Citadels of the Lost (33 page)

Urulani's boat swung around the bend of the river.

The sight took her breath away.

Here the jungle had somehow been kept at bay. Perhaps it was because the stones that formed the foundations of the city's core were so closely fitted that the jungle had not been permitted to find purchase to pull them apart. Perhaps there was some other power at work here that held nature at bay. Whatever the reason, spread before them was a city of the ancients that was largely intact.

Three jetties still thrust out into the river, their fitted stones having lost their edges and crumbled into the river over the passage of time. Between the jetties, wide steps almost entirely obscured by moss rose from the water to a wide promenade that followed the curve of the river. There was a line of buildings—three or, perhaps, four stories tall—on the far side of the promenade, the faintest hint of diverse colors remaining on their cracked facades. This line of buildings was split by two tall towers, the tops of which were curved in tiers to tall peaks. One of the peaks had fallen, its stones lying in a pile of rubble at the base of the tower. Between the towers, however, Urulani could see a long open space running back from the river to a building that leaned heavily to the right. A painfully bright flash of reflected sunlight occasionally shot toward her from the walls.

“The fountain park was lined with museums, shops, and academies dedicated to the disciplines of music, dance, frescoes, sculpture, theater, and storytelling,” the Lyric continued in a calm, almost bored voice. “This reflected the primary exports of this city—its artwork and crafts—as well as its popularity as a vacation destination for families on holiday.”

Nothing moved in the city as the boats slid past. Drakis and Ethis were gesturing to Ishander to make landfall on the steps between the quays but Ishander emphatically shook his head no. He said something to the chimerian that ended the argument. There was something forbidden—or deadly—about the city.

“Music of the featured players changed each day on the promenade, the sounds falling delicately over the boats in the river—as did the laughter of children as they played in the water on the steps, inviting all who passed by to join in the celebrations.”

The air was growing oppressively humid. Dark clouds were gathering to the west, casting shadows over the city. The silence was unbearable.

“We invite you to return to Kesh Morain often,” the Lyric concluded as the city drifted out of sight behind them, the dark clouds blanketing the ruins and the first rumbles of thunder rolling down the waterway.

Urulani shivered suddenly in the oppressive heat.

“Why have you come, Urulani?”

The warrior woman turned instantly toward the voice addressing her. “What did you say?”

“I was just wondering why you have come,” Mala said, looking directly up at her. “What are you looking for? You didn't believe in Drakis when you first came looking for him in Vestasia, yet you came. You didn't believe in him when we escaped from Nothree but you brought him across the ocean to this continent and found the very dragons you didn't want to believe existed. So I was wondering why you came. Do you know what it is you are seeking?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Urulani said as she shook her head. “What is it that you want?”

Mala drew in a deep breath, considering her answer. “I want to find a home.”

“I had a home,” Urulani said, her dark eyes fixed on Mala as she spoke. “It was a beautiful and peaceful place until you came.”

“I thought so, too,” Mala answered quietly.

“And yet you brought those assassins into my home,” Urulani said, her anger barely contained.

“I could not choose to do otherwise,” Mala said.

“I will never forgive you for that,” Urulani breathed.

“No, you should not,” Mala said, turning away and gazing across the water toward the shore of the river as it drifted by. “No more than I can. So perhaps we are both looking for a home—or for a reason we should be deserving of a home.”

“I have no home,” Urulani said gruffly.

“Yes, you do,” Mala said. “We both do . . . we just have not found it yet.”

The rain broke over the river at once, a torrential downpour that seemed to draw a veil around them. It was so thick that Urulani could barely see that the boat only about a hundred feet in front of them was turning toward shore.

D
RAKIS PEERED INTO the gray torrent around him, rainwater coursing down through his hair. He wiped his hand over his face again and again trying to keep the water out of his eyes. The downpour was so heavy, however, that he was forced to open his mouth wide just to breathe.

“You're sure about this?” he called back.

“The Fordrim trade with my clan,” Ishander spoke over the noise of the rain as though he were stating the obvious. “This is where we will find our last chance for shelter. The women will need rest.”

Drakis turned to face forward again. He did not know about the women, but
he
certainly needed to stop and put his feet on land for a while. He had found the motion of this small boat entirely different from the
Cydron
and not much to his liking. He was feeling increasingly sick from its motion and desperately wanted to feel some stable ground beneath him.

“Can you see anything?” he asked the dwarf.

Jugar looked as pale as Drakis felt. “The eyesight of dwarves is, may I say, better than most creatures that grace our land and spectacular when compared to the narrower capabilities of humans with regard to a darkened space. It is said that dwarves see better in the dark than in the light—possibly because dwarves can actually see differences in temperature in the darkest of places well beyond the capabilities of humans to perceive.”

Drakis stared at the dwarf. “So . . . what do you see?”

“Not a thing,” the dwarf replied.

Drakis growled in exasperation and faced forward once again.

“It's this cursed rain!” Jugar complained. “It makes everything look the same.”

Light exploded off to his left, diffused by the clouds and rain, and outlined the dark silhouette of an imposing section of ruined wall. The ghostly, looming shape vanished almost the moment Drakis saw it as the light died. Booming thunder shivered the boat immediately. The rain, shaken from the clouds, fell with increased vigor around them.

“We're close to shore!” Drakis shouted. Instinctively, his hand went to the hilt of his sword. He glanced back down the length of the boat. “Be ready!”

Jugar sat in the bottom of the boat, drenched, and with his arms folded across his chest in indignation. Ethis showed him three of his empty palms while the fourth shook his empty scabbard.

Then Drakis remembered; both the dwarf's ax and the chimerian's blade had been lost to the river at the cascades.

“Well, think friendly thoughts,” Drakis muttered to himself and he reset the grip on his own blade.

Without warning, the keel of the reed boat slid heavily against the sand of the shoreline, causing Drakis and everyone else aboard the small craft to pitch forward. Drakis managed to grab the upturned prow and keep his footing under him, but only just. Then, with instincts born of his years of training as an Impress Warrior, Drakis leaped off the front of the boat, landing with both feet on the ground.

The sand was sodden beneath his feet. Drakis stepped forward at once up the shore and onto firmer ground. He heard Ethis' footfalls behind him followed shortly afterward by the crash and complaints of the women as their own boat collided with the shore.

The roar of the rain filled his ears. The ground beneath his feet had been cleared and was packed down with the rainwater running over it. He could make out patches of fitted stones much the same as he had seen in the roads of Ambeth—remnants of cobblestone roads long vanished. All else remained hidden behind the watery veil. Drakis paused for a time, uncertain how to proceed.

Lightning flashed again, twice in quick succession followed by a third bolt. With each came a moment's glimpse beyond the shrouding storm; the stark contours of gathered huts up a slight rise to their left, an ancient wall propped up to their right, and an old building ahead of them barely discernible at the edge of a flat pool bordering a wide field.

“Do you see anyone?” Drakis said, raising his voice to carry over the storm.

“No,” Ethis answered back, his own voice straining as well. “But look over at those huts . . . no, farther down. See those baskets piled near the door? Someone lived here and quite recently by the looks of it.”

Drakis nodded as he rubbed the water from his face again. He was soaked to the skin, his tunic clinging uncomfortably under his leather vest. He turned to look back toward the river. Mala and the Lyric had left the boat and were standing expectantly on the shore. Urulani was tying the bow of her boat off to a stone column next to the quay. Ishander was pulling his boat farther up onto the shore, aided by the fact that the dwarf could not stand another moment on the boat and was hobbling painfully away from the river's edge.

Ishander strutted up toward Drakis and Ethis, his chin held high. “The Fordrim hide from a Far-runner of the Ambeth! I will be generous and make no more demands upon them than we need for our journey!”

“Generous to whom?” Ethis said, folding his arms twice across his chest. “There's no one here.”

“There is someone here,” the Lyric blurted out so suddenly that it startled the human warrior. “He needs you, Drakis and he hasn't much time!”

“Mala, what is she talking about?” Drakis asked carefully.

Mala shook her head, uncertainty in her eyes.

The Lyric's countenance was strange. The rain had flattened her white hair down into straight strands around her face. Her eyes were wide open, however, her gaze shifting in wonder at the still buildings around her. “She was here, Drakis! Maybe she is here still . . .”

“Who?”

“He needs you . . . he's been looking for you for the longest time but you have to hurry.” The corners of her lips curled up in a faint smile. “There is someone here we need to see.”

“What we need is water and food so that we can go on,” Drakis said. “Losing that boat two days ago left us short of both. Ishander, is there any other place we might resupply?”

“No,” Ishander said. “This is the place where we may find food and water.”

Ethis looked up into the deluge falling around them. “I don't think water will be an issue.”

“Then perhaps you had best get to filling those water gourds in what remains of our boats as soon as you can,” Drakis replied testily. He hoped it was only the chimerian that was getting on his nerves. There was an indefinable quality about this place that upset him. “Ishander, who are we looking for?”

“We are looking for the Citadels of Light!” Ishander proclaimed.

“No,” Drakis said as he felt his patience fraying. Sometimes he thought Ishander's ego got in the way of his hearing. “Who do we need to barter with here for food?”

“Clan-mother—or Clan-father,” Ishander said although Drakis thought he saw uncertainty cross the youth's face for the first time. “It is much the same with all clans.”

“And just where do we find this clan-whoever,” Drakis asked.

“Clan leaders are hard to find sometimes . . . we ask the Fordrim!” the young man declared. “Those huts, over there.”

“Why is nothing moving?” Ethis asked.

“Maybe they don't like the rain?” Drakis suggested through his puzzled frown.

“I know that
I
don't,” Ethis replied.

“Just get filling those gourds.”

Drakis turned and followed Ishander up the slight rise toward the line of huts. The packed ground under his feet felt like clay and he slipped often while trying to make his way up the rain-washed slope. It was difficult finding good footing. Ishander stood at the top of the slight rise, both fists balled on his hips as he waited for the older human to catch up to him for a few moments and then, abandoning patience, the youth turned, stalking toward the dark, open doorway of the nearest hut and stepping confidently inside.

Drakis shook his head as he neared the top of the slick rise. He called out over the roar of the rain. “Ishander! Come back out of there.”

There was no response from the dark maw of the hut's doorway.

“Ishander?” Drakis called as he finally managed to crest the rise.

A high-pitched scream cut through the rain from within the hut. The young Far-runner suddenly exploded backward from the doorway in a panic of arms and legs. Ishander slipped on the muddy ground, falling flat on his back and sliding to a halt at Drakis' feet. He scrambled to get his arms behind him and his legs under him again but the slick ground worked against him. His eyes were fixed wide and his mouth gaping open as if preparing to scream again.

Drakis drew his sword in a single motion from its scabbard, facing the pitch-black doorway. He set his feet as best he could for the expected onslaught but nothing emerged from the darkness.

With a glance at the Far-runner still shivering at his feet, Drakis moved cautiously toward the hut. The rain continued its merciless assault around him, the sporadic flashes of lightning diffused above him.

Rubbing the water from his eyes one last time with his left hand, Drakis took a breath and stepped inside.

The darkness inside was almost complete. His eyes were having trouble adjusting to the deeper shadows. There were shapes in front of him; some on the ground and some sitting up. He opened his mouth to speak.