Song of the Dragon Page 37

  Belag, Urulani, and the dwarf stared at the Lyric. Her eyes gazed far away, as though she were seeing a scene that was beyond the vision of mere mortals. She began walking toward the shattered gate as she spoke. “But his own story was sad and tragic. He had bragged about going to war when he was a cub, but in his heart he had doubts. He feared pain and death, and so in the end he was branded a coward by his own pride and exiled. He was forgotten—even among the Hak’kaarin who once had sheltered him.”

  Urulani whispered. “How can she know these things?”

  “That girl knows more than she’s letting on,” Jugar said, his eyes narrowing as he considered her.

  Belag shook his head. “Come . . . look there in the ground. Those are RuuKag’s tracks. The Lyric’s walking in them.”

  They came to the shattered gate. The long tunnel beyond curved gradually upward toward the center of the enormous mud dome as in every other city they had visited, but here they stopped in horror.

  The floor was carpeted with the dead.

  “What a struggle they must have put up,” Jugar breathed.

  Urulani pressed her lips together, unable to speak.

  Belag turned to the Lyric. “What happened here?”

  “He came,” the Lyric continued, her eyes staring past the end of the rising tunnel toward where the glow of fire could be seen. “He had accepted your faith in Drakis, Belag, and the old fear returned to him . . . but this time that he would be remembered as the manticore who failed the human of the prophecy. The battle was already raging when he arrived. He had come for solace from these gentle creatures of the Hak’kaarin, the only family he felt left to him. He saw the battle, heard the desperate cries of the mud gnomes . . .”

  The Lyric turned and pointed at the ground. “Here he ran, charging past the bodies of the gnomes who had fallen. He picked up a weapon—taken from this gnome’s cold hands—and with a great warrior cry leaped forward.”

  The Lyric stepped carefully among the fallen dead, their blood staining her sandals and the hem of her skirt as she walked down the tunnel. Belag and the others, entranced by her words, followed down the hall with gingerly steps.

  The Lyric stopped where the tunnel rose sharply upward toward the center of the dome. A great, jet-black stain swept from one side of the tunnel to the opposite wall where some of the mud had melted into dark glass. “Here he saw the first of them—a robed elven hunter whose magic was killing the Hak’kaarin in terrible numbers. Seeing the gnomes being murdered thus, at last RuuKag found his warrior’s heart—or perhaps he found a cause for which he could fight.”

  At the apex of the stain lay a robed figure missing its head.

  “Here, for the first time,” the Lyric said, “RuuKag found the courage to kill.”

  The Lyric, her hem now dragging a terrible bloody stain across the floor behind her, stepped up the ramp and into the great open space beneath the center of the dome.

  The fires were burning out in the upper levels but still gave all too bright illumination on the grizzly scene. Two sections of habitat walls had collapsus and buried part of the central floor of the common area. The bodies of the dead gnome defenders were a terrible blanket across the floor.

  “Where are the children?” Urulani asked.

  “What? What children?” Belag growled.

  “That’s my point,” Urulani said, her eyes shifting across the mass of the dead. “These are all warrior gnomes. Some men and some women but none of them old—none of them infirm—and there are no children here among the dead.”

  “She’s right,” Jugar said in astonishment. “In such a calamity one might expect an even greater number of noncombatants to fall prey to the terrible confusion of war.

  “And there’s not enough of the dead,” Belag nodded. “This was terrible, indeed, but even so there are nowhere near enough dead to account for the entire city.”

  “He saved them,” the Lyric said simply.

  “Who saved them,” Belag asked.

  The Lyric pointed again, this time to the far side of the commons.

  Belag’s eyes opened wide.

  RuuKag—or what was left of him—lay dead against the wall. His eyes were dull and blood stained the corners of his open jaws and his bared teeth. The hair was burned entirely off his left side where the raw red of his muscle was exposed. His right arm hung at an impossible angle, flopping limply over one of the three shafts that pierced his chest.

  Next to him was a crumpled form in robes, an elf whose throat had been torn out.

  “Elves!” Belag snarled.

  “Back again, eh?” The dwarf gritted his teeth.

  “Look! There are more of them,” Urulani said, again pointing to various places around the hall. “Four . . . six . . . wait, there’s one up there, too. Seven of them!”

  Belag nodded as he stepped quickly through the carnage to reach RuuKag’s side. He stood over the fallen manticore for a few moments and then reached down and closed his eyes.

  “Well fought, brother,” he murmured into RuuKag’s ear. “You’ve proved your heart this day. Your story will be told . . . and I will tell it.”

  Jugar considered RuuKag for a moment then took in the rest of the dead. “He bought them time . . . time to escape.”

  “Yes,” Belag said, straightening up. “The rest of the Hak’kaarin are fleeing to the other cities. Within days the story of what happened here will be told from one end of the savanna to the other.”

  “I don’t understand,” Urulani said, shaking her head. “Slave hunters have no reason to attack the mud cities. The Hak’kaarin have no possessions worth the attention of any elves and they make terrible slaves.”

  “These aren’t slavers,” Belag said, turning suddenly. “This is a full Quorum of the Iblisi—the Inquisitors of the Imperium. They have no interest in gnomes.”

  “What do they want then?” Urulani asked. “Why attack this city?”

  “Because they thought we were here,” Belag replied. “Because they thought he was here.”

  “Drakis?” Urulani sputtered, “All these gnomes destroyed and your friend slaughtered . . . just because these elven magicians think your friend is part of this moldy prophecy?”

  “Come!” the manticore said as he began moving back toward the tunnel as quickly as the gore-coated floor would allow. “We have to get back . . . we have very little time left.”

  “Time?” Urulani said with astonishment. “Time for what?”

  “Lyric . . . uh, Musaran,” Belag called. “You must come and tell this story to Drakis.”

  “As a spirit I am above such things,” the Lyric replied.

  “Yes, but Drakis is fond of communing with spirits,” Belag continued. “Come quickly. Jugar, Urulani. We must get back at once!”

  “Get back?” Urulani was losing her patience. “What about any survivors? What if there are more of those ‘Ubisee’ things around?”

  “I tell you that there will be a lot more of those ‘Ubisee things’ around soon enough!” Belag said, stopping at the top of the ramp and turning to face the warrior-woman. “This was a single Quorum, but as soon as the other Quorums get word of what happened here, they’re going to know it was one of us who did this . . . and it won’t take them long to figure out that the only way we might have gone is through the Cragsway Pass.”

  “And to Nothree,” Jugar said as he nodded.

  “They’ve found us,” Belag said. “And our backs are to the sea.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Relentless

  “WHERE HAS EVERYONE GONE?” Mala asked casually.

  “Do I care where everyone has gone?” Drakis answered back, soft warmth in his voice.

  They walked as one along the sloping sands of the bay’s shore, their bare feet digging into the residual warmth of the sand as the cool offshore breeze flowed past them. The sun was setting on a perfect day in the first place of peace that Drakis had ever known. The totality of its experience was almost painful to the human warri
or who had never known tranquillity—never even had the ability to imagine it. Yet here they were, Mala’s arm wrapped around his waist and his around her shoulders, walking beside the gently lapping waves of Nothree Bay and looking in awe at the encircling mountain peaks, fading to purple under a vibrant orange sky at sunset.

  “But I haven’t seen anyone all day,” Mala said.

  “What do you mean ‘haven’t seen anyone?’ ” Drakis spoke through a crooked smile. “Look . . . over there behind that corsair galley. There’s a whole group of ‘someones’ working on those nets. And just up there . . . entirely too many ‘someones’ who are trying to keep those children out from under foot while they cook dinner. The whole village is absolutely lousy with ‘someones.’ ”

  Mala slugged him in the chest with the boots in her hand just hard enough so that he would not let go of her. “You’re terrible! That’s not what I meant and you know it. Where’s the dwarf or the Lyric . . . or either of the manticores from our old House for that matter?”

  “You forgot the chimerian.”

  “Well, I’d just as soon forget the chimerian altogether.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.”

  “But seriously, Drakis.” Mala stopped walking, pulling him around to face her just before they came to the beached prow of one of the Sondau ships. “Where are they? Don’t you think it odd that they follow you all this way and then run off without a word to you? They’ve been gone more than a full day now. It’s like they all vanished at once.”

  “Mala, stop worrying,” Drakis said, turning toward her and taking her by her shoulders. She looked so beautiful to him in the soft light of the closing day that he nearly forgot what he was about to say. “I spoke with Elder Shasa this morning. He said that most of them went off to try to find RuuKag . . . who apparently had gotten it into his mind to return to the Hak’kaarin on his own. No one knows where Ethis went, and to be honest, I’d be just as glad if he remained lost.”

  “But, Drakis . . .”

  “Mala, listen to me . . . there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Drakis took her hand and led her higher up the beach just short of the seawall. He gestured for her to sit and then sat next to her as they both looked out over the waters of the bay. The evening was deepening but through the narrow channel that entered the bay between the towering rocks could still be seen the fading remnant of the sunset illuminating the northern horizon.

  “What is it, Drakis?” Mala asked quietly.

  Drakis sat still for some time before he spoke. “Have you ever enjoyed quiet like this?”

  “Quiet?” Mala laughed. “I hear those pots in the kitchen behind us . . . I hear the laugher of those men mending the net . . . those children squealing up the beach—and the birds around here can be downright obnoxious.”

  Drakis smiled. “That’s not what I mean. I mean the luxury of being quiet . . . of just holding still and looking out over the water with someone next to you to share that stillness. To not have to say a word and know that no one needs you to speak because the quiet around you speaks for you.”

  Mala leaned toward him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’ve never known that quiet before here . . . it’s painful.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Drakis nodded. “Painful because we never knew it existed and now the thought of losing it is unbearable. Mala, I’m tired of running toward a horizon that is always getting farther away . . . tired of pretending to pursue some destiny that isn’t even mine.”

  “What are you saying?” Mala asked.

  “I’m saying that this . . . right here . . . is everything that I want or could ever want out of my life.” Drakis reached down and pulled up a handful of the white sand from between his feet. It glittered slightly in the fading rays of the day. “This place . . . this peace. I don’t want or need any great destiny that may not be mine to begin with. All I want is this quiet . . . right here . . . with you.”

  “But, the song in your head . . . the music that calls you . . .”

  “It’s still there,” Drakis replied, looking through the narrow passage to the north. The light on the horizon was rapidly fading. “If anything it is stronger than ever, but, Mala, that doesn’t mean I have to follow it. Let it just be a song in my head . . . from what Elder Shasa tells me there are plenty of other humans who have heard the song, too, and they didn’t have to go out and become this great prophecy fulfillment either.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I don’t want to run anymore.” Drakis turned to Mala. “I’m saying I want to stay . . . right here with you as my mate or wife or whatever the Sondau call it, bury my sword, have a family of our own, and live a quiet life.”

  “I . . . I don’t . . .” Mala stammered. “Is it possible, Drakis? I mean, we’ve run for so long, and we barely know ourselves who we are . . .”

  “We can be whoever we choose,” Drakis persisted. “If anything, I’ve learned that over the last months. It doesn’t matter who we were, Mala; we can become who we want to be. We can forget about our past; what we cannot forget, we can forgive and start anew.”

  “Can we, Drakis?” Mala said, looking up into his face. “I don’t know . . . if people can change. Maybe we’re so broken that we can’t change.”

  Drakis smiled down at her. “How will we ever know if we don’t try?”

  “It would be wonderful to try,” she replied softly.

  An unwelcome shout behind Drakis shattered the moment. “Drakis!”

  “It would be him,” Mala said distastefully.

  Drakis pushed himself up from the sand and turned toward the voice. “Yes, Ethis, it is me. Now that you have completely ruined my evening, I’m sure you’ve thought of some way to ruin my night as well. What is it?”

  The chimerian paused, glanced at Mala rising to stand next to Drakis, and then took in a deep breath.

  “Yes,” Drakis urged, “You’ve got my attention. What is it?”

  “I . . . I thought we might discuss our next move.”

  “Our next move?” Drakis responded. “Just what move would that be?”

  “Why . . . northward, as you said,” Ethis spoke, choosing words as a warrior might choose his weapons in battle. “The Sondau have these corsairs that are legendary in the open sea. You might prevail upon them to take us farther on—perhaps across the Bay of Thetis into Nordesia or even . . .”

  “No,” Drakis said flatly.

  “They might take us along the coast to the west, or we could travel by land to Point Kontantine but we would still need the corsair ships to . . .”

  “No, Ethis,” Drakis repeated more firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But . . . your destiny . . .”

  “My destiny? You’ve been repeating that lie so long that you’ve started believing it yourself.” Drakis shook his head. “It’s not me! Even if it were me, I wouldn’t want it! It was all just a story the dwarf told, Ethis, so that gullible folks along the way would feed us and give us a bed! It got us here and that’s enough . . . I’m not going anywhere!”

  “So that’s it, then,” Ethis spat, his blank expression vanishing for the first time that Drakis had ever known him into what passed for a scowl. “You just give up, tell the rest of the world to jump into the Chaos while you play in the sand?”

  “Yes!” Drakis shot back. “It’s my life . . . for the first time it is mine . . . not yours . . . not the dwarf fool’s . . . certainly not the Empire’s . . . and I’m not giving it up to anyone else, either!”

  Ethis shook his head. “You selfish, blind, narrow-minded idiot! It’s gone way beyond time for you to hide! You think the Iblisi will just give up . . . that they’ll wake up one day and say, ‘This is too hard, let’s just let this one go?’ They never give up, Drakis, and they never, ever forget. They will hunt you down and murder you, you and anyone who has been with you. The very first they’ll take will be those closest to you. The safest thing you can do is get off this cont
inent—across the sea—somewhere they can’t reach.”

  “Oh, please,” Drakis sneered. “You’re scaring the women.”

  Ethis growled under his breath in frustration. “You have no idea who these Iblisi are . . . or who I am for that matter!”

  “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea about you,” Drakis snarled. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of . . . just how honest you can be!”

  “I’m trying to help you, human!”

  Drakis looked behind the chimerian. There came a rising tide of shouts from the village. Suddenly one appeared, then three, and then entire families were running frantically about. Soon a number of them ran toward the various ships beached along the crescent of sandy shore that marked the edge of the harbor.

  Drakis eyed the chimerian. “What did you do, Ethis?”

  Belag and the Lyric appeared behind the dwarf, all of them running directly toward Drakis and Mala.

  “Well,” Mala sighed to herself. “It looks like everyone found us.”

  Urulani came with them but ran past Drakis without as much as a nod, shouting toward the beached ship beyond. “Kanshu! Get up!”

  A head poked up over the gunwales, staring blearily back.

  “Raise me a crew of twenty!” she shouted, plunging into the water without slowing, then pulling herself up a rope that Kanshu hastily tossed over the side. “We’ve got to get the ship provisioned and ready for sail at once. And I want warriors and sea-crafters only—and pray we don’t need them!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Kanshu replied at once, himself jumping over the side and pushing shoreward through the shallows. “How long a voyage, Captain?”

  “I don’t know . . . bring as much as is at hand,” Urulani shouted as she at once set about readying the ship. “I’ve told the Elders to abandon the village. We’ll hold the beach until everyone is safely away on the other ships.”

  “Are we being raided, Captain?” Kanshu asked as he surged out of the water and onto the shore.

  “Yes! I don’t know when but soon,” Urulani called out. “We have to get everyone out . . . they can’t kill us if we aren’t here.”