Citadels of the Lost

by Tracy Hickman

  Urulani hunched over where she sat.

  The Lyric stood and began jumping up and down in the front of the boat, clapping her hands together in delight. “That was wonderful! Can we do it again?”

  The look on Urulani’s face suggested otherwise.

  As Urulani guided her boat to the sandbar, Ishander nodded his head with approval. “You run the river well for a woman!”

  “And it is amazing to me that you have lived this long,” Urulani said tiredly in return as her boat whispered up onto the shore. She dropped the soaked plank, resting her elbows on her knees. “I count two boats. Where’s the third?”

  “Lost, I think,” Ethis offered. “Jugar went over the side and I went with him. I’m not all that certain as to how we got here and I’ve seen no sign of our boat since partway down the cascade. Drakis, I think you were the first ones here, did you . . . Drakis?”

  Drakis’ eyes were unfocused. He was blinking as though trying hard to concentrate on something that he could not quite see or hear.

  “Drakis?”

  Mala rushed toward the chimerian, splashing up out of the water in her haste. “Ethis . . . everyone . . . we’ve got to hide!”

  “Hide?” Ethis asked. “Where? There’s nothing but this sandbar and the bare cliff face behind us.”

  “They’re coming!” Mala said urgently. “We’ve got to leave! We’ve got to . . .”

  A shadow fell over them.

  Ethis looked up.

  The enormous rust-colored dragon soared up over the tree line above the cascades, its leathery wings shivering as they pressed against the air, slowing the monster down precipitously. The dragon’s neck craned forward, drawing the body and the wings down into a dive that skimmed just a breath away from the cliff face. It flew over the cascades and the large pool at the river’s fork, the tips of its wings brushing the surface as it hurtled directly toward Ethis and his companions huddled on the shoreline.

  Ethis reached for his sword instinctively . . . and found his scabbard empty. He bent down, grasping the dwarf by his collar with one hand and his belt with two others, trying to drag him toward Urulani’s boat.

  Urulani leaped up, drawing her own sword. Ishander crouched behind the boat, his back pressed against the craft’s side. Mala rushed to stand behind Drakis, who held his hand up, palm open toward the dragon.

  The Lyric did not even look up.

  “Pharis,” Drakis muttered. “What are you doing here?”

  The dragon landed just off the sandbar, creating a wave that washed both Drakis’ and Urulani’s boats well up onto the sands. Its impact shook the ground beneath everyone, making it difficult to stand. Ethis dropped the dwarf while trying to keep his balance.

  The wide head of the monstrous drake shifted quickly from side to side at the end of its long neck then moved quickly toward Drakis. Drakis lifted up his hand, reaching for one of the creature’s horns on its head.

  Pharis suddenly stopped.

  His nostrils flared and he took in a quick, deep breath, then the muscles at the back of his jaw tightened, baring his long teeth on either side.

  Was the dragon actually smiling? Ethis wondered.

  Then the head craned skyward suddenly. In moments the enormous body of the dragon twisted around, its clawed feet plunging into the sands as it turned around. Mala screamed, trying desperately to stay away from the feet as the behemoth rotated directly over their heads. His wings extended with a great snapping sound, falling down around the boats and their crew huddling terrified next to them.

  Then the dragon held perfectly still.

  Petrified with fright, Mala knelt in the sand behind Drakis, the belly of the dragon not eight feet above her head.

  Hide in the folds of my winged embrace.

  Sheltered within my deceit

  Dragons are seeking

  Our ends they are wreaking . . .

  She pressed her hands against her ears, but it did her no good. The song was thundering through her mind and she could not block it out. Worse, other songs were screaming through her mind, competing for the space in her thoughts and crowding out her own.

  Where is the seeker of southern lands?

  Answer the call of our horn!

  Pay for your nation

  Its doom’s creation . . .

  “Hold still,” Drakis called out. “Stay hidden under his wings!”

  Mala could see the sunlight still shining on the placid waters below the cascades, framed in the wings of the dark dragon standing above her.

  An enormous shadow passed over the water . . . then another.

  In moments, the sun was blotted out.

  Answer the ancients of promised day

  Come to the justice of truth

  Tell us of shame

  Tell us of blame . . .

  Mala looked up. Beyond the trailing edge of the dragon’s wing, she could see a patch of sky just above the top of the northern cliff.

  A colossal golden dragon flew high above the cliff. Its scales looked somewhat tarnished but it was magnificent in the sunlight. It shifted its head from side to side, searching the ground below it.

  Following in the path of its flight were smaller dragons of many different shapes and colors. Soon the sky was filled with these dragons, blotting out her view completely. The procession went on and on—thousands of the creatures soaring above the river.

  The ground shook twice more in quick succession.

  More dragons had landed on the sandbar, Mala realized. The trumpeting screech of their voices suddenly rebounded off the walls.

  Found is the vessel of floating

  Down on the north river’s way

  Hestia hunting

  Pharis is coming . . .

  The dragons screeched once again. The beating of their wings created a storm of sand on the beach as they lifted their mammoth bodies into the air.

  Moments later, Pharis shifted as well, his own wings beating the sands around Mala and the others into an obscuring sandstorm. Mala covered her eyes against the onslaught and only lowered her arms when she felt the wind still once again and the sands settling around her.

  Ethis was covering the still prostrate dwarf as best he could. Urulani, the Lyric and Ishander were all standing next to two boats, which the dragon apparently had pulled up even farther on land.

  Drakis stared up in wonder at the retreating dragon as he spoke. “He hid us from the others. They’re looking for us.”

  Mala turned to see the dark form of the dragon Drakis called Pharis laboriously pulling its ancient bulk into the sky.

  Invisible is the traitor’s road

  Marked with the beacons of old

  Smelling of magic

  Betrayal tragic . . .

  Find you the temples of ancient might

  The key of magic fonts bright

  There you’ll be resting

  Never confessing . . .

  “We have to leave before they come back,” Mala said suddenly. “We have to get down the river as quickly as we can.”

  “We now seem to have two guides,” Ethis said, his expression conveying his skepticism. “And just which river do you think we should take?”

  Ishander spoke up. “We will be taking . . .”

  “Shut up,” Ethis said, his words sharp and final. “I was asking the woman.”

  “The dragons are searching the northern fork,” Mala said at once. “I say we take the eastern fork.”

  “Prudent choice if nothing else,” Ethis offered. “And just what do you expect we’ll find on this eastern fork?”

  She looked up. The Lyric was already in the boat even though it was fully ten feet from the shoreline. She was looking directly at Mala, smiling and nodding at her.

  “Home,” Mala said. “The eastern fork is the way home.”

  CHAPTER 29

  River of Sighs

  THEY TRAVELED THE EASTERN RIVER. Ishander called this the River Tyra and asserted that it would lead them directly to Chel
esta—the Citadel of Light—the ancient center of the lost human empires. The young Ambeth Far-runner maintained his arrogant demeanor through it all, treating Mala’s assertions as mere confirmation of what he would have said if she had not spoken before him. That the dragons were searching the north fork of the river, the young Far-runner claimed also had no impact on his decision to lead them all down the eastern fork.

  The narrow canyon of the cascades that ended in the diverging forks of the river proved to be a cut down through the edge of a plateau. Within only a few leagues, the towering walls of the plateau were behind them and the tempo of the river slowed as it widened and began winding its way toward the east through the lower points of an undulating plain.

  Which meant that all they could see, Urulani thought ruefully, was an unchanging wall of the same jungle trees repeated over and over again. Each bend in the river seemed to bring another turn through the same unending procession of palm trees, ferns, and dense undergrowth. An occasional pile of stones or remnant of a wall would appear to bring some relief to the monotony but it was short-lived; there had not been enough of the original structures remaining in any of the places they had had seen thus far to spark more than a literally passing interest.

  Well, Urulani consoled herself, at least we’re making good time into the middle of nothing.

  Urulani’s dark, smooth arms dipped the long pole back into the still waters more out of habit than need. Their reed boat—the second of the two remaining—was near the center of the channel, and the river was doing most of the work. She stood at the back of the boat as she had seen Ishander do, with her back leaning firmly against the upturned stern that stood almost five feet above the keel. She realized that the boats had been specifically designed for this purpose so that the person controlling the boat would have both something to rest against on long journeys and, at the same time, better control of the boat along the way. Most of the effort on the pole was in resisting the river’s force rather than supplementing it. A back planted firmly against the upward curving stern allowed for much better control in slowing down the craft and turning it against the current.

  It was a different way of working the water and, in some ways, that knowledge made her all the more heartsick.

  Urulani was a woman of the Sondau, a cunning tracker, warrior, and captain of the raider ship Cydron which she had led into more battles than she could count. She had been the embodiment of victory, confidence, and success for so long that she had begun to believe that she had a right to it; that somehow all the world revolved around her shrewd plans and skill with both speech and blades. She was a popular figure—perhaps legendary—among her people and held the unwavering loyalty and confidence of every man in her crew.

  Her crew . . .

  Now she had failed them. She knew of three at least who were dead because of her and their names continued to torture her. Gantau who came back because she told him he must only to die before they could retreat through the fold, Yithri who had died so horribly before the rage of the dragon, and Kwarae . . . who had been dragged silently into oblivion before she even knew that danger was still present in the darkness. Worse for her were her thoughts about Djono, Kendai, and Lukrasae—the three members of her crew that had been left on the other side of the fold before Ethis collapsed it and stranded them all here. Her last instructions to Kendai, her sailing master aboard the Cydron had been to get back to the ship and return with help. Did Kendai and his companions even escape the rage of the dragons that remained on the far side of the magical portal after it had closed and killed one of the monsters? If Kendai did escape, did he attempt to return and find her? She had seen her comrades die in battle before and knew well that such were the fortunes of warriors, but those deaths had been part of the risks taken by all the Sondau as they strove to keep their footing in the world. Such losses were to be honored for their service to the Sondau Clan but this was different. She had always taken comfort in being surrounded by the people of her clan, the crew of her ship, and her comrades in arms. Now, despite the fact that she had often tracked others on her own without any help, she suddenly felt alone and vulnerable without her crew. What purpose had those deaths served—except to make her the captain of this tiny boat in charge of two contemptible excuses for women, sailing down a river hundreds of leagues from the nearest ocean?

  Urulani looked down at the two women seated in the boat at her feet. The Lyric had clearly lost whatever mind she may have once had although she at least had the courtesy over the last week of maintaining a single persona—strange though it might be. To Urulani, she seemed like a woman who had completely given up on herself, her mind drifting from one identity to another, which struck the warrior woman as disgustingly undisciplined.

  As for Mala, Urulani was of the opinion that she should have died long ago and the Sondau woman was still inclined to correct that mistake. Mala had utterly and completely betrayed Drakis and, in the process, had called down death upon Urulani’s own village of Nothree. Good people had died because of her, and the woman seemed oblivious to her responsibility for their deaths. Why the Ambeth should choose her, of all their company, to be given their medallion was incomprehensible. Why Drakis—an otherwise sensible human—remained in love with her was unfathomable.

  And yet . . .

  Mala seemed somehow different. There was a deeper sorrow to her, the pain of a hidden wound that was found at the corners of her thoughtful frown and her creased brow. It had started, Urulani thought, when she had wandered off in the Pythar ruins. Mala had experienced something there that changed her. Perhaps it was something similar to what Urulani had experienced in the temple outside of Ambeth when . . .

  Urulani caught her thoughts up short. No, it must have been an illusion. Her mind was playing tricks on her in the humidity under the midday sun, and she must have been remembering it wrong.

  Ahead of her, the boat carrying Ethis, Drakis, the dwarf—who for good or ill was conscious again—and Ishander drifted around another bend in the river. She could see Drakis and the chimerian rise suddenly in the prow of their boat just before it drifted out of sight around the bend.

  “We’re nearly to the Kesh Morain,” the Lyric said, not looking up from where her hands were winding and unwinding a piece of thread over her index finger.

  The sound of the Lyric’s voice shook Urulani from her reveries. “What did you say?”

  “Off to our left as we round the next bend in the river,” the Lyric said without looking up, her voice suddenly resonant and sounding somewhat affected, “you will see the Kesh Morain. Kesh Morain meant ‘Arms of Peace’ in the original Drakonic tongue. It was fabled for its fountain park—a great promenade that ran through the center of the city from the waterfront nearly half a league to the Palace of Crystal Arts. The most famous of these fountains were the Fountains of Herithania—Goddess of the Way, Abratias—God of Justice—and Jurusta, goddess of spring, passion, and art. My personal favorite, however, was the Fountain of Elucia whose waters sprang dramatically from either side of the promenade and formed cooling arches and mists over the walkway between their grand carvings.”

  Urulani’s boat swung around the bend of the river.

  The sight took her breath away.

  Here the jungle had somehow been kept at bay. Perhaps it was because the stones that formed the foundations of the city’s core were so closely fitted that the jungle had not been permitted to find purchase to pull them apart. Perhaps there was some other power at work here that held nature at bay. Whatever the reason, spread before them was a city of the ancients that was largely intact.

  Three jetties still thrust out into the river, their fitted stones having lost their edges and crumbled into the river over the passage of time. Between the jetties, wide steps almost entirely obscured by moss rose from the water to a wide promenade that followed the curve of the river. There was a line of buildings—three or, perhaps, four stories tall—on the far side of the promenade, the faintest hint of
diverse colors remaining on their cracked facades. This line of buildings was split by two tall towers, the tops of which were curved in tiers to tall peaks. One of the peaks had fallen, its stones lying in a pile of rubble at the base of the tower. Between the towers, however, Urulani could see a long open space running back from the river to a building that leaned heavily to the right. A painfully bright flash of reflected sunlight occasionally shot toward her from the walls.

  “The fountain park was lined with museums, shops, and academies dedicated to the disciplines of music, dance, frescoes, sculpture, theater, and storytelling,” the Lyric continued in a calm, almost bored voice. “This reflected the primary exports of this city—its artwork and crafts—as well as its popularity as a vacation destination for families on holiday.”

  Nothing moved in the city as the boats slid past. Drakis and Ethis were gesturing to Ishander to make landfall on the steps between the quays but Ishander emphatically shook his head no. He said something to the chimerian that ended the argument. There was something forbidden—or deadly—about the city.

  “Music of the featured players changed each day on the promenade, the sounds falling delicately over the boats in the river—as did the laughter of children as they played in the water on the steps, inviting all who passed by to join in the celebrations.”

  The air was growing oppressively humid. Dark clouds were gathering to the west, casting shadows over the city. The silence was unbearable.

  “We invite you to return to Kesh Morain often,” the Lyric concluded as the city drifted out of sight behind them, the dark clouds blanketing the ruins and the first rumbles of thunder rolling down the waterway.

  Urulani shivered suddenly in the oppressive heat.

  “Why have you come, Urulani?”

  The warrior woman turned instantly toward the voice addressing her. “What did you say?”

  “I was just wondering why you have come,” Mala said, looking directly up at her. “What are you looking for? You didn’t believe in Drakis when you first came looking for him in Vestasia, yet you came. You didn’t believe in him when we escaped from Nothree but you brought him across the ocean to this continent and found the very dragons you didn’t want to believe existed. So I was wondering why you came. Do you know what it is you are seeking?”