Blood of the Emperor

by Tracy Hickman

  Now, however, the entire army had assembled around the crest of the hill—if at a respectful distance. Marush lay on his stomach near the grass-covered crest, his wings folded down against his body. Ephranos, the white-and-gray dragon, lay in a similar position beside him. The Lyric stood to the side of Ephranos’ head, idly scratching the dragon’s skin just behind the turn of its jaw. Both of Ephranos’ eyes were partially closed in bliss at her attentions—neither the Lyric nor her dragon entirely present for the proceedings.

  The three other dragons stood opposite their counterparts. Wanrah, the black-and-rust-colored dragon of Ethis waited expectantly, her wings shifting in nervous anticipation. Pyrash, the cerulean-blue dragon with violet markings craned and stretched his neck, clearly bored with the proceedings and anxious to get into the air with or without Jugar. Kyranish, the gray-blue dragon of Urulani remained still except for her tail, which flicked anxiously back and forth.

  Encircled by these dragons on the hilltop, members of the War Council stood to one side. Among the manticores, Belag alone remained serene while the ears of his generals Hegral and Gradek lay flat back against their manes, an obvious sign of nervousness on the part of these lion-men. Doroganda, the female goblin, had taken a part in the War Council partly on the insistence of the Pajak of Krishu that someone with the sensibilities of a true warrior race should be along to advise the humans along with their “cats” and “bendies” on how to properly conduct a raid. Doroganda had been perfectly happy in her role as combat critic until the dragons arrived. Now she stood unusually silent on the hilltop, her sharp tongue silenced and the tips of her long ears quivering. Among them, only Braun stood with a placid expression, cheerfully oblivious to the monstrous, winged creatures that surrounded him.

  Soen, the Inquisitor of the Iblisi, had claimed a spot directly in front of the three manticores. He cradled his Matei staff in the crook of his arm. The thing was currently useless; it was completely discharged. The local Aether Well, having been “reversed” as Braun called it, was now useless in terms of recharging his staff. Not that it would have made any difference to Belag; the manticore seemed to be unfazed by the presence of a notoriously cunning member of the Iblisi elite. To the remaining manticores, however, it seemed to matter a great deal as they could not seem to decide which concerned them more—being surrounded by five dragons or having to stand within reach of the elf Inquisitor.

  Drakis’ crimson cape flapped annoyingly in the hilltop breeze. At last, he came to face his newly appointed Emissaries—one to the dwarves, one to the Forgotten humans of the Shadow Coast and, lastly, one to the Council in Exile of Ephindria. Jugar, the dwarf jester, stood before Pyrash, tugging at his brown leather coat even though it fit him perfectly well. Urulani looked striking in the long leather coat of her dragon-rider uniform, her arms crossed, with her gloves and a specially made helmet clutched in one of her hands. Ethis had refused the uniform, however, claiming that the cold of the higher air did not affect him the same way it did the others.

  Drakis drew in a breath to speak but thunderous dragon song rang through his mind.

  Far from this place is a world apart

  Far from the sounds of the heart

  Thoughts there are sharing

  Silent words telling…

  Drakis paused, then spoke quietly as he deliberately drew off his gloves. “My friends, before you depart, perhaps one last communion.”

  Drakis reached out, touching the snout of Marush.

  “What are they doing?” Soen asked, his black eyes blinking.

  Each of the dragon emissaries had followed Drakis’ example, touching the snout of their dragon and bowing their chins to their chests.

  “It looks as though they are offering a prayer to their gods,” Hegral suggested.

  “How odd,” Soen said, his eyes narrowing.

  For Drakis, the hilltop and its surrounding army vanished, replaced by a lush, verdant forest glade. The smell of flowers drifted over him on a warm breeze. He once again felt the peace that being in touch with the dragon gave him—and the strange, otherworld into which the experience always thrust him. This was a place where the dragon song became words of meaning and understanding—but it was more than just communion. It was a place removed where the everyday world could not intrude.

  More important still, Drakis knew that what was shared in this special place remained outside the world.

  Around him he saw the dragons in much the same poses as they had been before. Marush and Ephranos still rested side by side but now in the more verdant grass of this “other” place. The Lyric stood next to Ephranos scratching behind the dragon’s jaw but her eyes were bright and focused on Drakis. It was a startling transformation that she exhibited each time they came together in this place. Drakis still found it unnerving: sudden sanity in a woman who he knew otherwise to be insane.

  Wanrah, Pyrash, and Kyranish appeared on the other side of the glade. Urulani and Ethis appeared as well as each placed their palms against their dragons in the real world left behind.

  “Where is Jugar?” Drakis asked.

  Urulani opened her mouth to reply but as she did the dwarf appeared tentatively touching the scales of Pyrash’s foreleg.

  “Well, this is an unexpected gathering, Lord Drakis,” Jugar said with thinly masked impatience.

  “Some things need to be said that should remain between us alone,” Drakis asserted. “I would have told you earlier but this is the first opportunity—or perhaps the last—that we’ll have to speak privately.”

  “We’re standing in the middle of your army,” Jugar chuckled.

  “In a place where they cannot hear our words or see what we do,” Drakis affirmed. “To them, we look as though we’re stand quietly beside our dragons. It won’t be long before that will start to seem suspicious—so let me explain quickly.”

  “What is there to say that you did not say to the council last night?” Jugar asked. “Your speech inspired every member present to action and your words have spread throughout the army. They are prepared to follow you now against the Empire just as you asked them to do yesterday.”

  “It is what I have asked,” Drakis said, “but it is not what I want.”

  “I do not understand your meaning,” Ethis said with a tilt of his head.

  “What he means,” the Lyric said in her clear, high voice, “is that he has told them what they want to hear—but not what he wants for them. Just as he has given you a quest which they want to happen—but not one he wants you to perform.”

  “The Lyric is not making sense,” Jugar shook his head.

  “Here, Aer Master Jugar, you may refer to me as Karan,” the Lyric replied. “And, on the contrary, I am making perfect sense.”

  “She’s right,” Drakis affirmed.

  “Wait a moment,” Urulani spoke up, her voice resonant in the quiet of the glade. “Our quest was to ride these dragons to the far edges of the Northern Provinces and rally support for our army against the Empire.”

  “Yes, that’s what I told them,” Drakis said in a husky voice.

  “And now you’re going to tell us that’s not what you want us to do?” Urulani continued, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked at him, her voice rising in anger.

  “I have something…something more in mind,” Drakis said.

  “Indeed?” Ethis asked, “What more would you have us do?”

  “The Iblisi elf Soen believes we need to move the encampment and the army into Vestasia because it is the best place from which to launch an attack against the Empire,” Drakis replied. “The War Council believes him and it is important for the time being that they still believe that to be our goal. You will fly out as planned. Urulani, you will fly along the Shadow Coast and the ports there as far west as the Forgotten Humans of your Clans, if possible. Ethis, you will go to your homeland of Ephindria to try to make contact with the courts in exile there. Jugar, you will fly the farthest; to the Aerian Mountains to see if any remnant of the dw
arven kingdoms remain under the mountain…”

  “That’s no change at all. So far your quest is the same charge as we were given by the council,” Jugar shrugged.

  “But I do not want you to ask for aid against the Empire,” Drakis asserted.

  “What?” Jugar sputtered.

  “We are not going to attack the Empire,” Drakis said flatly.

  The dwarf glared at the human in disbelief. “Drakis, I know you have been feeling out of sorts this past month or so—it has been a difficult time for us all—but this is your destiny! You are fated to be the downfall of the dread elves of Rhonas!”

  Drakis shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” Jugar gaped.

  “I will not have one more person die in my name or for this insane prophecy,” Drakis said firmly. “We’re going to lead the pilgrims to a place where they can make a home…a place where they can settle in peace.”

  “Drakis, I don’t see how that is possible,” Urulani said though not without compassion. “Where could they go that the Empire would not hunt them as they have always done? Where could they settle beyond the reach of the Rhonas Legions?”

  “To Drakosia,” Drakis said, looking Urulani in the eyes as he spoke. “Across the Straits of Erebus.”

  “You think the sea will protect them?” Ethis shook his head. “It did not stop the elven Empire from destroying Drakosia once before.”

  “Drakosia fell because one dragon betrayed humanity and his own kind,” Drakis answered. “We could go back…start again…”

  “How?” Urulani demanded. “How do we cross the sea with the entire encampment? It would take nearly two thousand ships to carry them all!”

  “Then we make as many crossings as required with whatever ships we have,” Drakis responded, the volume of his own voice increasing. This was taking too long. “Your task will be to gather as many ships to our cause as you can from the ports along the Shadow Coast. Tell them that Drakis and his army are coming and need their ships for transport. Find out from the ship captains where a suitable anchorage could be found as far north up the shoreline as possible and have them all sail there to meet us. Then return and let us know where we are to meet this fleet of transport ships. The farther north the better, preferably on the east coast of Gorganta Bay. Then we’ll sail around Nordesia past Cape Caldron just as we did before and north into Drakosia. Once there, we’ll be beyond the reach of the elves.”

  “They will have heard of you in the port cities,” Urulani argued. “They will think you are raising a fleet of ships to sail your army against the Empire!”

  “They may think what they want,” Drakis shouted. “Soen believes we are moving the army and the pilgrims into Vestasia to fight the Empire on their western frontier. Let him think that, too, as well as whoever he serves.”

  “This is insane!” Jugar seethed.

  “The Rhonas will not leave us to be free,” Ethis stated, his expressionless face shaking back and forth for emphasis. “It does not matter where you lead them, Drakis; so long as the Empire exists they cannot let us live.”

  “I will lead this people but not into war,” Drakis asserted in tones that defied contradiction. “These people don’t need a cause or a crusade. They are already full enough of that. What they need is a home where they can forget all about me, revenge and this prophecy. If we can do that, then perhaps we will have saved lives, and everything that we’ve done–that we’ve lost and sacrificed—will have meant something after all.”

  “These pilgrims are hungry for war.” Ethis said. “And you mean to avoid it?”

  “You may have no choice,” Jugar interjected with vehemence. “The Legions are on the march as we speak.”

  “Which is precisely why you must hurry,” Drakis asserted. “We have to move the pilgrims out of the path of the Rhonas Legions while we still can. The Lyric will fly to Willow Vale and convey to the council my order to get everyone there ready to move. I will return to Willow Vale with the army. But the day I arrive with the army, the encampment must be ready to depart. We will have little time to reach the sea before all of us are trapped in the Nordesian Peninsula.”

  “And just how long do you believe we have to accomplish this madness?” Jugar asked incredulously.

  “No more than ten days, I believe,” Ethis replied. “It will take that long even with a forced march to move the army back to Willow Vale from here. Besides, I doubt that the council could organize the encampment to move in that amount of time even were they to begin at once. And even if the encampment is ready to move by then, it may be too late to avoid the Rhonas advance.”

  “How long do you think before the Legions are here?” Drakis asked.

  “Fourteen days for them to get as far north as Char,” Ethis shrugged all four of his shoulders. “Depending on how quickly they can react to this defeat and where their other Legions are located. That’s my best guess.”

  “Which gives us only four days to move the entire encampment past them into Vestasia?” Drakis shook his head. “That’s over three hundred leagues from here. It’s not possible.”

  “Wait.” Urulani held up her free hand. “There may be a way we can shorten the distance for ourselves. Braun has discovered how to open folds.”

  “Belag said the Proxi saved the encampment from the Shrouded Plain by using Soen’s staff as a source of Aether,” Drakis shrugged, “but now it’s useless.”

  “Braun has opened a fold without a staff,” Urulani said as she turned toward the dwarf. “Hasn’t he, Jugar?”

  Everyone looked at the dwarf, whose left cheek was twitching.

  “Is this true, Jugar?” Drakis asked.

  “Well, after a manner of speaking,” Jugar sputtered. “It is a completely untested effect of the ancient human magic and, if you are asking my professional opinion, it is dangerously unsafe as a means of transportation.”

  “He managed to send you from one side of Port Glorious to the other,” Urulani chuckled. “He placed you squarely on the platform as I recall.”

  “Three hand widths above it, he did!” the dwarf bellowed. “And upside down, by the way, which I believe was entirely deliberate on his part!”

  “Then I would say the fold was reliable, indeed,” Ethis replied. “If Braun can train others in this ability, it would be a tremendous advantage. If enough pilgrims could be taught this ability quickly, then we might make the coast ahead of the Legions.”

  “I’ll deal with Braun,” Drakis said, though there was a dark edge to his voice as he spoke. “But for now, none of us should mention this beyond our group and Braun, of course—not even to the council.”

  “Why?” Urulani demanded. “Do you not trust them?”

  “Let us just say that trust is earned,” Drakis replied, “and that there is more advantage in a secret kept between friends than revealed between enemies. Tell no one what we’ve discussed here today.”

  “We are secretly going to move an entire nation?” Ethis nodded. “I rather like that idea.”

  “Yes but all of this depends upon the speed of the Rhonas advance. Look for them in your flight,” Drakis said. “Report their movements when you return should you see them. Return to the Vale before ten days pass and then we’ll know where to lead these people out of the way of war.”

  “So, you believe you can avoid the prophecy?” Jugar grumbled as he asked the question. “Just sidestep destiny?”

  “For the sake of every pilgrim out there on the plain, I hope so with all my heart,” Drakis said. “I don’t want to fulfill this prophecy, I want to find something better for these people, and for all of us, too.”

  “It’s a fine enough dream,” Jugar pressed his point. “But you have no real idea how all of this is going to work!”

  “Then help me find a way to make it work,” Drakis answered. “Help me find a better fate for all of us.”

  “What do the dragons think of all this?” Ethis asked. “They have been particularly silent during our discussions.
What of you, Marush? What do you and your kind think of Drakis’ desire to thwart the prophecy?”

  A great chuckle rose from the dragon. “Drakis is whom we have vowed to serve. He is the Man of Destiny and the Man of Prophecy—but we know that he is also a man. Humankind have always been mercurial, their ears not attuned to the whisperings of the gods and their eyes dim to the visions of prophecy. It is the great gift to men that they may choose their course through life. Their willful acts may change the path of a stream but the waters will come to the sea by one course or another. Drakis may choose his own path and perhaps he may find a better destiny than the prophecy foretells. It does not make him less chosen nor cause us to question the destiny before him. We serve him and humanity as we have vowed to do.”

  “Well, if I may choose, then I choose life,” Drakis said. “I choose to save these pilgrims from themselves if necessary. Help me bring us to a place where we can all live in peace.”

  “Then let us be off,” Jugar affirmed. “If I’m to ride this beasty so far, I’d just as soon do it sooner than later.”

  Each of them pulled their palms away from their dragons and the otherworld vanished. Once more they stood atop the windswept hill north of Port Glorious. With a smile, the Lyric leaped up onto the neck of Ephranos who vaulted into the sky, causing the army to cheer wildly as she flew westward. Jugar mounted Pyrash almost at once, feeling somewhat upstaged by the Lyric. Pyrash’s magnificent wings extended and pulled him upward toward the southern sky as the roar of the army increased. Ethis swung up onto Wanrah’s neck and launched over the heads of the cheering army, wheeling toward the southeast.

  Urulani tarried. She turned from Kyranish and instead strode directly over to Drakis. She took his head in both her hands, holding his gaze with her own large, dark eyes. There was sadness in them as she spoke.