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  “Beautiful, is it not?”

  Drakis turned toward the deep voice. “You think it beautiful?”

  Belag seemed to stand taller than ever. His great, flat snout was raised as though sniffing the wind for the scent of prey. RuuKag stood behind him but presented a completely different demeanor; his shoulders were hunched forward, lowering his head with the curve of his back as he looked over the plain.

  “Yes, beautiful,” Belag said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and baring his fangs as he spoke. “This place is known among my race as the ‘Land of the Shamed.’ It is the place where cowards come to die in exile from their clans. It is supposed to be a cursed place . . .”

  “It is a cursed place,” RuuKag said abruptly.

  “Cursed? How is it cursed?”

  “It does not matter. You are with us, Drakis,” Belag continued. “It is sung of in the prophecy that where you walk, the cursed lands shall be made whole beneath your feet.”

  “You seem terribly pleased at the prospect of crossing this cursed place,” Ethis observed.

  “I find the open land calls me,” Belag said drawing in a deep breath. “It brings into my mind the great plains of Chaenandria where my father and his father’s fathers hunted our prey and fought our battles down through all our songs of glory. RuuKag and I can run in the open . . .”

  “I have no desire to run,” RuuKag grumbled.

  “Then I shall feel the wind pass through the hairs that are springing from my mane and the sun beat upon my back. The open sky shall be my temple and all the wild beasts shall flee from me in fear. I shall pit my speed and strength against them and bring them down in righteous sacrifice in your name. I shall hunt for you, Drakis, and for all of us. I shall taste the warm blood of my prey in my mouth once more as the star-gods intended from the beginning.”

  Drakis turned to Ethis. “What about you . . . I can assume you’ve been here before.”

  “Here, yes,” Ethis said then nodded toward the great plain to the north. “But there? No. That is a land that cannot be tamed, a land too wild and harsh even for the determined and cunning elves of Rhonas. The Empire has extended its influence farther to the north and east, but into this place they rarely bother to venture except on occasional slaving expeditions on the southern shores of the Bay of Thetis . . .”

  Drakis was having trouble hearing what Ethis was saying. He had to remind himself that he could not trust the chimerian, a creature that a small part of his mind still told him was a trusted colleague and brother in arms but only, he reminded himself, because the Devotions had made him believe it. Drakis had no memory of Ethis before the battle for the Ninth Throne, and his actions since the fall of their Devotions—his alarming transformations in the faery kingdom and his use of them to trick Drakis into revealing so much of himself—had left the human hurt and suspicious.

  Beyond his distrust, the song was running through his mind, and it distracted him once more. It was never far from his thoughts and was growing stronger with every step they took toward the north. In some ways, this was a comfort to him; before it had been a weak annoyance, like an itch that one could not quite reach. With its increasing prominence he was better able to tune it out and even ignore it from time to time. But occasionally it dislodged memories that rushed to the surface of his thoughts and broke upon his consciousness.

  “Well that’s not what Mom says,” Polis answered back, sweat pouring from his forehead. “It’s north—in Vestasia maybe—beyond a sea of water and even a sea of sand. That’s where we’re going, Drak . . . you and me together. No one will ever make us work again. You wait and see.”

  Drakis forced his attention back to Ethis as he spoke.

  “. . . no real knowledge of the nomadic tribes that manage to make their home here,” Ethis concluded. “I took a very long road to avoid crossing that dangerous wasteland—no one enters the savanna of Vestasia lightly.”

  “All the more reason we should,” Drakis answered. “What better place to hide than a place no one wishes to enter?”

  Ethis raised both his hairless brows in surprise.

  “It’s north—in Vestasia,” Drakis said with a thin smile. “You wait and see.”

  They walked for five days across the plain without feeling they were making any progress. Ethis insisted that they pick a point in the distance in the morning that appeared to be north and then keep their track fixed on that destination. This almost always amounted to finding a distant grouping of trees that could be spied across the seemingly endless grasses.

  The terrain was far from entirely flat; undulations and occasional rock outcroppings gave some variety to what otherwise would have been a near tabletop flatness to the land. The grasses were yellowing and the ground beneath them parched. Their footfalls raised great clouds of gray dust that drifted upward, which greatly concerned Ethis as their movements could undoubtedly be seen for many leagues in any direction.

  Mornings were the time that Drakis liked best, for each of them worked in harmony toward their common good. Belag, who had disappeared the previous night, would return exhausted in the morning—but always with a fresh kill. RuuKag would quarter the creature and properly butcher its meat so that it could be cooked. Jugar would busy himself finding or making a properly clear space while Ethis constructed a fire pit. Mala and Drakis would cook the meat for them, while the Lyric always seemed to appear with wild roots or berries though none of them could determine just how or where she came by them. Then, their meal concluded and the remaining cooked meats packed for use later in the day, everyone would see to cleaning up the camp before setting off.

  Belag would remain behind and sleep in the early part of the day, but he would always join them by afternoon, his deep-throated voice singing through the grasses as he approached.

  By midday of the sixth day of their trek northward, they came upon a wide, meandering river that wound its twisted way across the plain. Wildebeest, antelope, and ibex appeared from time to time at the river’s edge to drink . . . each one a sight that astonished the humans and even, Drakis noted with amusement, the chimerian. Jugar at each opportunity managed to spin a tapestry of knowledge about these beasts based entirely on stories he had heard or, Drakis was convinced, that the dwarf made up on the spot.

  They followed the river for four additional days, but by the morning of the tenth day it was obvious that the river’s course was leading more toward the west. When Belag reported that there were watering holes to be found on their northern course, Drakis determined to abandon the river, and once more they set off across the plain.

  It was on the evening of the thirteenth day that they saw the great dust trail crossing the plains to the north. For three days they followed the long cloud of dust that seemed to precede them. By the end of the seventeenth day on the savanna, Drakis could see that the clouds of dust they had been following ended at a brown knob too distant for them to make out any detail.

  When Belag left on his evening hunt, he promised to hunt in that direction and report on what he saw over their breakfast.

  Drakis waited from dawn of the following day to hear Belag’s report.

  The manticore did not return.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Hak’kaarin

  “YOU’VE KILLED US, Drakis!” Mala screamed, her fists flailing against him as he tried desperately to restrain her without doing her any harm. He was finding it impossible to do either. “You did this! You killed Timuran . . . destroyed our home . . . destroyed our lives!”

  All reason had fled from Mala. The despair and anger that she had pushed down behind a wall of apathy from the first step they had taken into Vestasia now exploded in a senseless rush of blind anger and rage focused on Drakis.

  She shoved at him, pushing herself away and staggering back onto the trampled grass where they had all spent the night. Drakis was keenly aware of the audience around them. Ethis stood with both sets of arms folded across his chest, detached and observant. Jugar looked
as though he were enjoying a play that was being enacted for his benefit, while RuuKag was openly enjoying Drakis being ridiculed and shamed by his supposed mate. The Lyric, at least, was paying no attention whatsoever.

  Mala glared at Drakis. “I’ve walked for days . . . days . . . into this, this . . . this nothing . . . because you said we should. And now the one creature that provided for us . . . brought us our food and made it even possible to live in this . . . this armpit of the world has vanished because you sent him off to find out about something you know nothing about.”

  Drakis breathed in deeply, reining in his own rage and embarrassment. “Mala, this isn’t the time for this. You just need to . . .”

  “No!” Mala shouted back, running one hand in frustration back from her forehead through the red hair that was now nearly an inch long. “I do not ‘just need to’ do anything for you anymore! You ruined it all, Drakis! Ruined our lives and led us out here to die!”

  Drakis let out his breath and gazed up into the sky.

  He could feel their eyes on him, waiting.

  “Fine,” he said at last, a cheek muscle twitching as he spoke.

  “What?” Mala said between clenched teeth.

  “Fine. You’re right.” He was not looking at her, his gaze fixed on a horizon of his own choosing. “I did it all, Mala . . . just the way you said. I brought down House Timuran and woke us all up to the lie we were living. I brought us into this dangerous, barren place. If it makes you feel any better, I agree with you that it is entirely my fault.” Then Drakis looked directly at Mala with the same cold stare through which he had often viewed his prey in battle. “But you, Mala, are here. All of us are here. How you got here or why isn’t going to change the fact that you are here right now. So you have a choice to make. It’s your choice, and you’re going to be responsible for it.”

  He took a step toward the woman.

  She stepped back. Drakis could not decide if her look was of fear or hate.

  “You can either stay here, curse my name for as many days as you have left to you, and die,” Drakis said. “Or you can shut up, come with us, and do something that might get us through another day.”

  Mala glowered back at him. “How dare you even . . .”

  “It’s up to you. You may not think I’m much,” Drakis continued, “but right now I’m all you’ve got. I’m going to find my friend Belag . . . if he’s still alive . . . and find some way to live another day. Come or stay—you decide.”

  Drakis turned to face the rest of his companions. “That goes for you, too. Die on your own or come with me now.”

  He gazed out over the tall grass and pointed toward the strange, brown mound to the north. “He went that way. Let’s go.”

  Ethis smiled slightly and then, drawing his sword, walked in the direction Drakis was still indicating. The dwarf took his cue from the chimerian and followed closely behind. The Lyric jumped up from where she had been otherwise seemingly ignorant of the proceedings and, slapping Drakis on the shoulder in earnest support, quickly fell in line. RuuKag looked everywhere but in the direction of Drakis and lurched into movement after the Lyric.

  Mala remained stone-still.

  Drakis turned, drew his own sword and fell in line after RuuKag.

  It was many long minutes before he heard Mala following behind him through the grass.

  “What is it?” Drakis whispered as he crouched down in the grass.

  Ethis knelt on one knee next to him. “I don’t know . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The tall grasses ended abruptly just a few feet in front of them. Beyond was a barren ground completely denuded of any plant life perhaps a thousand feet wide surrounding a mound of sun-baked mud so enormous that neither Drakis nor Ethis could see the sides from where they watched.

  “It looked smaller this morning,” Drakis mused.

  “It also looked a good deal closer,” Ethis observed, gazing at the deepening hues of the horizon. “We’ve only got about an hour of daylight left now. What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know!” Drakis sputtered. “It’s . . . well, it’s enormous! Someone or something must have built it here. Look there, see the way there’s an overhang all around the bottom of the mound? It curves outward to keep predators off the top. The thing has openings all around it under that overhang, but they each seem to be blocked by a large stone. And we don’t know what’s on the other side of those stones either. The two of us are the only warriors left in a group whose remaining skills include butchering, storytelling, singing, and complaining.”

  “So you were planning on storming the defenses?” Ethis asked.

  Drakis chuckled. “No . . . but we haven’t seen any signs of movement out of the . . . wait! Did you hear that?”

  “You were talking at the time and . . .”

  “Quiet!” Drakis said, holding up his hand as he cocked his head to one side.

  It was a strange, hollow sound, but in the silence around the mound it was unmistakable.

  “Drakis . . . Come!”

  Drakis turned to Ethis, but the chimerian was already craning his neck higher, straining toward the sound.

  “Drakis . . . Ethis . . . come!”

  “Where is it coming from?” Drakis whispered hoarsely.

  “I don’t see where . . . wait!” Ethis pointed with his upper right hand. “There . . . just to the right of center. I would swear that was closed just a moment ago!”

  Drakis gazed closer in among the deepening shadows being cast by the overhang around the mound. One of the blocked openings was suddenly and inexplicably open. A tunnel ran backward and up into the mound. Two torches burned in sconces mounted on either wall.

  “That’s a little too accommodating,” Ethis said.

  The voice from within called once more. “Drakis . . . Ethis . . . night is falling. Come . . . RuuKag . . . Mala . . . Jugar . . . Lyric . . . come!”

  “It’s Belag,” Drakis said as much for his own assurance as Ethis’ benefit.

  “No, it can’t be,” Ethis countered. “This makes no sense, Drakis!”

  “Perhaps not, but I’m going to get a closer look,” Drakis said, dropping his pack. He unstrapped the small shield and adjusted the sword at his hip. “You wait here and watch. If I don’t come back, get everyone out of here and back to some more civilized place.”

  “North, I suppose?” Ethis quipped.

  Drakis chuckled. “If I don’t come back, I wouldn’t advise following such an obviously flawed prophecy.”

  Drakis bounded from the cover of the grass straight onto the flat, open ground. He ran quickly across its surface, puzzled at the springy quality of the ground under his feet as he ran but too intent on the opening looming before him to stop. He flattened himself against the wall next to the opening and then slowly turned to look inside.

  The tunnel floor rose upward. Pairs of torches fluttered in a breeze coming from inside the tunnel, emitting greasy smoke as they flagged, each pair lighting the way farther inside. The upward curve of the tunnel itself prevented him from seeing more than a hundred feet or so down its length. The closing mechanism was obvious to him now as a round, carved stone rolled out of its channel and into a space in the wall. Something had built this place.

  “Drakis . . . I’ve got to explain something.” The voice was unmistakably that of Belag, but there was an odd quality to it that Drakis could not identify.

  Drakis ducked into the tunnel and, grabbing a torch, ran up the curving incline. He passed several pairs of torches along the way as the rough-walled tunnel first curved upward into an incline and then began to curve down away from him. There were no side passages nor openings that he could see. Each step carried him farther and deeper into the great mound.

  The tunnel ended abruptly in a black void so large that the torch in his hand did not penetrate it.

  Just over a hundred feet in front of him, illuminated by a single torch, sat a manticore on a woven throne.

  “B
elag?” Drakis called in a loud whisper.

  The manticore stood. “Drakis! Thank the gods! I must beg your forgiveness . . . I would have come, but the Hak’kaarin would not permit me to leave.”

  Drakis did not wait but walked quickly toward his friend. “You are being held a prisoner, then?”

  “No . . . not exactly . . . please, Drakis, I need to explain . . .”

  “Explanations later,” Drakis said. “First, let’s get you out of here.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Belag said, holding his huge hands out in front of him. “I need to warn you. The Hak’kaarin . . .”

  “Warn me?” Drakis stopped at once, crouching down and turning slowly, his senses heightened. “What is it?”

  “The Hak’kaarin,” Belag started again. “They love to . . .”

  In that instant, ten thousand torches flared into life; their light banished the blackness from the enormous chamber.

  “WELCOME!!!”

  Drakis screamed in shock, his body reacting at once in fear. When he came to his senses once more, he was crouching, his sword drawn and shield held high as he stared in wonder.

  “The Hak’kaarin,” Belag sighed, “love to surprise guests.”

  The torches illuminated hundreds of caves that honeycombed the walls of the mud cavern. Branching caverns could be seen in several directions, now completely visible in the bright light. But it was the eyes staring back at him that astonished him the most; each of the hundreds of caverns was filled with short, reddish brown creatures with enormous eyes and hooked noses. They wore hides, pelts, and tanned leathers for clothing, and each held a torch in large hands with long fingers.

  Drakis was standing next to a great blackened pit filled with dried grass bundles and even a few dead trees. As he watched, two of the small creatures scurried forward and tossed their torches onto the pile. The pit erupted into a towering fire, and the thousands of creatures in the caverns lining the walls broke into an enormous cheer.