Citadels of the Lost (25 page)

Drakis frowned at the sound as he struggled to his feet. “What in the name of the gods . . .”

Mala and Urulani turned toward the sound. It was coming from the wall of the Keep at the edge of the Commons. A figure stood atop the parapet, hands raised overhead and shouting out over the rooftops of the now vacant town.

It was the Clan-mother, Audelai El.

“All hail to the victorious warriors who have saved our village and our people from the dragons of the south!” the Clan-mother continued. “Sound the bell and blow the horn! Call all the people of Ambeth that they may hear the glorious deeds done this day—of Drakis and his heroes who have saved all Ambeth from the dragons' wrath!”

“Can't we get her to shut up?” Mala sniffed.

“I suspect it would be against clan-law,” Urulani offered dryly.

The gongs were sounding on the village walls in the distance. The villagers were returning and making their way toward the Commons. All the while Audelai El continued her praise of Drakis, recounting how he and his brave companions had rid the village of the dragons.

Drakis glared at the dwarf standing next to Audelai El on the parapet.

“Not again,” he growled under his breath.

“But I swear to you, by Thorgrim's Beard, that it wasn't me,” Jugar protested.

The Clan-mother had gathered all the strangers back into their assigned quarters while she arranged for a special celebration over their deliverance of the town. Now Ethis stood leaning against one corner of the room, both sets of his arms folded across his chest. Mala stood nearby, quieted by the confrontation while the Lyric waited in a statuesque and disapproving pose next to her. Urulani sat on a bench nearby, resting her chin on her fist as she watched the argument unfold. The dwarf's face was beet red, holding his ground against the unbridled frustration of the human warrior.

“Not you?” Drakis raged. “It's
always
been you!”

“Now, lad, that's not exactly true . . .”

“No?” Drakis countered. “Who was it that told tales of the glorious prophecies after House Timuran fell?”

“Well, aye, that was me to be sure, but . . .”

“And I suppose you had nothing to do with telling the faery queen about these so-called prophecies either?”

“Never! I would never have given that woman so much as the time of . . .”

“And in the city of the mud gnomes?” Drakis shouted, his fists planted on his hips. “What about the speech you made there?”

“Sure, I have to admit that in that particular case I may have had something to do with . . .”

“And now you've got Audelai El, the slippery Clan-mother of Ambeth crowing about it, too!” Drakis seethed. “And she's got this village believing it now.”

“And I believe it,” Urulani said quietly.

Silence fell in the room.

“No, Urulani, you don't understand,” Drakis said, trying to rein in his temper. “This whole prophecy nonsense has nothing to do with . . .”

“I believe it,” Urulani said, standing up. “I was there today. I saw the dragon bow down before you.”

“Please,” Drakis said with a weary sigh. “That's not what happened.”

“I saw one of the dragons try to attack you,” Urulani continued. “The great one protected you from him and then bowed down to you.”

“No, that's not what happened,” Drakis said, his anger spent. “Abream—the gray dragon—it was his brood-brother that we killed at the fold portal. He only wanted revenge for his brood-brother's death. Pharis was just keeping me alive so that I could . . .”

Drakis stopped speaking.

Ethis pushed himself away from the corner. “How is it that our friend Drakis knows the
names
of the dragons who came calling today?”

Drakis looked away.

“Indeed,” Ethis continued. “How is it that friend Drakis even knows the kinship of these monsters?”

“Because I spoke with them,” Drakis said, still looking away.

“Spoke with them?” Ethis pressed, moving around so he could look into the human's face. “And how is it that this ordinary man, who claims to have no important destiny, can speak with dragons?”

“I don't know,” Drakis shrugged. “It has something to do with the Dragon Song. I heard it when the dragons came—all vague and rhythmic and frankly not making much sense. It was only after I touched the creature's horn that . . .”

“Go on,” Ethis urged, an insistent, commanding tone underlying his voice.

“It was as though both the dragon and I went to a completely different place,” Drakis said. “I can't really explain it except that it was beautiful and quiet. I could still see the town around us but it was different—perfect, somehow. They weren't the broken down, temporary buildings the town is made of but elegant and shining. Even that linen shop on the corner was, I don't know, a
perfect
linen shop.”

“And . . .” Ethis urged.

“Well, in this place there was only this dragon and myself, and I could suddenly understand what he was saying.” Drakis' gaze fixed far beyond the walls of the room. “He told me his name was Pharis, Prince of the Eastern Sky. He apologized for Abream and introduced Marush—the green-and-yellow dragon. He said they were glad to have found me in time.”

The large eyebrows of the dwarf went up. “In time? In time for what?”

“He said that Queen Hesthia was looking for us and that it was best that he had found us first,” Drakis answered. “I took it from him that there were a number of dragons who were upset about her rule. Many of them suspect that she came into power only because the drought of magic weakened all dragons and that she would do anything to prevent us from restoring Aether to the land.”

“Is it possible?” Jugar said, barely hoping for the answer. “Could the Aether Wells of Armethia flow once more?”

“According to Pharis, that's what this Queen of Dragons fears,” Drakis said. “It was the loss of Aether that caused the Citadels to fall and allowed the elves and their armies to lay waste to the entire kingdom. The dragons believe that it was the humans—who were in control of the Citadels—that caused the Aether to fail and who broke their vows with all dragonkind.”

“And, according to the Far-runners, the humans believe that it was the dragons who broke their vows,” Ethis said, his face forced into the semblance of a thoughtful frown. “Neither seems to know what happened.”

“Pharis would like us to find out,” Drakis said.

“How?” Urulani asked.

“He said that we would be going down the river,” Drakis frowned. “There we would find Chelesta—the city of the lost Citadels. There, he said, we would find the truth.”

“Audelai El has already offered to outfit a journey,” Ethis said. “Supplies, boats . . . even a guide.”

“If we could restore magic to the land,” Jugar said, his eyes shining, “then we could use the fold again. We could get home, lad.”

Ethis nodded. “Even if we
don't
restore the Aether Wells . . . we'll be closer to home down the river than we are now.”

“It's perfect,” Drakis said, then shook his head. “There is something about it being all so perfect that feels wrong to me . . .”

Mala stepped forward, taking Drakis by the arm.

It was Urulani who looked away.

“You promised me, Drakis,” Mala said, looking up into his face. “This is my way home.”

B
Y THE MORNING of the third day, everything had been quite neatly arranged.

The entire village had turned out along Quabet Road and along the boat landing shoreline. The bridge that crossed the River Havnis between Abratias Way and the tannery buildings on the south side of the river was packed so tightly with people that the Lyric fretted over one of the children at the railing being pushed off. Exuberance was in the air. The Hunt-Runners and the Grass-walkers had remained within the stockade walls this morning, occasionally breaking out in songs of praise or wild cheers whenever one of the members of Drakis' expedition to the Citadels of Light glanced up from securing the provisions on their boats.

Drakis tried to look up as little as possible.

“Are we ready?” Ethis asked with frustration in his voice as he walked quickly up to stand beside Drakis. In all his confused memories, the human Impress Warrior could not recall the chimerian sounding so impatient.

“Nearly,” Drakis answered, jerking his head toward Urulani on his left. “Our Lady Captain rearranged the supplies twice in these first two boats. They're both secure. She's repacking the third boat now. Once that's done, we should be ready to leave.”

“Not soon enough,” Ethis said, clearing this throat. “The dwarf is getting set to make a speech.”

“Oh, not now!” Drakis groaned, throwing the end of the braided rope violently against the hull of the boat.

A short way inland from the river's shore, Jugar leaned on a crutch he had fashioned for himself. Mala stood next to him, fidgeting and uncomfortable. She had tried to help tie down the supplies in the second boat, but Urulani had chased her away with harsh and occasionally colorful words expressing her less than approving opinion of Mala's efforts at rope handling. On the other side of the dwarf stood the Lyric, her face held high and a look of haughty condescension on her features. Her hand rested on the shoulder of the dwarf as though he were speaking for her. The dwarf had found, borrowed, or stolen a bright red strip of cloth, which he had tied around his waist. The colors of the rest of Jugar's clothing had become muted and stained over the course of their long road, but Drakis was suddenly reminded of the outrageous costume Jugar had worn when he first encountered him in the depths of the dwarven halls seemingly a lifetime ago.

“Our good friends of Ambeth,” Jugar shouted, and the cheers of the crowd forced him to pause as he flashed a broad, gap-toothed smile.

“Do you think he's ready to leave?” Ethis could barely be heard over the noise.

“Him? With this kind of audience?” Drakis shouted back. “We'll be fortunate if he's ready by next month!”

Jugar held up one hand to quiet the crowd, but it took nearly a minute for them to still enough for him to feel confident that his words would be heard. “On behalf of myself and my companions on this perilous quest, I wish to offer to the good citizens of Ambeth—heirs to the greatness of all Drakosia which is that hidden knowledge of the ancients and the glory of which is prophesied to return and bless you, this valiant people—it is to you that we offer our grateful hearts, our unwavering devotion, and a pledge of the might of our strength and steel!”

A roar erupted from the assembled townsfolk.

Drakis rolled his eyes just as Urulani hurried up to him at the second boat.

“If only he'd broken his jaw instead of his leg,” Urulani grumbled.

Drakis couldn't hear her over the din. “What?”

Urulani just shook her head then continued as the applause started to die down again. “The weight in that last boat is now more even and I've secured everything. It will float level now and that should help if we run into any shallows. Most of the supplies are in that third boat. We'll tie the boats together once they're all launched. I'll pilot that last boat at the back of the string while that local whelp . . . hey, where's our boy-guide?”

“Ishander?” Drakis frowned. “I haven't seen him.”

“Do you think he's going to join us,” Urulani asked with a dismissive sniff, “or does he plan on just telling us where to go?”

Drakis raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at Urulani. “Is something troubling you?”

Urulani glared back at Drakis, her dark eyes suddenly daring him to look away. “I am a sea raider of the Sondau! I ride the waves of vast seas and two oceans! I speak and at my word warships steer into the face of storms! Coastal towns in Nordesia dare only whisper my name . . . and I am now captain of a raft full of fruit waiting on a dwarf who is short on stature and long on wind!”

The sound of the crowd had died down sufficiently for Jugar to continue. “We seek the Citadels of Light—those great and terrible places of the ancients—and there we will brave the dangers of its cursed streets and doomed towers! There, on behalf of you, good friends, we shall . . . we shall . . .”

The dwarf faltered in his speech. The Lyric, her hand still resting on Jugar's shoulder, bent down and whispered into his ear.