Song of the Dragon aod-1

by Tracy Hickman

  “It’s quiet, and the dead will not trouble us,” Ethis suggested. “We could rest here a while.”

  “No,” Drakis spoke, the words sticking in his dry throat. “No one will ever rest here again.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Hunt

  “Two days!” Soen seethed. “Two days we’ve been going in the opposite direction of these bolters, we finally are on their trail and you want us to wait?”

  The Master Iblisi stood to the side of the fold platform, his face inches from Jukung’s long nose. His two Codexia stood to the side, their hands folded inside the sleeves of their robes, hoods drawn over their heads, leaving their faces in shadow from the late morning sun. Each watched the scene with detached amusement. Hazing the younger members of the Order was an old and established pastime. . but it could be a dangerous game when played with one of the Keeper’s favorites.

  Jukung blanched but did not back down. He had to give the young Assesia credit, Soen thought through his rage. Jukung was a young, green blade, but he stood his ground. Ch’drei would not have chosen the whelp to spy on the Iblisi if he could not stand up against Soen’s occasional hot wind.

  “It is her order that we remain here until she arrives,” Jukung replied, his back stiffening.

  “Here?” Soen scoffed, his left hand darting out to point at the blood-soaked mounds of the field behind them. Impress Warriors moved about the battlefield, dragging the dead toward the center of the clearing where a great pit had been dug. Several Tribunes and a handful of Proxis maintained a raging fire in the pit into which the dead were being cast. The greasy, black smoke curled upward, fanning over the surrounding trees in the still air. The stench of the bodies lying under the warm sun was overshadowed by that of burning flesh.

  “I confess that I am at a loss to understand your disapproval, Master Iblisi. It is a great honor that the Keeper affords us as she rarely leaves the Keep of our Order for any purpose, let alone to travel as far as the Western Provinces.”

  “Then you wait around and receive her honors,” Soen spat. “No doubt you’ve honored her enough times in the past.”

  Qinsei, standing next to the Inquisitor, covered her laugh with a cough.

  Jukung set his sharp jaw against the hot words that had come to his mind and spoke more delicately than he would have liked. “It is nevertheless her will that we await her coming as she is most anxious for your report.”

  “Odd that her intention should be communicated so quickly over such a distance,” Soen continued. “I should have sent you back to the Imperial City, herding slaves with the rest of the Assesia.”

  “The instructions of the Keeper were clear,” Jukung stated. “Such an act would not have served the Will of the Emperor!”

  “Don’t talk to me about the ‘Will of the Emperor,’ boy,” Soen spoke in a quiet, dangerous tone. “I’ve stood in the presence of the Emperor, and know his will far better than any of Ch’drei’s pets.”

  “Master Soen,” Phang said at once, injecting himself between the Iblisi and his Assesia before either was tempted to take their argument further. “I have spoken with the Tribunes and have something worthwhile to report.”

  Soen waited for a moment before responding. “I will hear your report, Phang.”

  Phang bowed slightly and then spoke. “Tribune Tsa’fei reports that just prior to the battle joining last night, an Octian from House Tajeran reported to her.”

  “Let me guess,” Soen said, looking down at the ground and nodding as he spoke. “Three humans-two of them female-two manticores, one chimerian, and. .”

  “And a dwarf, yes, Master,” Phang said.

  Soen shook his head in wonder. Why take the dwarf? The creature was so obvious. It made no sense; if they were bolting, they would want to remain as inconspicuous as possible. But, he reminded himself, just how sane were they after all?

  “Did he say which way they went?” Soen asked.

  “Yes, Master,” Phang nodded. “Just after they were positioned at the front of the defending line, they ran off into the trees.” The elven Codexia raised his hand, pointing with a pair of long fingers. “There. . near where those two trees are grown together.”

  Soen was striding across the field before Phang had finished his sentence. He took little notice of the putrefying bodies over which he stepped beyond occasionally altering his course when their bulk was otherwise unavoidable. He assumed that the remaining members of his Quorum were following behind him. Soen’s eyes remained fixed on the twin trees at the edge of the field and the forest of which they were a part.

  Soen’s pace quickened as he moved between the glowing crystal structures of the totems surrounding the field. Their magic had contained the slave herd of warriors as intended, so the bodies diminished at once as he passed them. Diminished, he noted grimly, but did not end entirely; there were other bodies beyond the totems, each of whose shaven heads bore the mark of one of the fallen Houses. The explosive failure of the Timuran Well had far-reaching effects indeed, he realized, for now they knew that the bolters that had caused all this-or any of the fallen warriors, for that matter-were no longer constrained to the strictly controlled channels of the totems and fold platforms.

  He slowed as he approached the tree, his keen eyes searching the ground. He took it all in quickly: a broken twig here, a bent blade there, patterns in the grasses around the base of the trees and the patches of exposed dirt on the slope falling away from him down toward a ravine. For him, tracking was a gift from the gods for which he was grateful each day. It had saved his life many times down the long and difficult years of his service-and brought an end to many more lives who threatened all that he served.

  He drew in a deep breath, holding his hand up in warning as his Quorum joined him from behind. He could see it all in his mind’s eye: the squat dwarf cutting a wide path across the grass, the small, deep footfalls of the chimerian and a pair of manticores crashing through the lower branches of the overhanging trees.

  They moved down the slope, slightly to the left.

  Soen followed it all in his head, moving with light, quick steps down the slope. He had the track now and knew what to look for.

  He stepped through the trees, the dappled light falling on him as he passed, and then stopped, kneeling down and staring at the ground.

  “What is it, Master?” Qinsei asked.

  “Here,” Soen pointed. “Note this. Human footprints. They stopped here, facing each other. . very close, too. One set is deeper and larger than the other-male-while the other is smaller and lighter-female, I believe.”

  “Mated then?” Jukung offered.

  Soen stood up, placing his hands on his hips and he surveyed his surroundings once more. “Perhaps. . a good sign, for it will slow them up. Make them easier to capture or kill. The dwarf joined them here it seems-as well as the other human woman-then they all moved off along the ridge line.”

  “They were making for the fold portal again,” Phang said with a sigh.

  “Yes, again,” Soen said.

  They followed along the path of their quarry, weaving among the trees and down into a shallow ravine. They turned with the tracks through the tall grass, traveling upward until they emerged from the tree line, as predicted, at the far end of the marshaling field near the base of the fold portal.

  Jukung trotted up the steps of the platform. The fold shimmered before him as he gazed into its rippling surface. Then the Assesia turned and sat down on the steps. He gestured back through the portal with his thumb. “More carnage, more dead. I believe it’s getting worse.”

  “The scale of this-it is almost too great to comprehend,” Qinsei said as she gazed out over the slaughter still scattered before them. “How is it possible that the fall of a single House Well could cause this much damage?”

  “It’s because the Myrdin-dai and the Occuran do not trust each other,” Soen said as he, too, gazed over the gory field.

  “They caused this?” Jukung scoffed.
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br />   Soen ignored the implied insult. “In part. The Occuran have basked in the Imperial mandate for over a hundred years. . maintaining the network of Aether Wells in the Provinces and the Imperial Trade Folds that held the Empire together. It has long been the center of their power-the force of Aether is diminished exponentially by distance, requiring a network of Wells and folds to maintain its strength across the Empire.”

  “You speak the obvious,” Jukung said.

  “Only because you seem to understand only the obvious,” Soen replied. “All that was upset when the Myrdin-dai got the Imperial mandate to provide the folds for the Dwarven Campaigns. For the first time the Occuran were not to be trusted transporting the Legions into war, and the insult was not lost on anyone in the First Estate. The Myrdin-dai could not trust the Occuran to provide them with the required Aether from the established system of Wells, so they were required to build their own, separate, Aether conduits linking through each of their own fold platforms. It meant having to build twice the number of fold platforms because they could not rely on any Aether being available at the other end; they had to push their own Aether through as well.

  “But when the Timuran Well shattered and caused all those House Wells across the frontier to fail-the Myrdin-dai folds were powered separately and remained functioning. And that was what caused the biggest problem. Since the Devotion spells and the Field Altars of all the Houses were passing through the still active Myrdin-dai open folds, the failure of their Wells was carried, too. The warriors of the fallen Houses fell with them wherever they were among the folds on their return home.”

  Qinsei drew in a deep breath. “The Myrdin-dai did their job too well.”

  “And that answers the question that the Myrdin-dai sent us to answer for them, but we still don’t know why the House Timuran Well shattered and caused all this in the first place,” Soen replied, walking around the base of the platform as he spoke, looking for more signs of his quarry’s passing. “That, my fellow Quorum members, is precisely what we must find out. How is it possible that a handful of slaves could bring the Fist of the Imperial Will to such complete destruction. .”

  Soen stopped, his eyes widening.

  It was too perfect, he thought. It was not possible that he should be so blessed by the gods, and yet there it lay next to the base of the fold. He reached down, allowing himself a slight smile as his fingers closed around the object tenderly, as though he were afraid that it might vanish like an apparition at his touch.

  It was several long blades of grass. He recognized it as coming from the base of the ravine they had just passed through. The blades were woven together, folded and twisted around themselves until they formed an intricate knotted pattern.

  “Master?” Phang asked. “What is it?”

  Soen slipped the woven grass blades casually inside his belt. “Nothing. . get moving. We’ve not a moment to lose.”

  “Master Iblisi,” Jukung spoke with exaggerated patience. “Mistress Ch’drei. .”

  “Will have to catch up to us,” Soen finished angrily. “Move!”

  “By the gods!” Qinsei exclaimed, her hand pulling the sleeve of her robes up across her mouth and nose.

  As though such a futile gesture would help, Soen thought, fighting the rebellion of his own stomach at the sights and smells everywhere around them. The flies were thick over the sea of rotting flesh stretching across the gentle undulations of the wide field. One knoll, rising above the rest, was piled high in death, difficult to see through the swarming insects.

  “Their tracks lead directly into the dead,” Soen said, nearly gagging on his words. He had seen the carnage of battle many times before and had both faced and dealt death in many forms, but nothing had prepared him for this. He glanced at Qinsei, who was trying to keep her eyes moving and focused on the distant, indistinct regions of the marshaling field. Phang was holding very still. Jukung had turned and was doubled over, contributing the contents of his stomach to the horrific aroma though its effect was negligible.

  Soen slowly knelt down on the platform, his hands indolently picking at the debris marring its once polished surface.

  Phang spoke with care. “How. . how are we going to track them in that?”

  Soen’s eye caught something on the platform, and the shadow of a smile tugged at this lips. He picked up a trampled flower and examined it carefully before he stood. Soen thought for a moment longer, then spoke.

  “We can’t.”

  Jukung managed to push himself upright again. “Then. . then that’s it. We go back and report to Mistress Ch’drei.”

  “No,” Soen said, shaking his head. “We continue.”

  “Continue?” Jukung repeated in disbelief. “You just said we cannot track them through. . through this.”

  “Look,” Soen said, pointing with his first two fingers to the far limits of the enormous field. “There are four other portals functional. One of them leads farther up toward Hyperia, the other three back toward Ibania. So far our prey has continued farther from the heart of the Empire.”

  “But which one do we take?” Phang asked.

  Soen considered then spoke.

  “All of them.”

  Qinsei, Phang, and Jukung all stared at the Iblisi.

  “We can’t be sure which one they took, but if we explore each of them separately, we might choose the wrong path and set ourselves back more than we already are,” Soen said. “But if we each follow a separate path on our own-each of us looking for signs of our prey-then we’ll cover them all much more quickly. We’ll each take a different fold, then return here before nightfall. If one of us does not return, then we’ll all know which path to follow, and we’ll take it and continue the hunt.”

  “It breaks the Quorum,” Qinsei said, obviously disapproving.

  “If we don’t recover these bolters while we can,” Soen said, “there may not be enough Quorums in the Empire to stop them.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Togrun Fel

  “Two days we’ve walked. . and thisis our prize?”

  Mala sputtered, unable to decide whether to laugh or weep.

  “Aye!” Jugar said with pride, his eyes flashing in the light of the setting sun. “Partake of the sanctuary offered by the dwarven gods and glory in its honor! Few mortals have been privileged to enter the confines of the Togrun Fel!”

  Drakis looked again and remained unimpressed. The hill was no taller than any of the others extending to the southeast. It did, he had to admit, have a rather precipitous exposed face on its southern side, but the carvings in its surface were altogether worn and crumbling, in such bad states of deterioration that it was difficult to get any idea of what they were meant to depict. Indeed, he had not even noticed the carvings until they were nearly at the base of the cliff itself. Mossy grass overhung the top edge of the rock face, the gods of nature trying to hide the scars that the dwarves had made.

  The tears of the Dead are of dust now. .

  The breath of their life now stopped. .

  Their voices though still. .

  Are calling your will. .

  Drakis reached back and rubbed at the aching in his neck. The field pack he was carrying was heavier than he expected. “It’s a tomb.”

  “Aye,” Jugar nodded, his widely spaced teeth grinning in appreciation.

  RuuKag let out a great chuff of disapproval. “He wants us to hide. . in a grave?”

  “Better to hide temporarily in a tomb than to take up permanent residence,” Ethis said, folding his four arms in front of him as he inspected the entrance. “Still, I would have expected better craftsmanship from the dwarves. Even the entrance looks more like an accident than an intention.”

  “Are you blind, sir?” The dwarf huffed. “But that is the craft! Togrun Fel is not a dwarven tomb, though it was constructed by them and, might I humbly add, with the greatest of their arts in stone. It was wrought in honor of the friendship once joined between the Fae Queens of the Hyperian Woods and the Nine Dw
arven Kings and the great sacrifice they and their dryads made near this very spot. This was back in the Age of Fire, when all the world was set ablaze by the elven conquests and the humans stood shoulder to shoulder with the dwarves and the faery against their onslaught.”

  Drakis raised a questioning eyebrow at Jugar.

  “Well,” the dwarf sputtered. “Perhaps not exactly shoulder to shoulder as the dwarven shoulders were always considerably lower than those of the humans, but I speak metaphorically. Even so, this is a place of dreaded power for the elves. Were it not for the special keywords to which I alone am privy, this innocent looking portal would blast us with the power of the gods themselves were we but to dare pass its threshold unbidden! Fear not, my good companions, for though you would suffer the most painful of curses otherwise, I shall. . I shall. . where are you going?”

  Drakis turned to follow the dwarf’s gaze.

  The Lyric stepped quickly through the portal, her lithe figure swallowed almost at once by the darkness. Peels of her bubbling laughter echoed from within.

  “Nasty dwarven curse, that,” Ethis said in flat tones.

  The dwarf sputtered. “But I. . I don’t. .”

  Drakis reached down wearily behind him and pulled Mala up from where she had collapsus to the ground. The House tattoo on her beautiful bald head was already being obscured by a fuzz of rust-colored hair emerging from her scalp. Her smudged face accentuated the exhaustion in her eyes. She looked hard, resentful, as she shrugged her own field pack higher on her shoulders, and he wondered for a moment what had happened to the bright face and the easy smile that he had seen so often in his dreams and his waking hours as well. She was so different now, so much less than he remembered, so much pain and loss, so common, so. . real.

  Nine notes. . Seven notes. .

  The heart of the warrior is not his. .

  It beats for another’s soul. .

  They had awakened from both a dream and a nightmare all at once when the Aether Well fell with the House of Timuran. They had left their innocence behind and now, eyes opened, found the reality of their lives to be a nightmare, too. He no longer knew the woman whose hand he held with such unthinking devotion, but he held it just the same out of a hope for the shadows he had once believed were true. He was a creature of honor and of duty though he no longer understood what honor he pursued nor to whom his duty remained. All he knew with certainty was that he once loved Mala-if not the woman that he no longer knew, then the ideal of her-and that, for all he knew, was what his honor and duty were about.