Citadels of the Lost (50 page)

“Can you believe it?” Jugar shouted joyously. “We're going home!”

Drakis threw his head back and released a cry of anguish that came from the great emptiness within him. It came again, the sound of his overwhelming loss ringing beneath the broken dome above.

And again . . .

And again . . .

And he knew that the sound of it would echo endlessly in his gutted soul.

V
ENDIS SAT ON THE FLOOR of his cage, the fingers of both pairs of his hands intertwined in front of him, his face a blank as he looked back at the Council of the Grahn Aur arrayed about him in Belag's tent.

Belag sat in front of the caged Vendis on an ornate throne of silver inlaid with jewels, liberated, it was said, from the command tent of the Rhonas Legions—the same Legions that had been trampled into the bloodied ground of Willow Vale. It had been presented to him by the Pajak of Krishu as a gift of honor, the rightful spoils the Pajak had taken from his victorious obliteration of the fleeing Cohorts of the Legion command.

The Pajak himself sat on his own throne to the right of the Grahn Aur. A number of jewels—also liberated from the seized elven possessions—had been hastily added to the gold embossing of the Pajak's throne by the goblin smithies so that it might shine more gloriously than that of the Grahn Aur. There had been some concern earlier in the day that the Pajak would, by nature of his fourfoot stature, have his head lower than that of the towering manticore Prophet of Drakis. The quick application of several soft pillows to the throne and four hastily carved blocks of wood set beneath the Pajak's throne had solved the crisis of diplomacy. Now the Pajak leaned forward, his long hands knitting together and his large eyes narrowed in anticipation of the traitor's judgment on the word of the elf, Soen Tjen-rei.

Soen himself stood casually to the left of the Grahn Aur, his arms folded across his chest. The rogue Iblisi's black eyes were fixed on the prisoner and impossible to read. Some who were in the tent would later describe it as malice, while others thought it more like amusement or satisfaction. Most, however, were correct in believing that Soen's look was a careful and deliberate study in conveying nothing at all. Soen again wore the robe of an Iblisi as everyone present—indeed, in the entire encampment—now knew that he was once of that Order. It was an awkward and uncomfortable position for Soen, who preferred to remain as anonymous as possible. He had hated being known at the Imperial Court and now he found himself in the same position in the court of the rebellion. Soen knew that fame brought with it many problems in his work but that it could also be used to his advantage . . . as it was at the present moment.

Braun, the human Proxi turned wizard, stood to the right of the Pajak. He now wore a robe that looked as though it had once belonged to an elven war-mage. Soen could still see the faint outlines of the original owner's House markings in the fabric from which they had been removed. He also held a Proxi staff in his hands, the steel point at its base polished to a bright shine for the occasion. The crystal in the staff's headpiece held a strange purple glow that Soen had never seen before. It was a color difficult to look upon.

Next to Braun stood Gradek, the manticore warrior now made Commander of the Armies. He had been a believer before the Battle of the Willow Vale but it was not until now that he had any real hope for their future. He held his head high with the pride of one who has passed beyond belief to conviction.

Seated beyond Gradek was Tsojai Acheran, the frail and nervous elf who had been brought to the council to represent the small elven contingent of converts and had been saddled with the responsibility of correspondence and intelligence. Soen believed Tsojai had no capabilities for either function. Tsojai had a deep-seated distrust of the renegade Iblisi that had not been diminished by presenting Vendis as a traitor. As far as Tsojai was concerned, they should
both
be in the cage. He sat as far from Soen as possible, while still being considered one of the council.

Neblik, the Hak'kaarin gnome, sat on his small rug to the left of Soen, taking in everything that was said and done. He would be spreading the story of this council to the rest of the encampment through his fellow gnomes as soon as the proceedings were finished. The goblin Doroganda sat beside the gnome, prepared as soon as the opportunity presented itself to condemn the chimerian to a number of different deaths she had devised for him.

Hegral stood guard behind the cage. He was a manticore of tremendous strength and courage but he also benefited from an important skill: Soen had taught him how to stun a chimerian long enough to kill him properly.

Beyond Hegral the tent was packed with representatives from as many of the different camps as could fit inside, and many more were gathered just outside. The question of how to deal with Vendis—or anyone who had betrayed the cause of Drakis—was of some debate among the members of the encampment. Some believed that faith in Drakis was a personal choice and that those who no longer believed should simply be banished from the community. Others believed that a rejection of Drakis was an attack on the faith and should be met with punishment. Betrayal of the faith to an enemy, they believed, should exact a swift and final punishment.

Everyone looked to the Grahn Aur's judgment of Vendis as a guide for their future.

And, at that moment, the Grahn Aur was looking at the caged Vendis.

The cage itself had been built to Soen's specifications. It was wrought of a woven lattice of iron rods with no opening between them more than three inches wide. These formed a large cube seven feet on a side with rings mounted to the exterior through which carrying rods could be inserted to transport both the cage and the prisoner inside. But it was the second cage built within the outer cage and suspended by rods at the corners to be positioned exactly one foot away from all the outer cage walls that secured the chimerian. This iron-woven box within a box was five feet on a side. To the humans it looked as though it would be an inhumanely cramped space, but Soen explained that the unusual physiology of the chimerian would allow him to contract with reasonable, if far from luxurious, comfort. Soen had further explained that the particular spacing of the bars and the one-foot interval between the outer and the inner box combined with the spacing of the woven sides would make it impossible for the chimerian to use his bendable talents to escape. A matching set of locked doors—also constructed of the same woven bars—allowed access from the outside through the outer cage into the inner cage. In all, the arrangement allowed for Vendis to see out of his cage and, more importantly, for those outside to keep an eye on Vendis within.

“Vendis, you have heard the statements given before this council,” Belag said in a voice that carried beyond the confines of the tent. Belag wore the ceremonial robes of his office as Grahn Aur. “Charges have been made against you—that you secretly aided the enemies of Drakis. That you aided the Legions of the Northern Fist and the Empire of Rhonas in following the course of our pilgrims through the wilderness, and that you colluded with them in an attempt to capture Drakis and deliver him to the Rhonas Empire as well as assisting them in their attempted destruction of the believers' armies and families. That you willfully detained a member of our followers . . .”

Vendis scoffed at this, shaking his head. This part of the charge was about Soen.

“. . . with the intention of delivering him into the hands of our enemies. What have you to say to us in this matter?”

Vendis stood up. “Well, quite a bit, actually.”

The Grahn Aur gestured for the chimerian to begin.

“Since I came among this people, I have come to know and accept the faith which had driven each of us to . . .”

“Oh, let's kill him and be done with it,” Doroganda chirped from the far end seat of the council.

“She makes a fine point,” said the Pajak at once. He had never seen a chimerian killed and would very much like to know how it was accomplished.

Belag held up his hand. “This is the first time our council has been forced to sit in judgment on one of our own. What we say and do here will echo down through our generations to come. We must deliberate properly, weigh the different points of view, and listen in earnest to his defense before we kill him.”

Soen coughed quickly rather than laugh.

“Has our judgment already been made?” asked Tsojai in his high-pitched voice. “Are his words to mean nothing in our ears? He was a trusted member of this council once. Is this the same fate that awaits us all should we be accused on such thin evidence as one person's charge?”

“You are right, of course,” Belag nodded “We must hear what he has to say before any judgment is made—please make note of that point, Neblik!”

“May I speak now?” Vendis asked.

“Of course,” Belag said with a wave of his enormous hand. “Please proceed.”

“As I was saying,” Vendis started again. “Since I came among this people, I have come to know and accept the faith which . . .”

“Grahn Aur!” A young manticore had burst into the tent, yelling excitedly as he pushed aside the spectators near the entrance. “Grahn Aur! I must find the Grahn Aur!”

“I am here, Jegak!” Belag stood with annoyance. “We are in the midst of council! What do you mean bursting in on our . . .”

“He is come!” Jegak shouted breathlessly. The young manticore's chest rose and fell rapidly from his exertions.

“Who?” Belag asked. “Who is come?”

It was then that they noticed the sound. It was a rising cheer, shouts and the bedlam of a thousand, thousands, tens of thousands of voices rising up from the encampment.

“Drakis!” the youth shouted. “Drakis is come!”

The Grahn Aur glanced sharply over at Soen whose own normally impassive face expressed surprise equal to Belag's own.

“How do you know it is Drakis, boy?” Belag demanded of the young manticore.

“Because he comes on
dragons!
” The boy was nearly faint from lack of breath but the excitement drove him on. “See for yourself, Grahn Aur! He comes on
dragons!
”

Belag rushed past the cage. The spectators in the tent were already pushing their way out the opening, many of them making their own exits. Soen rushed to follow on Belag's heels. The council rose at once, heedless of the complaints of the Pajak, who was forced to be the last of the throng to exit the tent.

The cheering beyond the tent walls washed over Vendis, who was left forgotten in his cage.

Forgotten but not entirely alone.

Braun remained.

Vendis gazed at the former Proxi from the center of his special cage. “And what of you? Are you not going out to greet this godlike human of the prophecy?”

Braun shrugged. “I've already met him.”

“You've . . . what?”

Braun stepped casually over toward the cage, pressing his grizzled face against the outer bars. “Don't you worry about a thing, Vendis. I have a great number of acquaintances. You wait here. I know just the person who can take care of you.”

They came from the north, from across the Straits of Erebus and over the waters of Mistral Bay. The names of the dragons—Marush of Drakis, Wanrah of Ethis, Pyrash the Patient of Jugar, Kyranish of Urulani and Ephranos of Karan the Lyric—each would be noted in chronicles made by the gnomes, told and retold throughout the encampment. How their wings shone in the sun of the bright sky, how the wind was carried beneath them as they landed on the shores of Willow Vale west of Glachold and the weeping joy that accompanied them as the companions of Drakis slid down the sides of each dragon's lowered neck to return again from their quest in the north as the prophecy had foretold.

Later they would learn of Ishander and the drakoneti, of the end of Pharis and how Ishander remained in his own land to help the drakoneti redeem the Lost Citadels of the North.

But on that day the story was told of Drakis dismounting from Marush, his face drawn and careworn from the journey and the trials of his quest. He stood beside his dragon as though his thoughts were elsewhere. The Grahn Aur stepped up to Drakis then, casting aside his ceremonial robes, and grasped him with great joy by both shoulders.

“You have returned,” said the Grahn Aur. “My friend, you are home!”

Drakis, it was written, offered no reply.