Blood of the Emperor

by Tracy Hickman

  “That has always been the danger to us,” Ethis nodded. “The elves brought Aether magic to the young princesses of Surthal and Pashorei. It seemed innocent enough at first—indeed it was welcomed as a new convenience among the southern families, especially the young.”

  “But it didn’t stop with the Aether, did it?” Drakis said.

  “No, it did not,” Ethis sighed, folding his upper arms across his chest while his lower hands remained in contact with the dragon. “The young chimerians in those southern families began to adapt to the thoughts and ethics of the elves. Soon they began placing themselves under Devotions to the Aether altars and desiring more of the Aether, became more and more like the elves in their thoughts and ethics. By the time the danger was realized in Chythal’s court, the south was already poisoned by rapport with the elves. Chythal closed all the borders, trying to quarantine our nation from the sickness of the world but by then the southern families were too infected by the Aether to go back.”

  Drakis drew in a deep breath. “And your Queen believes that if we cut off their supply of Aether…”

  “Then the illness will no longer be fed and the southern families may be redeemed,” Ethis finished. “The elves are very jealous of their Aether. They collect it in a vast field of Aether Wells that cover the Southern Steppes well into the Chaenandrian Plains and have begun establishing new Wells in the southern lands of Ephindria over the last few months. But the Wells do not supply the chimerian mages directly; all their power is drawn through their folds to the city. Only then is it distributed back for the use of the chimerian mages—but only a trickle compared to the river they pull from our lands. That is how the elves keep Ephindria balanced on a knife’s edge—and too weak to challenge the elven Empire.”

  “A very inefficient system,” Braun said with disdain. “Our Aether is a much better and more efficient system of distribution.”

  “Ethis, I understand your nation’s—your family’s problem,” Drakis shook his head. “But taking these people into battle is exactly what I wanted to avoid!”

  “But think of how many more battles you would have avoided,” Ethis argued. “You would have won a place where your people could settle in peace with a newly strong ally between your people and the Rhonas. And consider your advantage…”

  “My advantage?” Drakis almost laughed. “I’m outnumbered by the Rhonas Legions almost a hundred to one!”

  “Legions who will not be there! Look!” Ethis turned slightly, unfolding his upper pair of arms and pointing toward the map etched into the curved surface next to them. “Here is where we are now, between Nordesia and Ephindria. Down here between Chaenandria and the Aeria Mountains is your objective. The elf spy…”

  “Soen,” Drakis said.

  “Yes, Soen,” Ethis continued. “He says that the Rhonas Legions will move up the Northmarch Folds and march up the Shadow Coast, hoping to catch us with the Bay of Thetis on our right and the Shrouded Plain on our left.”

  “You think he’s lying?” Braun asked.

  “No, I think he’s right,” Ethis continued. “But what if we accept this pact with Queen Chythal? What if we move the army and the encampment east instead of south and down the Mournful Road…”

  “But that takes us back into the Shrouded Plain,” Braun said. “That is, trust me, very much a dead end in every sense of the word.”

  “No, there is another road,” Ethis said. “It is ancient and has remained unused since beyond memory but it is there nevertheless. Queen Chythal commanded its closure but for this pact she will permit it to be opened for the passage of Drakis and his people—if you will accept the risks involved in traveling it.”

  “What risks?” Drakis asked.

  “They are minimal, I assure you,” Ethis said. “All we have to do is push southward down the road and then west along the elf folds. The elves have pulled out their Legions here, intent on pursuing us to the north as quickly as possible. Opposition will be light all the way to the gates of the city itself.”

  “But to take an entire city!” Drakis shook his head.

  “You took Port Glorious in a matter of hours,” Ethis said.

  “But this is entirely different!”

  “No, not different…just bigger,” Ethis urged. “The tactic is the same. Find the central Well of the city, fly Braun or one of his trained acolytes in on the back of a dragon and bring down the Well. The elves are useless without their Aether. When the Aether dies in southern Ephindria, Chythal will move against the southern families. Your victory is accomplished swiftly. You will have won a land of refuge for your people and the face of the world is changed forever.”

  “Will it work, Braun?” Drakis asked.

  Braun considered the possibilities with a half-smile. “Bringing the central Well down or, preferably, reversing it, would cause a cascade reversal of any of the Wells that were feeding it. You would be bringing down the Aether across Chaenandria and probably most of the Northern Provinces if what Ethis says is true. Yes, it would work, but might I suggest that there is a delicate problem to be addressed.”

  “What problem?” Ethis asked.

  “We must find a way to reverse the Wells but keep the Devotions intact,” Braun said quietly.

  Drakis drew in a deep breath.

  “I have heard from Belag the accounts of the fall of House Timuran,” Braun said wistfully. “What would such madness do to an entire city?”

  “Then find us a way,” Ethis said. “Make it work, Braun. The only question we need to address is whether your acolytes can be depended upon to move this entire encampment and its army.”

  “The distances involved are staggering, the amount of Aether required beyond calculation,” Braun said. “I cannot guarantee that any of my acolytes would even survive such a repeated use of Aether and we’ll need to reverse a number of Wells as soon as possible to make it work.”

  “What of Soen?” Drakis asked. “We cannot take him with us. Everything depends upon the elves not knowing where we’ve gone.”

  “I’ve got something special in mind for Soen,” Braun smiled. “Something unexpected and simple that I’ve been holding back from him for just such an occasion.”

  “You plan on killing an Iblisi?” Ethis asked in astonishment.

  “Kill him? Nonsense!” Braun answered. “That’s all warriors think magic is good for; reducing the creature standing in front of you to a pile of ashes just because you disagree with him. We don’t have to murder the elf; just get rid of him. I’ve been working him pretty hard lately and learned about as much as I think I can from him. I think he deserves a long, well-earned rest—long enough for us to slip away and the longer, of course, the better.”

  “Very well,” Drakis said. “One battle, one victory, and then these people can settle in peace. How soon can you take care of Soen?”

  “Tonight too soon?” Braun asked, cracking the knuckles on both his hands.

  “Do it,” Drakis said.

  “It will be a masterful performance,” Braun bowed. “Sadly, no one will be around who will remember it except your humble conjuror. I just need to know one thing more.”

  “What is that, Braun?” Drakis asked.

  “How do I leave this most enchanting place?” Braun beamed.

  “Oh, all you have to do is remove your hand from…”

  Braun suddenly vanished.

  Drakis sighed, turning toward the Ephindrian.

  “He is dangerous,” Ethis said.

  “Which one?” Drakis rubbed his neck. He could feel another headache threatening to blossom at the back of his skull. “Soen or Braun?”

  “Take your pick,” Ethis replied. “I don’t like depending on either of them. Soen is power mad and Braun is just mad. However you achieve it, for the plan to work, the Well of Tjarlas must come down. If Braun cannot do it…”

  “Then we need someone who can,” Drakis nodded. “A certain dwarf comes to mind who would delight in fulfilling such a quest but only if B
raun fails. I’ll speak with him about it—assuming he can find us again.”

  “Then you will accept Chythal’s offer?”

  “If I can save these people without having to take on the entire Rhonas Empire then perhaps it is worth a single battle.”

  “What about Belag and the council?” Ethis asked.

  “They already know we’re moving the encampment,” Drakis shrugged. “Braun will just change the destination for the first fold and we’ll explain the change in plans after we’re well on our way to Ephindria. I don’t want anyone knowing where we’re going who doesn’t have to know and no sooner than they have to know it. Will that satisfy the offer from your Queen?”

  “Our nation is our family, Drakis, but it is now a broken family,” Ethis said. “The Queen will be pleased. As long as the Rhonas armies are still moving north—we can be victorious.”

  In the jungle beyond the tower in which Drakis, Braun, and Ethis spoke lurked a second dragon, white with gray markings.

  Next to it, listening intently, stood a lithe woman with her hand to the dragon’s scales. If any pilgrims chanced to see her they might wonder why she and her dragon were not standing with Drakis and the rest.

  The Lyric had heard everything the other three had said and knew exactly what she had to do—for she believed herself to be Drakis, the Hero of the Prophecy—and she would save her people.

  CHAPTER 18

  Uprisings

  “LEGATE XHU’CHAN!” THE WAR-MAGE BOWED slightly as he stood at the threshold of the command tent for the Legions of Rhonas Steel and Blood.

  The elven Legion commander stood up from examining the maps spread on the table before him and arched his back, cracking several vertebrae back into place as he did. They had been surging forward through the Northmarch Folds for the last four days, arriving at last at a miserable, dirty backwater called Port Dog at the southern end of Manticus Bay. Here he had given the twin Legions under his command a day to regroup while he planned his next move. The orders of Ghenetar Praetus Betjarian had been specific up to this point but now allowed the Legate some discretion regarding how to proceed. There was an army of rebels operating in Nordesia which, according to the wise and noble masters of Rhonas, would be marching down the Shadow Coast to challenge the elven homeland.

  Nonsense, of course, Legate Xhu’chan scoffed. Still, any opportunity to take the army out of the monotonous flatlands of Chaenandria and their Southern Steppes was a welcome relief. The manticores had once been worthy opponents but the days of the great warrior clans were over. The presence of their army in that conquered region was largely an unnecessary result of over-cautious bureaucrats in the capital city. At least now he and his warriors were on the hunt for what he considered easy prey. Betjarian had warned him that this horde of warriors in the north had managed to completely destroy a Legion of the Vash but Xhu’chan had studied the report on that battle. He knew that the defeated commander had lost because of a freakish failure of Aether on the battlefield. It was a mistake he would not repeat.

  The Emperor had decreed that most of his military might should march northward and destroy these malcontents before any more damage could be done to the Imperial pride. Well, let them come, Xhu’chan thought. He would manage the job with the two Legions under his command and then the rest of the army could watch as he returned triumphantly with the heads of this Drakis rebel and each of his followers at the end of his Legions’ spears.

  Or he would, he corrected himself, if K’yeran Tsi-M’harul, the Iblisi Inquisitor standing on the opposite side of the map table did not claim this Drakis a prisoner first. The presence of the Iblisi Quorum, appointed to advise the Legate on this campaign at the direct instruction of Ghentar Omris Sjei-Shurian, was both a mystery and an irritant to Legate Xhu’chan. The Inquisitor had never interfered with his command except for the occasional urging to press forward with more zeal. He knew that she was unnecessary to the military success of the campaign. He also knew that if she ever did make a request of him, he would do as she asked. To not honor her advice would be a mistake, possibly the last he would ever make.

  Xhu’chan turned his gaze from the Inquisitor opposite him toward the war-mage and beckoned him inside the tent. “You are…?”

  “War-mage Kleidon,” the elf in the armored robes said with a bow. Kleidon was old for his calling, his lips drawn back from his pointed teeth whose ends were worn down to rounded points. “I am assigned dominion over the sixth Cohort Proxis of Centurai Mehuin.”

  “The scout Centurai, of course,” Xhu’chan nodded. He knew Kleidon as a modestly talented mage who was slowly aging beyond usefulness. The years tended to make him talk more and do less. “My apologies, War-mage. My command is a vast one and I am not yet familiar with every detail of its elements.”

  “We have spoken before,” Kleidon said with an edge of insult.

  “And if we are to ever speak to anyone again, you had best state your business here,” Xhu’chan said, the obvious implication just beneath the surface of his placid voice.

  “An Octian of our third Centurai has reach Shellsea,” Kleidon said. “Do you know it, Legate?”

  “Yes, it is the next decent port city up the Shadow Coast from this wrenched backwater.” Xhu’chan remained unimpressed. “What of it?”

  “The Octian reports that they found the city garrison encamped outside the city walls and apparently unable to return to their barracks,” Kleidon continued.

  “Unable?” Xhu’chan snarled. “What could possibly have prevented them from taking the city again by force?”

  “Word is that they fled the city, Legate,” the war-mage responded.

  “Fled?” Xhu’chan blustered. “Deserted their posts?”

  “And why would they flee the city?” the Inquisitor spoke up suddenly.

  The war-mage hesitated, his dull eyes fixed on the Legate.

  “Don’t be stupid, Kleidon,” Xhu’chan barked. “Answer the question!”

  Kleidon smiled, exposing his dulled teeth as he bowed. “The garrison commander reports that they were driven from the city by a dragon.”

  A long moment of uncomprehending silence descended on the tent. The Inquisitor stared at the war-mage. The Legate’s mouth went slack. He tilted his head slightly to the right as though he had not heard properly.

  “A what?”

  “A dragon, my Lord Legate,” the war-mage affirmed.

  “There are no dragons in Aeria,” Xhu’chan asserted.

  “It seems there are now,” Kleidon shrugged.

  “They must have been drugged or enchanted,” Xhu’chan said, shaking his head. “Some sort of trick by the rebels.”

  “The scouts report that every elven warrior they interrogated has given the same account,” Kleidon continued. “An immense monstrous creature resembling a dragon descended into the central square of the city breathing out flames and destruction before it. The commander ordered the garrison to regroup outside the city walls and prepare to retake the city and attack the creature. However, once they were prepared they found that the fold runes they had planned to use to reenter the city had been rendered useless. Several attacks by the garrison force were repulsed by rebel warriors, who had by then manned their abandoned defenses on the city walls. As the garrison commander was concerned that the dragon might return, he determined to make camp outside the city and send word for reinforcements.”

  “A brave commander indeed,” Xhu’chan mocked, spitting on the ground in his disgust. “I suppose he’s just been waiting for someone to come along and salvage his honor for him?”

  “As it happened, Legate, a dragon did return,” Kleidon said with a slight smile. “Not the same as the first–a different dragon.”

  “A second dragon?” the Legate exclaimed. “Not possible!”

  “This one was seen both by the remaining garrison and the scout Octian as well,” Kleidon replied. “And, might I add, that I saw it through the eyes of my Proxi who was there at the time. It was a mo
st astonishing experience. It was a creature of unprecedented size with enormous leathery wings and a long fluked tail. It was light and dark gray in its markings. Its talons were taller than an elf. There was also a rider—human, I believe—seated just ahead of the wings on the creature’s neck. It, too, descended into Shellsea and for a time vanished from view. Then it, too, rose up into the sky, only this time the northern gates of the city opened and a caravan left the city.”

  “A caravan?” Xhu’chan squinted slightly as he twisted his neck, trying to get his vertebrae comfortable again. “You mean a military column?”

  “Hardly, my Lord Legate,” Kleidon corrected. “Females, old males, children, wagons of goods, and…”

  “Pilgrims,” K’yeran laughed.

  “We shall retake the city,” the Legate affirmed. “Kleidon, inform my aide that I want to see each of the Legion commanders and their staff at once. We shall advance up the coast with both Legions, retake the city and…”

  “No, Legate Xhu’chan,” the Inquisitor said with a chuckle in her voice. “You certainly shall not.”

  The Legate turned slowly toward the Inquisitor. “And why should I not?”

  K’yeran turned to the old war-mage. “You said this ‘caravan’ was being led by someone astride a dragon?”

  “I saw it through the eyes of my Proxi,” Kleidon nodded.

  “Then, Xhu’chan,” the Inquisitor said to the Legate, “there is no need to retake Port Shellsea. “Our prize is not to be found behind the barricaded walls of an insignificant port. You can retake this outpost of Imperial Might later. Your orders were to search for and find this army of the rebellion so that you may avenge the destruction of your brother warriors and the honor of the Emperor. This army is not in Shellsea and you now know how to find them.”

  “And how is that?” Xhu’chan demanded.