Citadels of the Lost (30 page)

“Nordesia?” Soen laughed. “You must be joking!”

“We have reason to believe they will shelter us and barter for supplies long enough for us to make the crossing and establish our own crops,” Vendis said. “They like the story of Drakis and would like to support us . . .”

“But . . .” Soen urged.

“But they need proof that this Drakis exists,” Vendis continued. “So, while they may not be willing to openly side with us, they
will
trade to outfit a ship for you, a crew, and provisions.”

“And just where is it that you want me to take this expedition?” Soen asked.

“You were tracking Belag before with the help of beacon stones,” Vendis said. “The ones that led you to follow Belag eastward out of Nothree.”

“Yes,” Soen sighed. “What of them?”

“I have since learned that they were dropped by someone in our company—a type of slave they called a
Seinar
,” Vendis continued. “The elves tell me that such a person is compelled to continue dropping those stones until the last three remain with them. Is this not so?”

“Yes, so far as it goes,” Soen answered. “The beacon stones do not work on the water.”

“But you could track them once they made shore again,” Vendis said.

Soen considered for a moment, continuing to turn the drained and powerless staff in his hands. The chimerian was right and it galled him. He needed the help of these delusional fanatics if he was ever to recover Drakis and sort out the quagmire he found himself in. The question for the elven Inquisitor was just how much deeper into this mess he would have to sink before finding his way back out.

“Yes, I could,” Soen said, turning to look at the chimerian. “But I would need the staff recharged before that would even be possible.”

“Which would require an Aether Well,” Vendis nodded. “You are an elf of tremendous talents, Soen. We can get you into Port Glorious. We can get you across the Straits of Erebus and into Drakosia. Belag said that was where Drakis was being called by the Dragon Song when he left. You get back onto land in Drakosia—and I've no doubt that you can take care of the rest from there.”

Soen considered again for a moment. Port Glorious was anything but what its name implied. He had never been there and from what he did know about it, had hoped never to go. The farthest northern outpost of the Rhonas Imperium, Port Glorious was little more than a collection of elven dwellings crammed within the walls of a fortress on the northern shore of Mistral Bay. No folds terminated there or anywhere within five hundred leagues of its gates. The port was supplied largely by sea via the occasional and entirely irregular arrival of Imperial ships from Port Dog or Shellsea. It was, above all, the place where the Emperor sent the most loyal of his citizens whose names he wished to forget.

“So your plan is to have me walk into an elven fortress, recharge my staff, sail across the straits to a different continent and just—‘find'—Drakis and bring him back?”

“Essentially . . . well, yes.”

“And if I were to kill him when I found him?”

“You need him alive—and you need us to get there and back again.”

“And what if I don't come back,” Soen said.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll come back,” Vendis said. “You're an elf of honor who will keep your bargain.”

Soen laughed. “You really don't know elves very well at all, do you?”

“Oh, I'm not worried about you remembering our deal,” Vendis said, his blank face contorting into a smile once again.

Soen restrained the urge to rearrange the chimerian's rubbery features. “Indeed, and why not?”

“Because,” Vendis said through his smile, “I'm going with you to make sure you don't forget. We should be ready to leave within three days' time—then there won't be a moment to lose after that.”

“Another well-thought-out scheme,” Soen said dryly, “Three weeks. One week to get there. Perhaps another week to get back. That leaves us an entire week of our own to find Drakis on a different continent.”

Soen looked across the vast assembly around them and wondered if he were looking at the dead who had not yet realized that they were already doomed.

“You had better hope that Drakis likes the seashore,” Soen said.

J
UGAR REACHED DOWN with his crutch as he lay in the boat, his back against the reed side, and tried desperately to get at the spot that itched underneath the splint on his leg. He did not dare sit up higher in the little craft on the planks lashed as benches across the two sides of the boat as the others used them. Being aboard Urulani's ship had been hazardous enough but these small boats were outright dangerous in his mind. They felt as though they would overturn at a mere suggestion. His temper was not helped by the fact that water had come into the boat over the sides when he and the chimerian boarded from the little spit of an island where they had made camp the night before. Ishander seemed to know where the islands were on the river and had stated a clear preference for spending the night in the middle of the river rather than on either of its shores—a suggestion with which the dwarf heartily agreed. But the water in the bottom of the boat was now sloshing most uncomfortably around his buttocks, renewing his discomfort with every rock of the boat.

How had he, Jugar, come to this? He had seen the advantage clearly enough on the verge of Vestasia. All he had to do was promote this Drakis human as the great one of the prophecy, convince enough gullible people that it was so, and allow the chaos to happen without drawing any further attention to himself. He relished the idea of keeping himself as anonymous as possible in all of this because, as the old dwarven saying went, vengeance is forged best on the heels of astonishment. They had come all the way to ancient Drakosia on that Urulani woman's boat, but Jugar had figured it would all add to the myth, so he endured the voyage. Then they would come to the God's Wall—if they found it at all—poke about, and return to Nordesia or Vestasia or pick any other country ending with an “a” and Jugar could pick up the tale again—adding a wonderful bit about returning from the ancient land of the humans as the prophecies had clearly foretold.

But then everything went terribly wrong; they had actually
found
dragons.

Jugar frowned as water sloshed up his rump again.

It was Ethis the chimerian who had put him in this situation and ruined all his lovely plans.

Jugar looked up at the chimerian, who knelt in the front of the boat, leaning against the upturned curve of the reed prow. They were paired again in the middle boat. Drakis sat in the front with Mala and their Far-runner guide—a whelp of a boy whom Jugar suspected had plans of his own. Behind them in the trailing boat, Urulani stood at the stern while the Lyric sang an endless series of nonsensical songs. These seemed to make the warrior woman's features more dour than usual. Shouting between the boats was discouraged, and no doubt with good cause, as there was far too much movement among the shadows of both riverbanks for the dwarf's liking.

The water splashed beneath him again.

It was just his run of luck, Jugar decided, to be stuck in this boat with the least talkative member of their not all that merry band.

This was the final torture for Jugar. He was gregarious, even for a dwarf. He loved the sound of his own voice and believed unabashedly that his stories, tales, anecdotes, and views on any subject were far more interesting and engaging than anyone else could offer. Moreover he loved conversations—even if they tended to be a bit one-sided—and the challenge of discussion and exploring ideas.

The silence was as annoying as the water he sat in.

Jugar could stand it no longer.

“So . . . Ethis . . .”

The chimerian turned around expectantly.

Jugar blew out a breath and looked away.

“Yes, what is it?” Ethis asked.

“Oh, nothing, really, I just . . .”

The chimerian turned his featureless face toward the dwarf, holding to both sides of the river craft with two of his arms and folding the remaining arms across his chest. “Did you have a question?”

“No . . . Yes . . . I was just wondering . . .”

“Go on.”

“Did you know there was a time when chimerians and dwarves were allies?” Jugar blurted out.

Ethis blinked. “That would have been a long time ago, indeed, as I recall.”

“It was back in the Age of Frost, when the world was young and the stones of the mountains were fresh,” Jugar said.

“You're talking about the Omrash-Dehai,” Ethis replied, himself slipping down off the prow to also sit in the bottom of the boat.

Jugar suspected Ethis' move was a conscious effort on the part of the chimerian to establish rapport with him as they spoke but pushed his suspicions down for the time being. “Yes, I believe that was the name. It was said by the lore-keepers to be a time of peace.”

“The name means ‘The Peace of Reasoned Thought' in the chimerian ancient tongue,” Ethis observed. “It is revered in our nation with days of memorial observance.”

“Indeed?” Jugar said, with honest interest. “I was unaware that the Ephindrians celebrated anything at all.”

Ethis pulled his head back slightly. “Our nation is our family.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jugar said, waving his hand. “My nation
was
my family, but now both appear to be gone, do they not? I know better than to ask a chimerian what happens behind the walls of his nation. Ephindria is a closed book, sealed and hidden away from the prying eyes of the rest of us. You chimerians are found nearly everywhere throughout the Rhonas Empire, and yet the rest of us know practically nothing about you. I really do not understand you or your people, Ethis. You watched the rest of the world bleed before the injustice of the elven dictators and said nothing—and by all appearances did nothing. Is it that you are afraid or that you do not care?”

Ethis kept his silence.

“Please, Ethis,” Jugar urged. “Your actions, noble as they may have seemed to you at the time, stranded us in this forgotten end of existence. You broke my leg, and I've lost the Heart of Aer . . .” Jugar's voice caught at its mention. “You could at least give me some
reason
that would console me beyond your nation being your family.”

“It is . . . it is not to be discussed with outsiders,” Ethis said slowly. “We have long been a people at one with each other . . .”

The boat began to rock more urgently.

Jugar sat up, his eyes wide. “What is that? What's going on?”

‘I don't know. The river is moving more rapidly,” Ethis said, his body twisting nearly completely around, as he called to the boat in front of them. “Drakis! What is it?”

Jugar's eyes followed the tether that linked the prow of their boat to the high stern of the reed boat in front of them. The Ambeth boy was still standing there but was working his river pole with more agitation than Jugar remembered seeing before.

Drakis appeared next to the youth, calling back across the water. “Our guide says we're coming up on a cascade.”

“A what?” Jugar shouted back.

“A cascade . . . fast, rough water and . . .” Drakis turned toward Ishander for a moment, engaging in an exchange which the dwarf could not hear before turning back to call across the water.” . . . And some falls. He's going to steer us toward the shore. We'll walk the boats down the edge of the river until we get past them.”

Jugar felt a twinge from his broken leg.
Just what I need,
he thought ruefully,
a nice long walk along a rocky bank of a treacherous river.
He reached down to adjust his splint, hoping that any change would alleviate the itch that still plagued him.

“Wait!” Ethis suddenly called out, pointing from the opposite side of the boat toward the nearing shore. “Drakis! Look!

Everyone on all three boats heard the chimerian's warning. All but the Lyric fixed their eyes on the riverbank.

It was moving.

Once, when Jugar was young, the dwarf had accidentally overturned a barrel of ground meal that his father had asked him to retrieve from their cellar. It turned out to be a fortunate mistake as cockroaches had made their way under the ill-fitted lid and had been feasting. The overturned keg caused the cockroaches to erupt from the barrel as a river of motion. Now, staring at the numberless shadows flowing between the trees with lightning speed, darting forward in the deep shade of the jungle canopy, Jugar was strongly reminded of those roaches once again.

“Drakoneti!” Ishander shouted, his voice suddenly higher than Jugar remembered it. The youth frantically began working his pole, pushing the lead boat away from the right-hand shore and toward the left.

The bank was beginning to slide past them faster and faster as the river gained speed. Whitecaps began peaking in the surface of the rough water, splashing over the sides of the reed boat.

Jugar arched his back, trying to get a better look down the river. He could see the river narrowing where it dropped down into a tight gorge.

The boat rocked suddenly against a wave, splashing water over the dwarf's face, blinding him. Jugar sat quickly back down in the boat, discovering that the water around him had grown considerably deeper.

“No!” Urulani's voice came from the boat trailing Jugar and Ethis. “That shore is crawling with them as well!”

Jugar craned around as best he could, water dripping from his beard and head. He drew his hand once again down his face, trying desperately to clear his eyes.