Citadels of the Lost (20 page)

The Keep of Ambeth was, as Drakis first believed, little more than a shored-up repair of a tower that had existed here long before Clan Ambeth claimed it as their own. A lodge-hall had been added to the original broken foundation that joined with the tower walls. The tower itself had framing around it. Drakis was uncertain as to whether the ancient tower walls were holding up the framing or the other way around. Drakis and his companions had all been marched up from the shore through the town and directly across a wide square into the large room attached to the tower. The flanking soldiers did not seem interested in conversation although the streets were lined with the curious townspeople, all of whom were gawking, laughing, pointing, and chattering with each other as though the newcomers were exotic animals on their way to the forum for a match. The soldiers had positioned them in front of a large fire pit near the center of the lodge with the tower base on the far side.

A figure emerged from the shadows at the base of the tower. It was a woman of uncertain age. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, but her skin and her cheeks were otherwise smooth as was her high forehead. Her hair was long and cascaded down around her shoulders but there were streaks of gray in the rich black strands. Her eyes were a striking violet, bright and intense. She had a wide, generous mouth although one of her front teeth was slightly crooked. She wore a long robe whose colors were indistinct and faded while around her neck hung an eclectic assortment of so much different jewelry that Drakis wondered how she was managing to hold it all upright.

“I am Audelai El, Clan-mother of all the Ambeth!” the woman intoned in a deep, rich voice. She looked up toward the sky and brought her palms together in front of her. “Have the strangers accepted our ways?”

“The strangers have accepted the ways of the Ambeth, Clan-mother,” Ishander said, his voice breaking slightly in his enthusiasm.

The Clan-mother raised her hands high above her head and spoke toward the ceiling. “Then the protection and hospitality of the Ambeth shall be with our guests and the laws of the clan shall be their laws until the fall of the sky!”

“The Ambeth are One!” shouted the warriors in the hall followed closely by Ishander.

The Clan-mother then lowered her hands and looked at Drakis. Suddenly, she smiled and winked, then started clapping her hands together in glee. Audelai El ran quickly around the fire pit and clasped Urulani by both hands, helping her to her feet. She moved among them, reaching down and helping them up as she chattered along. “Oh, this is too marvelous to have you here with us, really, it is! To think of it! Outsiders who have come to us from foreign lands and bringing knowledge of places that we have only considered in our dreams. I cannot tell you how excited I am personally to see you. Anything that I can do for you, anything at all, I'll do if it is within my power to make it happen. I can only assume that you are on a great mission of some importance for we have heard of stirrings among the dragons of the Surgani Mountains and that danger is passing northward through the land, bringing change to the world.”

Drakis stood as she took his hands. “Clan-mother, We are only . . .”

“Great people of destiny, you may bring the salvation of our people at last, restore the greatness of our land, and challenge the treachery of all dragons that was our doom,” Audelai El said, smiling into Drakis' face. “You honor us by coming to our clan! There is always profit to be had in change, you know—all one needs to know is how.”

Drakis was stunned. “Well, thank you, we . . .”

“How soon will you be leaving?” Audelai El concluded through her charming smile.

T
HE DWARF ROLLED BENEATH a particularly dense fern and held perfectly still despite the pain shooting up his leg.

Mardosh staggered as he came up the dirt path the locals grandly called Jurusta Road. Mardosh was his “clan-law escort”—a warrior stooge assigned to him by the ever-loving Clan-mother to go with him wherever he went in Ambeth and “assist” him with “advice” regarding what was permitted under clan-law. This apparently also extended to who he could talk to, what he could talk about, and which parts of the town he was allowed to visit. Jugar had no doubts that Mardosh's duties also extended to reporting to the Clan-mother fully about all the locations he visited and the details of every conversation he had. The fact that everyone in their group was assigned a clan-law escort when they left their quarters in the Keep only deepened the dwarf's suspicions. They were captives in a prison without locks.

Worse, for Jugar, was the loss of the Heart of Aer. The very thought that he had lost the stone both sickened and enraged him. Without it, he was largely powerless, almost bereft of magic. The stone had been drawing upon Dunaea, the soul at the heart of the world, absorbing its power from the surrounding stone. Jugar had hoped to use some of that Aer to heal his leg though he had not decided whether to tell his companions about the mending. He rather enjoyed being hauled around by these humans. But then the stone was stolen by that Ishander whelp before he could magically mend the leg. He could feel it calling to him somewhere nearby and he was desperate to get it back.

But first he had to find it.

Jugar's frustrations were soon alleviated, however, when he discovered that he could easily outlast Mardosh in any drinking contest and that Mardosh was more than willing to let him try. So each afternoon, Jugar would grab his crutch, slowly and painfully lead his escort down Tyra Road to a ramshackle tavern at the intersection with Elucia Road and invite the hulking warrior to join him in a drink or two or three or however many were required. Then, when the time was right, the dwarf would slip out of the back of the tavern and make his way through the back alleys and narrow gaps between the shacks that comprised the town. His leg was still a problem but far better healed than he let on to anyone. He soon discovered that he could make good time up the roads, and that most of the locals were indifferent to his passage. So long as he avoided the notice of the occasional warrior—who seemed more interested in keeping order in the town than conducting warfare—he could move about freely. Then, after a few hours, the dwarf would dutifully find Mardosh, often exactly where he had left him and convince him that they had been together this entire time. Then the dwarf promised not to tell his masters about Mardosh passing out. But today Jugar had been impatient and Mardosh was trying to follow him, although his escort had a hard time catching Jugar as he made his hobbling dash up Elucia Road and onto Jurusta Road.

As if these human fools knew anything about building a proper road let alone who Jurusta—their own ancient goddess of spring, passion, and art—even was, Jugar thought as he lay beneath the fern. To them, it was just another name for the wandering breaks between the thatch-roofed hovels packed in some cases wall against wall in the tight space of the stockade enclosure. These may have once been true roads, Jugar knew, by the few patches of fitted stone roadway that remained, and perhaps these names that had passed down the generations once had meaning to the inhabitants of this place. But the great buildings had all fallen, and all that remained of the footfalls that once trod these spaces with such purpose were meaningless names of forgotten gods.

Jugar watched as Mardosh, bleary-eyed, stood uncertainly on the road looking back and forth and finding it impossible to make up what remained of his mind regarding a direction to take. Jugar decided to make up his escort's mind for him by pulling himself farther back into the brush and moving between the huts away from the road. He stood up slowly, picking up the carved stick he used for a crutch. He still favored the leg and it gave him considerable pain which the crutch alleviated most of the time. He could move quickly on it when occasion called for it, but a slower pace was more comfortable. He had decided to explore the north side of the town and try to discover where this Ishander made his home and get back his stone.

Jugar scowled as he pushed through the thick fronds of dense undergrowth. All these plants! He was a dwarf of the mountain and of stone. Plants in their place were fine, but he found their touch unnerving in this climate, wet and slimy. He caught a glimpse of one of the watchtowers through the leaves overhead and decided that it was as good a direction to take as any.

He was losing sight of the thatched buildings around him when the jungle opened up onto the broken stones of a circular courtyard. One curved wall remained standing, supported by three pillars on the far side, sheltering the statue of one of the human goddesses. The broken bases of several more pillars were set about the courtyard while the debris from the structure's collapse jutted out beyond the perimeter from the surrounding thick undergrowth. Jugar took all this in but pushed it aside as his mind fixed on the object around which the stones of the courtyard were symmetrically arranged.

It was an Aether Well.

And yet, it was not, Jugar thought as he examined it from beyond the rim of broken cobblestones. The stone was shaped like an Aether Well, but the material in it was a smoky gray color, dark and with unusual striations in the crystal structure. The stone jutted upward out of the ground as Jugar had seen in the Aether Wells of the elves, but the shape of the stone itself was different; more of a jewel-faceted dome than a dagger driven into the face of the world.

Jugar glanced around. The palm leaves of the trees rustled overhead with an afternoon breeze but the courtyard was still. Tentatively, the dwarf placed his crutch onto the smoothed stones, hopped once to stand on them, and then carefully made his way forward.

Jugar had studied the magic of Aer and Aether with a fanaticism fueled by desperation. Aer was the magic of the dwarves, the faeries, the dryads, the sirens, the goblins, the merfolk, and the pixies. It was the magic of nature that welled up from the soul of the world, flowing and connecting all creation. It was natural and blessed by the gods.

Aether was the magic of the enemy of nature. It was the magic of humans, of chimerians and, worst of all, of the elves. Aether drove crystal blades into the world and bled the Aer from it, sucking it from the wound and distilling it into focused power that was terrible and precise. That was the purpose of the Wells: to extract and refine the natural power of Aer into the potent magic of Aether.

Jugar had studied Aether magic as one would study the moves of an opponent before battle, trying to know the enemy better than the enemy knew himself. He knew the lattice structure of the crystals used for the Aether Wells, the nature of their linkage to other Wells, the loss of power over distance, and the dissipation rates of their charged devices over time. Contrary to what he had told the others, he knew a great deal about the use of Aether magic and the complexities of activating it. The best he had mastered related to the Heart of Aer, but that was because he was so familiar with the stone and its properties. His anger, after they had passed through the portal when the dragons attacked, had stemmed not from any lack of ability on his part but because the portal had been powered from the dragon's side. Perhaps it was some energy seeping into the south of God's Home Range from the elven Wells in Nordesia. All he knew was that there was no power on their side to activate the portal. It had angered and puzzled him at the time, but, with his leg broken and beasties threatening, there was no opportunity to look into the matter.

But he was a dwarf—he knew stone—and now he had the time.

Jugar moved carefully across the courtyard and slowly knelt before the human Aether Well. The stone was covered in part by a layer of dust, sticks, and dead fronds fallen from the jungle canopy overhead. The depths of the stone looked dark to him.

Jugar reached out with his hand to brush the debris from the Well.

His hand touched the stone.

Jugar suddenly drew his hand back as though the stone itself were white hot.

His bushy eyebrows rose in astonishment.

Carefully, he opened his hand and placed it cautiously upon the stone.

A great gap-toothed smile slowly spread across the face of the dwarf.

“Oh, my beauty,” Jugar whispered and he looked at the statue of the goddess against the shattered wall. “I was so wrong.”

“So you found an Aether Well,” Urulani shrugged irritably. “I wouldn't be surprised if they were buried every hundred feet or so in this place.”

“It would do you more credit if you broadened the scope of your understanding,” Jugar sniffed. “It isn't the fact that I found an Aether Well—it's what the Aether Well told me that is important.”

“So now the Aether Well is speaking to you?” the Lyric asked in breathless fascination.

Drakis rolled his eyes. He had spent most of the day with the Clan-mother, listening to her blather on about the greatness of her people, how glad she was that they were granting their hospitality to such gallant strangers all the while hinting at how happy everyone would be after Drakis led his companions beyond the stockade wall.