Citadels of the Lost (27 page)

“I told them Pellender had returned it to me,” the Clan-mother said, smiling at her own cleverness. “None of them suspect the truth.”

“You have done well, Audelai El,” the dragon responded.

“It was the only way to keep everyone safe,” the Clan-mother replied. “You said so yourself. All Ambeth was in danger from the Dragon Queen had we let them remain. Hestia would have discovered them here and everything would have been undone! The dragons under her sway would have destroyed us all.”

“She is a treacherous Queen,” Pharis hissed. “She must not learn where Drakis and his companions have gone, or she will hunt them.”

“The villagers know they have been here, but I have taught them not to trust the Dragon Queen,” Audelai El said confidently. She was enjoying the perfect smell of the flowers in their perfect rows. “They flee from all dragonkind, so their coming will remain between us and the dragons in your company.”

“For a while,” Pharis said. “But these . . . heroes . . . Hestia is seeking them, and it is only a matter of time before she discovers them. She fears what they may learn. She fears what they may do . . . or undo.”

“I do not understand you,” Audelai El said, doubt playing at the edge of her mind.

“You need not worry. You have fulfilled your bargain,” Pharis replied, flicking the tips of his enormous leathery wings in his pleasure.

“Then you will keep my village safe from Hestia's wrath?” Audelai El prompted.

“It shall be as I promised,” Pharis said.

“And the heroes . . . our Far-runner and the others?” Audelai El continued. “You will watch over them on this journey until the very end?”

Pharis smiled. “Until the very end.”

Pharis hated the temple, and his reasons were deeper than those of the Clan-mother. So it was that Marush—the yellow-green dragon of Pharis' flight—having learned of Pharis' rendezvous the previous day, felt perfectly safe in quietly sliding into the temple ruins undetected several hours in advance. The temple would mask his presence even from Pharis, so he waited with patience honed over centuries.

He watched Audelai El touch the horn of Pharis. Once the bond was made, however, it was easier for Marush to overhear the conversation between them. The bond is a loud thing, to a dragon's understanding, for the dragons themselves communicate more by their thoughts than through their restricted voices.

For dragonkind this is easy, but with humans it is far more difficult; it requires the dragon to have more control in the bond, and often it results in the mental equivalent of shouting. Indeed, it even requires the human to physically touch the dragon's horn for a proper bond to be made: otherwise humans tend to hear only the subconscious patterns of dragon thoughts—what humans often refer to as Dragon Song. It was in no small part the concerted effort to project these thoughts that called this Drakis human from the southern lands. It is what has always called humans to dragonkind—but understanding thoughts of humans comes only through the bond with touch.

Once made, however, the loud mental exchange between dragons and humans can be overheard by other dragons—especially those with talent.

Like Marush.

It was because of his talent and through long and careful effort that he became accepted among the Dragons of the Eastern Skies and, in time, became the companion of Pharis the Prince of the East. And now, as was his duty and the purpose of all the plans long laid, he overheard the conversation between Audelai El and this ancient dragon, their bargain, and the story of this Drakis-human.

All that was left was for Marush to patiently wait for Pharis to leave and then find a way of telling it to Hestia, his Dragon Queen.

S
OEN PUSHED HIS WAY forward between the pilgrims. He knew his opportunity to get close to the brilliantly lit figure at the crest of the small hill was rapidly ending as the throngs of humans, manticores, and other races converged on the spot.

Soen's black, featureless eyes squinted against the dazzling rays darting through the air, but he had barely advanced a few steps before he realized that it was
his
staff that he was approaching.

Some human was wielding his own Matei staff!

Soen bared his sharp teeth in a grimace, shoving his way through the crowd. That he had lost his staff among the strange phantoms in the surrounding fog was embarrassing enough.

But to have it retrieved and
used
by a human was a humiliation beyond tolerance.

The elf could now see several other figures standing about the human; the unmistakable silhouette of a manticore and several elves. There appeared to also be at least one chimerian among them, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see them through the crowd of pilgrims pressing toward the light, blocking his way. In moments, Soen was in the surging mass of the multitude, pressed on all sides by the desperate procession. The massive throng became a river of creatures, taking on a motion of their own. Soen was swept up by them, being pushed forward involuntarily now toward the hilltop.

Soen drew in a fierce breath, the nostrils of his pointed nose flaring.

He recognized the human wielding his staff. He had seemed such an insignificant creature, barely worthy of his notice when he met him on the Panaris Road just the day before—the mad Proxi of the insignificant Captain Shuchai.

He remembered the human's name . . .

Braun.

Braun turned his broad, swarthy face, looked directly at Soen across the immense crowd, and smiled. The stocky man then turned with the staff, planting its tip into a crumbling set of foundation stones behind him.

The light of the staff flared, and to Soen's astonishment the bright glow of a fold erupted above the stones. The glow at its edges was a deep blue color and spherical. That it was a fold was unquestionable since he could see an altered and shimmering landscape beyond it, but the form of it was unlike anything he had seen before. Pushing back the surrounding fog, it grew in size, expanding beyond its pedestal base.

Its existence was impossible.

Soen searched his memory for some explanation. Folds had to be established between two points—it was a fundamental law of the Aether governing their construction—so these stones must have been linked to another location in the past. If a fold had been established here on the Shrouded Plain, it must have predated the War of Desolation. That conflict had been largely expurgated from the histories of the elves. It was the first time the Rhonas Legions had suffered a devastating loss in warfare and had been pushed back from their objective of conquest on the borders of Nordesia. Not that the Legions left the land quietly. There were stories told of human settlements cut off from their armies on the Mistral Peninsula who fled southward along the Mournful Mountains only to be surrounded by the retreating Legions at Panaris. Panaris itself had been a beautiful plains city but it was an easy place for the retreating elven Legions to exact revenge for their frustration. Their cold and merciless destruction of that city had resulted in the cursed plain where not even elves cared to conquer.

The refugees that fled here were said to have traveled the Mournful Road but all the writings Soen recalled referred to it as a physical road. Now, perhaps, he believed they were wrong: could this be the Mournful Road—a human-built fold still functioning? If that were true, then he would have to place the establishment of this fold over four hundred years ago—predating the elven use of Aether by nearly a hundred and fifty years. That it was a fold supported by Aether magic was obvious as this human Proxi was powering the fold using his own Matei staff.

His own staff, Soen fumed.

The crowd flowed toward the still opening fold, urged onward by the manticore Grahn Aur. Soen forced himself forward and across the flow of the onrushing mob, trying desperately to reach Braun and his staff. He glanced up and caught his breath. The sphere of the ancient fold had continued to expand, the glowing wall of its magic rushing over Soen and the pilgrims crowded around him.

Now inside the haze of the fold, Soen had nearly reached Braun. The elves around him had stopped with their arms extended toward the staff as Grahn Aur stood with his eyes fixed on Braun, his arms crossed.

Vendis was standing next to him, his blank face turned toward Soen.

The renegade Iblisi broke free of the crowd, lunging toward Braun and his staff.

The fold collapsed.

Soen fell heavily against the ground, his long hands locked around his
Matei
staff. Within a beat of his heart, he had pushed himself up from the ground into a combat stance, his staff swung level in his grip and pointed alternately in rapid succession at Braun, the Grahn Aur and Vendis. His arm was still numb from his encounter with the Drakis Shade, and Soen gritted his sharp teeth, trying to steady the top of his
Matei
staff as it wavered slightly.

The Grahn Aur turned slowly to face Soen.

The world paused in silence to hold its breath.

Soen became aware that the chill of the Shrouded Plain had vanished. Warm sunlight beat down upon his back and the world was suddenly bright. He stood upon a crumbling foundation of stones as he had moments before, but the air was vastly different.

He could smell the seashore. He heard the sound of birds cawing in the distance.

A roaring cheer erupted all around him, the sound startling him in its complete shattering of the silence that had reigned moments before. The thunderous noise rolled across the landscape, shaking his bones with its deep resonance. He had heard such sounds in the great arena in Rhonas and once on the field of battle.

It was the sound of triumph.

It was the sound of validation.

Soen stood rock still, his staff shifting quickly from target to target on the platform.

It was Vendis who stepped toward him, raising his four arms high above his head, urging the pilgrims to quiet.

Soen shifted his staff, aiming it at the center of the chimerian's body mass, rehearsing in his mind the way to separate Vendis' parts most effectively. The feeling was returning to his arm and with it the nearly overwhelming enormity of the pain from the touch of the Shade. Soen pushed it aside in his mind, concentrating on Vendis.

The crowd closest to the platform saw Vendis and grew quiet. An anticipatory silence radiated back across the multitude.

Soen fingered his staff, and a chill deeper than the Shade's touch filled his mind.

There was no Aether remaining in his staff.

The power of its magic had been completely drained.

Vendis addressed the surrounding multitude in a loud, clear voice. It carried across the mass of silent pilgrims straining to hear his words.

“We have been tried in our pilgrimage!” Vendis shouted, his arms still raised. “The Legions of Rhonas have sought our destruction! We have followed the Grahn Aur northward to find the man of prophecy—he who will free us once more! And Drakis has brought to us this renegade elf—an enemy of our enemies—who has turned his back on his vile nation and, through the power of his magic delivered us this day from the Shades of the Panaris Follys!”

Vendis turned to face the elven Inquisitor, pointing at him with both of his left arms. “I give you the Hero of the Shrouded Pilgrimage . . . the one who has defied Rhonas and saved us this day from its mighty Legions . . .”

Soen's hand still shook. Braun stood next to the Grahn Aur, beaming at him. The manticore, too, was watching him although Soen could not be certain whether his gaze was cautious or predatory.

Vendis shaped his face into a grin as he spoke, turning to face the still shaking elf. “I give you . . . Soen Tjen-rei!