Song of the Dragon

“Why the summons, Drakis?” Belag was sullen and testy. The lost of his brother weighed heavily on the towering manticore.

Drakis stopped and took a deep breath. His eye was caught by the wet flapping of the Centurai’s battle flag from atop a tall pole planted angrily into the ground nearby; elven symbols intertwined around a pair of crossed swords. What had once seemed so bright and inspiring now looked tarnished and old.

He glanced around at the milling warriors all about him, then motioned Belag and the two chimera closer to him.

“We’re going home,” he said factually, keeping his voice low. “Se’Djinka has ordered us back to House Timuran. We have an hour to secure our gear, resupply the packs if you can, and get the dwarf ready for accounting at Hyperian Fold number four.”

“An hour?” Thuri scoffed.

“Drakis,” Ethis shrugged, “we can’t possibly get the entire Centurai ready to leave that soon. We’re still missing three Octia. We have heard that they came back from the dwarven halls, but they haven’t reported. .”

“They aren’t coming with us,” Drakis cut him off.

“What?”

“Only our Octian is going back right now,” Drakis said, his eyes blinking.

“But what about our loot?” Ethis said. “It has to be accounted and credited. . prepared for transport. .”

“Already done, it seems,” Drakis said

“Already? What about the crown. . did Jerakh get away with it?”

“I don’t know. All I was told is that all the prizes looted by every Octian of our Centurai have already been accounted, credited, and sent on to House Timuran.”

“Well. . well that’s more like it!” Thuri said, the semblance of a smile forming on the featureless face of the chimerian. “A great honor! Perhaps that throwing the Dwarven Crown from the throne did connect with Jerakh after all!”

“Whatever the reason,” Drakis said, clearing his throat, “we’re leaving right away. . and there will be no time for Devotions either. .”

“Not even at the Field Altar?” Thuri groaned. “I’m getting headaches. . I need Devotions!”

“There’s not enough time,” Drakis said emphatically. “Listen to me: We’ll get our Devotions soon enough and not from some weak Field Altar but straight from the House Altar itself.” He turned to the manticore standing next to him. “Belag, I need you to find Jerakh-he’s the Second Octian leader-and the two of you to round up the other Cohort leaders of the Centurai. Bring them here in the next half hour.”

Belag straightened, lifting his snout into the air. “Why should I?”

“Because I was third behind ChuKang and KriChan,” Drakis hung his thumbs from his belt. “They’re both dead, which now makes me the Centurai captain. That was true in battle, and it’s still true here. You are welcome to argue the point with Se’Djinka. I’m sure it would give him great pleasure to explain it to you.”

Belag’s lips curled, but by the slow slump of the manticore’s shoulders, Drakis knew he was still in charge. “Jerakh will be in charge of the Centurai after we’ve left; it will be his job to get them organized for transport over the next week-maybe twelve days depending on how crowded the Imperial Folds get. Every Cohort on the front is going to want to get home at the same time.”

“Except for the four of us?” Thuri’s voice was uncertain.

“I guess Lord Timuran must have really missed your face, Thuri,” Drakis spoke as lightly as he could manage. “He arranged for our immediate passage, and, from what I gather, the Myrdin-dai who are mastering the folds are none too happy about it. So get moving and you may be back in time for House Devotions tonight!”

Belag nodded once in deference to Drakis before turning to run between the throngs of warriors milling about, his large feet kicking clumps of mud up behind him. Ethis quickly began to douse the already nearly dead fire as Thuri collected several weapons from where they lay wrapped in an oilskin tarpaulin.

Drakis stood for a moment, uncertain as to what to do next. The damnable song had returned again. He tried to push it out of his mind with thoughts of returning to his beloved Mala.

“What about him?” Thuri said, nodding in the direction of the House Standard.

A waterlogged dwarf in outlandish costume sat with his back to the pole, his hands tied around it behind him. Water drizzled down from the leaden Timuran battle standard and directly onto Jugar’s once glorious hat. Now the dwarf’s entire outfit seemed to sag right along with him. The soaked brim flopped down over the creature’s eyes, making it impossible for him to see anything.

“Helloooo!” called the damp dwarf from under his badly sagging hat. “May I help you? I’d be delighted to direct you to the valuables, but there aren’t any here. They took them all this morning-only this sorry dwarf remains!”

Drakis huffed with irritation and strode over to where the dwarf sat in the mud. He reached down to yank the hat off the dwarf’s head, but a pool of water had gathered in its crown. As a result, the hat only came away after sending a sizable body of water splashing down on the miserable dwarf’s head.

“Sorry,” Drakis said.

The dwarf vigorously shook his head, spraying water about, which, given the conditions in the drenched field, made little difference. He blinked the water out of his eyes and then looked up. “Ah, Drakis! Splendid! As you can see, I’ve been working on a particularly remarkable escape trick for my new act. It’s not quite finished yet, but I’m hoping to have the little problems worked out before my next engagement. So, please tell me, my victorious friend, where have you put all that glorious treasure to which I so generously led you?”

Drakis shook his head then squatted down, wet dwarven hat still in hand. “You dwarves; I’ll never understand you! Here you are, tied up and sitting in the mud-a conquered slave of the Imperial Will-and all you want to know about is where we put some treasure that’s no longer yours?”

“Yes,” said the dwarf, a strange intensity behind his smile. “Exactly. So, tell me!”

Drakis leaned back casually but his eyes were fixed on the dwarf. “It’s gone, as you already pointed out. Spoils of war are the first to be sent back through the Imperial Folds.”

“I see,” Jugar said quietly, his smile becoming more affected by the moment. “Slaves no doubt are not as valuable as dwarven plunder, eh?”

Drakis chuckled darkly. “The value of each House’s slaves is already counted to them; but the spoils of war have to be tallied and accounted to the honor of each House. It’s the elven way of power-this counting of honors. Your precious jeweled armor and Heart-stone. .”

“Heart of Aer,” Jugar corrected with quiet politeness.

“Whatever it is called,” Drakis shrugged, “it all belongs to the Greater Glory of House Timuran now.”

“But it is actually being sent to this House Timuran of yours, isn’t it?” The dwarf’s voice was urging-a strange pleading quality somewhere under all the words. “I understand that this has long been the elven way of it. This same House of your elven lord to which we all shall be going?”

“Of course,” Drakis said evenly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why?”

“Oh, just a dwarf’s curiosity,” Jugar smiled back, his white beard sagging under the weight of the water it carried and what remained of his hair flat against his head. “I thought I might be able to work it somewhere into my act, you know, when you present your lord-pardon me, our lord-with all the glorious trophies you have secured in your battles. After all, I am one of those trophies, and I want to make a good impression-right there along with all the other treasures. Of course, it’s going to be difficult making myself presentable tied as I am to this pole. I’m curious as to why you feel the need to bind me?”

“You’re the one treasure we’re bringing back with quick legs and a quicker tongue. I just want to make sure you stay with me.”

The dwarf smiled again. “But where would I go? Your Iblisi totems keep you and me both safely confined to this damp and overcrowded field along with the rest of the slaves.”

Drakis’ eyes narrowed. “You know about the totems?”

“But of course.” The dwarf shifted slightly around the pole so that he could better face the warrior. “We dwarves have something very like them, which we use to pen our livestock and hogs. I’ve often wondered why the slaves of the elves never escape their captivity. . but as a vaunted warrior, such thoughts may never have come to