Citadels of the Lost (3 page)

“No, of course not,” Jugar huffed, folding his thick arms across his chest. “But we
are
at least a hundred leagues farther north than where we started out the evening—and likely well over two hundred leagues north of the coast.”

“So you
do
know where we are?” Drakis asked.

“I do NOT know where we are!” Jugar roared, then cried out in agony.

“You insist on getting upset like that, dwarf,” Urulani said, “and you'll make that leg worse.”

Jugar growled through gritted teeth, closed his eyes, and continued with all the calm he could manage. “I have a general idea where we are because of the mountains and the stars overhead . . .”

Drakis glanced up. He could not see a single star through the smoky haze.

“. . . but as to the specifics of this cursed land, none of us has a worthy map by which we might guide our way. All that's left is legends and stories and that's no way to set your compass, boy. When Ethis here got it into his head to close the portal he burned our bridge behind us, so to speak.”

“And you would have preferred we all be eaten, I suppose,” Ethis said through a false smile.

“Dragons don't eat people!” Jugar grumbled.

“I don't know as Yithri would agree,” Ethis observed coolly.

“It spit him right back out, didn't it?” Jugar yelled then sat back quickly once again as pain shot up his leg.

“Both of you just shut up,” Drakis barked. His mind was still reeling from the day and this ridiculous argument was rubbing his nerves raw. “So how do we get back?”

“We don't,” Urulani said as she stood up.

“We don't?”

“Well, not the way we came, anyway,” Urulani sighed. “And not right away. If what the dwarf says is true—and I'll admit that is a big if—then we're weeks from getting back to where the ship is now. We'd have to cross those mountains to get there which, it seems, are filled with what I would think are very angry dragons right now. I left the ship with Ganja and Dakran. Kendai knows what happened to us and about our plan to use the fold.”

“If he survived, “Ethis pointed out.

“They'll be looking for our return,” Urulani corrected the chimerian. “They will wait for us.”

“And just how long will they wait?” Ethis asked.

“As long as it takes,” Urulani said through a tightened jaw.

“Two weeks? Three?” Ethis speculated. “We still could not reach them in such a short time.”

“Then what about the portal itself?” Drakis asked. “Can't we bring it back—make it work again? I seem to remember a dwarf who has demonstrated some rather impressive powers of his own in that regard lately.”

Jugar turned his head away. “It doesn't work that way, lad.”

“Enlighten me,” Drakis said, and his tone made it clear that this was not a request.

Jugar looked up. “There are basically two kinds of magic—Aer and Aether. Aer magic is that of nature: it comes from the ground, the rocks, the trees, the water, and the wind. It is within each of us, actually. The stories of its origins among the dwarves are some of the oldest and most fascinating tales ever told either under the mountain or above it. It all began with Thel Gorfson who . . .”

Drakis reached forward and knocked several times on the dwarf's head.

“Ouch! Well, yes, then . . . the point is that Aer magic wells up naturally from the ground. It is a relatively weak force and must be gathered to the wizard over time. The wizard's job is then to retain the Aer magic, cultivate it within himself, and add to it as time passes. Aer wizards absorb the power of the world slowly and naturally then channel that power to their wills.”

“I'm guessing that's not the case with Aether magic?” Drakis replied.

“Aether magic . . .” Jugar began.

“Aether magic is a higher form of magic,” Ethis answered. “It is built on the foundations of Aer magic but it uses mystic technologies—like the crystals of the Aether Wells—to pull the power of Aer out of the world rather than wait for it to come naturally. It is more powerful, more focused in some ways but also more fragile because of its dependence on physical devices. Still, that didn't stop the dwarves from dabbling in it, too, did it?”

Jugar was silent.

“That ‘Heart of Aer' that you keep avoiding talking about,” Ethis said, his eyes fixed on the dwarf. “The vaunted Nine Kingdoms who had built their nation on the power of Aer had come at last to dabbling in Aether, had they not?”

“The point is,” Jugar said suddenly, “that I can no more activate that portal than . . . than . . .”

“Float?” Urulani suggested.

“Ye are a vicious woman, Urulani,” the dwarf grumbled.

Drakis threw his hands up in disgust. “So that means we have to find another way back.”

“No, what this means,” Ethis responded, “is that we have to find shelter and food. That is the first priority. We have the supplies we brought with us in our packs but those were intended to last us through two or three days. With rationing we can extend that, of course, but that won't be nearly enough time to make our way back to Urulani's ship. I have never been in this territory or anything remotely like it and I doubt that any of the rest of you have either. Palm trees were new to you just a few weeks ago, Drakis. We'll never survive several weeks' march anywhere until we figure out what we can eat and drink and reasonably anticipate the dangers of the way.”

“So you want us to just set up camp here and wait?” Drakis fumed. He did not trust Ethis. The blank face of the chimerian had fooled him too many times and his ability to mimic other people's forms with perfection had cost him more dearly than he cared to admit. Ethis was playing his own game, and until Drakis completely understood what that game was, he would remain on his guard against his former comrade in arms.

“I am saying that it would be better if we didn't just charge off into the brush without preparing for it,” Ethis said. “You insisted on bringing both Mala and the Lyric with us on our little expedition to the God's Wall because you were so keen on proving that dragons did not exist and that you were not the fated one of the prophecies. Well, here we are, Drakis . . . the dragons most definitely
do
exist. If you have any further doubts to express then perhaps you and I can go right over there together and kick that huge dead head of that nonexistent . . .”

Ethis stopped short.

“Where is it?” Ethis said, blinking.

Drakis turned, then, without thinking, drew his sword.

“Where did it go?” Jugar breathed.

“They took it.”

Everyone turned to face the Lyric.

The jaw of her thin, pale face was set, her eyes determinedly fixed on the space before the broken altar. She strode determinedly across the plaza, her body leaning forward and her arms held slightly away from her body. Drakis, Ethis, and Urulani fell in behind her.

“Who is she today?” Ethis said sotto voce toward Urulani.

“I haven't a clue,” she answered back.

“Who I am is unimportant,” the Lyric answered, her voice more husky than usual and her demeanor disdainful of her followers. She stopped next to the altar, pointing at the ground. “See the blood trail? They came from the edge of the stones, out of the jungle with worthy silence. They dispatched the one you called Kwarae without a sound . . .”

“Kwarae!” Urulani called out. “Where is Kwarae?”

“He was right over there,” Drakis pointed toward the side of the plaza opposite the burning jungle. “He should be . . . Look!”

The massive bloody trail led directly to where Kwarae was expected to stand his watch. There was no Kwarae.

“They took the head with them,” the Lyric said as she knelt next to the bloodstained swath.

Ethis drew in a deep breath, pointing with several of his hands at once. “Their footprints, Drakis. There are five toes but look how long—more like claws. And how many!”

The Lyric stood up suddenly and ran back across the plaza to where the dwarf still sat.

Drakis and Ethis were just getting back to the dwarf when they heard him cry out in pain. The Lyric had stopped only momentarily before she reached down and with unexpected strength rolled the dwarf over facedown against the ground.

“What are ye doing there, lass!” Jugar howled. “Oh, please stop! Will someone stop her?”

The Lyric placed one of her feet firmly against the dwarf's rump, then, grabbing his broken leg with both hands, she pulled it out straight. The bone set with a snapping sound, and the Lyric carefully laid the leg back flat against the ground.

“Help me turn him over!” the Lyric commanded.

Urulani and Drakis both bent down as the Lyric held the leg, rotating the dwarf onto his back.

“How are you,” Drakis asked.

“Oh, you know, I'm feeling rather . . . not much . . .”

The dwarf smiled slightly and passed out.

The Lyric stood up, pointing to Urulani. “Splint that now and bind it well. Have everyone stay close, and we'll be better for keeping near the fire tonight.”

“What did you see, Lyric?” Ethis asked quietly.

“They came for the meat,” the Lyric said in a tone that dared anyone to contradict her. “There will be enough to keep them through the night. I do not think they will stomach daylight. If we are still here by first light, we should leave this place and go as far as we can, our broken dwarf permitting.”

“Go?” Drakis was astonished. “Go where?”

“Down the ancient road,” the Lyric replied as though the answer were obvious. “We must find a safe place to hide . . . a place where we can protect ourselves.”

“Why?” Mala asked quietly as she, too, joined the closely gathered group.

“Because they are hunters,” the Lyric replied, “like me.”

I
T WAS BARELY A ROAD. Grasses and vines choked their way across what remained of its surface, the fitted stones occasionally giving way altogether to the thick foliage. The sky was brightening with the dawn as they hurriedly picked their way between islands of fitted stone, broken pillars, and fragments of wall. The dwarf bounced along behind Ethis and Drakis as they dragged him on a litter, his loud complaints and cries ringing out with every jolt across the uneven ground.

It had been a long and difficult night, filled with noises from just beyond the edge of the great fire that the dragon's breath had ignited the evening before. None of them had slept except the Lyric—who snored quietly through the night. By the time dawn began to brighten the sky beyond the fire still burning furiously nearby, Drakis felt tired but he could still hear the words of his old commander ChuKang, urging him on . . .

So he got everyone moving.

The Lyric bounded ahead of them, scouting their path and urging them onward. “Quickly! Daylight is short and we've a long distance to cover!”

“How does she know that? Where are we even going?” Drakis said through his hard breaths. He was sweating profusely. Never had he been in a climate where the air itself was so thick and wet.

Ethis glanced around at the thick jungle that surrounded them. “They are out there, Drakis. They're following us.”

“I've seen nothing that would pass for shelter, let alone provide us any defense,” Jugar said, gripping his splint to relieve the pain of the nearly constant jostling. “If they catch us in the open . . .”

“Who? If
who
catches us in the open?” Drakis snapped as he pushed through a group of ferns only to trip over a pedestal fragment hiding beneath it. “Ouch! We can't fight what we can't see—and we don't even know what we're looking for!”

“Quiet, both of you,” Urulani said as she moved past them. She affected a deep calm, but her eyes were constantly shifting to peer into the long shadows of the forest around her. “You're scaring the women.”

Ahead of them, the Lyric stopped at the top of a small rise in the road. She climbed up onto a pile of stones from a fallen wall and pointed, the bright salmon color of the sunrise sky casting the lithe woman in a warm glow as she gestured.

Drakis followed Urulani and Ethis as they hurried to the top of the rise. They all reached the crest of the broken road and stopped.

Drakis caught his breath.

They were looking across a narrow valley. Here, the road they had been following joined a much broader thoroughfare that time and nature had not yet so completely erased. This wide avenue ran straight across the valley to the base of a long mesa that jutted out like a gigantic ship whose stone hull was sailing through the jungle sea below. Here and there along the top of the mesa Drakis could see a finger of brilliant white pierce the sky. It appeared to have once been a tower or the alabaster walls of a building that had all but been reclaimed by the relentless growth. The vertical cliff face was draped in vines hanging from the flat top of the mesa above it, but here and there Drakis caught a tantalizing glimpse of the city that once was. Delicate towers, walls, concourses, and gateways remained visible where they had been carved into the cliff face, transforming the stone of the ridge itself into what must have been a grand and imposing mixture of art and function. Near the end of the mesa to their right, a great tower rose up from the concourses, its ornate curved walls soaring up past the top of the mesa plateau, where it appeared to be broken off.

The great avenue rose slightly near the base of the cliff, as though reaching upward toward the carved city and its tower in the cliff wall. Drakis could see that the road extended directly into the cliff, where it continued into the darkness. But the causeway that had once lifted the great road had crumbled and in so doing had opened a great gap of rubble at the base of the sheer walls.