All of the household and most of the slaves had already received their Devotions. We were all in the garden courtyard. I was down near the center next to the House Altar with Father and Mother—just next to the Aether Well. We heard sounds—shouts and screaming, I think—from the edge of the courtyard. I looked up with alarm and saw one of the slaves—that same Captain of the First Octian—brandishing a sword and threatening my mother and me.”

  Sjei glanced around at his fellow members on the council. There were conflicting accounts as to exactly what happened in the Timuran House courtyard that night and not one of them corroborated the story Shebin told. It did not matter what the facts were—what would the council believe? Did Shebin’s story go too far?

  Not even Wejon challenged her.

  “The House Guards approached him at once, and my father rushed to help them but it was too late,” Shebin continued. “Drakis turned toward the Aether Well . . .”

  “Drakis?” Arikasi asked. “Who’s Drakis?”

  “The Captain of the First Octian, Master . . . the human warriorslave,” Shebin replied. “He turned toward the Aether Well, held out his free hand, and then there was a terrible bright flash of light and the sound of a thousand thunders. Pieces of the Aether Well flew . . .”

  “Pieces?” Kyori exclaimed.

  “Yes, Master,” Shebin shook visibly as she spoke. “It shattered—like dropped glass—its pieces falling like bright rain all about the courtyard.

  Ch’dak turned to speak to the Modalis. “The Well not only was broken but exploded. I have seen the reports from the Iblisi Quorum who investigated. An Inquisitor by the name of Soen Tjen-rei reported that there were no pieces of the Aether Well remaining that were much larger than a finger of his hand. It was this event that caused Wells all across the Western Provinces to fail in turn. It was only by fortune that these cascading failures did not reach Rhonas itself.”

  A murmur rose in the hall at this statement. Sjei raised his hand. “Brothers! Order! Let us proceed.”

  Ch’dak turned back to face Shebin. “What happened next, child?”

  Shebin’s lips began to quiver, her black eyes shining under the light from above. “The . . . the slaves all went mad. It was like Drakis had cast a horrible spell upon them all. They began raving . . . murdering . . . they wouldn’t stop. The . . . the avatria started to fall and our Tribune Se’Djinka pulled me out from under it. I saw my father. He was fighting with his sword, but there were so many! I couldn’t see my mother at all. The slaves tore at me, tried to pull me among them, but Se’Djinka kept them away . . .”

  “Who is this Se’Djinka?” Arikasi blurted, trying to follow the narrative .

  “The House Tribune,” Ch’dak offered. “He commanded the Timuran Centurai at the Battle of the Ninth Throne.”

  “Wasn’t there a Ghenetar by that name?” Arikasi mused. “Fought in the Benis Isles campaign years ago.”

  “I believe your memory serves you too well,” Sjei said quietly. “It is the same elven general but some history is best forgotten. Please, Tsi-Shebin Timuran, continue: what did Se’Djinka do?”

  “He pushed me back toward the Hall of the Past. The avatria crashed down into the garden and fell over. It crushed so many . . . He pushed me into a hidden room . . . a room I’d never seen before . . . and told me to stay there until he came for me . . . Until he came for me . . .”

  Shebin’s voice trailed off, her eyes unfocused.

  Ch’dak nodded. “How long were you there?”

  Shebin’s mind seemed to have taken her to a place far removed from the chambers of the Modalis. “The sounds were so chilling . . . the screams went on and on . . .”

  Ch’dak tried again. “Shebin, how long were you there.”

  “What did you . . . what?” The young elf girl blinked, trying to focus.

  Ch’dak drew in a long breath between his sharp teeth.

  “He found me, you know,” Shebin suddenly whispered across the silence with just enough strength to be heard clearly throughout the hall. “With the house burning and my parents dying somewhere out in the ruins—he found me in that filthy little room. The Aether was gone. I . . . I had no magic to defend myself and there he was coming toward me with that . . . that terrible grin on his face! I tried . . . but he was a warrior . . . a warrior, you see . . . and he kept touching me and pulling at my dress . . .”

  Ch’dak looked away from her.

  Sjei did not move. He knew this part was an outrageous twisting of the truth, but he could read the faces of his fellow council members. We’ve got them, he thought.

  “My dress,” Shebin murmured, fingering the tears in the cloth. “It used to be so beautiful . . . and he had to ruin it all.”

  “Who?” Ch’dak said as if on cue. “The slave who did this, who was it?”

  “Drakis,” Shebin said through stuttering breaths. “The human slave named Drakis.”

  “Thank you, Tsi-Shebin Timuran,” Ch’dak said in quiet respect. “We hear your words and shall deliberate on your justice.”

  Shebin nodded hesitantly and then walked quietly from the room, her head bowed. The dark
doors closed quietly behind her.

  Wejon barely waited for the sound of the latch before his voice filled the hall. “What is all this to us? There is nothing new in this report that was not known to us.”

  “To what are you referring, Wejon,” Liau observed coolly, ‘that all the Aether Wells collapsed at once in the Western Provinces or that it was all caused by this one human named Drakis?”

  “It’s one escaped slave!” Wejon squealed, his voice echoing in the hall. “That House Timuran fell is a tragedy. I feel nothing but the deepest of sympathies for this unfortunate young woman who has stood before us. Sad, indeed, is her tale. More tragic still are the hundreds perhaps thousands of others who did not survive this unfortunate accident to come and tell their tales to us as well . . . but we are still talking about a single, unimportant slave!”

  “A slave who caused the fall of all the Western Wells,” Liau replied with, for the first time in Sjei’s memory, an edge of anger in his voice. “The power of the Aether is what supports the very foundations of this entire Empire. We maintain control of our slaves by it. We command our armies through it. All trade is built upon it. Our lives are sustained by it. Our very walls are supported with it. Your own Order’s only purpose in existence is the distribution of this power and your enrichment through it yet when all of this was shaken by the hand of a single slave, you consider him ‘unimportant’?”

  Wejon bristled once more. “It was not our Wells that failed, but those of our Occuran brothers. Is it our fault that their poor craft left the Western Provinces in such a state that their Wells threatened the Empire itself?”

  Kyori’s hands gripped the rests of his chair until all color had left them, but a single warning look from Sjei kept him in his place.

  “No,” answered Kyori with barely restrained fury. “But it seems that the efficient auspices of the Myrdin-dai managed to facilitate this ‘unimportant’ slave’s escape.”