Song of the Dragon

garden were the elven guild overseers of the Fourth Estate, craftsmen who were in charge of the various divisions within the household. Se’Djinka stood among them, his patched eye giving him a more sinister look than the rest of the overseers. Drakis realized that he must have arrived that same afternoon-had he come to watch the human die? He didn’t remember him being at his audience with Sha-Timuran, but he could easily have not noticed him.

Behind them stood the Fifth Estate elves, the free workers of the household. These primarily included those who served in the avatria-since slaves were not welcome in those confines-but also included a number of Free Guardians, elves who took care of the safety of House Timuran while the Centurai was fighting for its greater honor. Drakis’ practiced eye considered them at a glance: Their stance was practiced ease, but they moved well and touched their sheathed weapons with familiarity. The seasoned warrior in Drakis measured the Guardians as worthy opponents.

There were no Sixth Estate in the Timuran House-a fact that only now bothered Drakis-so the last, arrayed around the edge of the garden, were the lowest of the Seven Estates: the slaves. The household slaves of the subatria stood apart from the warriors of the Centurai. Drakis looked down the rows arrayed to their right and quickly caught sight of a familiar face smiling back at him.

Mala, he thought. How can I tell her what has happened to me? How can I pretend that it did not happen at all?

She must have seen something in his face, for her smile fell at once into an expression of question and concern. He looked away again, focusing once more on the altar and the ritual of the Devotion in its relentless and prescribed cycle of words, gestures, and chanted phrases.

There, arrayed about the altar, were the treasures that he had sent back as their bounty from the war. The pieces of armor that had been so impressive in their original setting now seemed short and comical when placed at the feet of the elves. One of the suits of armor had been carefully arranged to be holding out the black, onyx shard that Jugar had called the Heart of Aer. Here, in the glorious garden of his master, it seemed like a pitiful offering, and it had nearly cost him his life.

How could his entire world have turned so terribly wrong? The dwarf had prophesied it with frightening, fated accuracy-or possibly caused it. And yet all along the dwarf had insisted that Drakis could know the truth of it for himself, that he didn’t have to take the dwarf’s word or believe in anything but himself.

Drakis stared at the altar.

He didn’t want to know the truth.

He wanted to embrace his ignorance.

Drakis wanted to just forget everything that had happened. There was comfort in that, he thought. The memories of what had happened to him over the last few days-of the senseless slaughter of friends and enemy alike, of the horrific violence done just to capture a crown of a kingdom that had already been conquered, not to even consider the violence done to both his body and his spirit that very afternoon-all these things had caused him to wonder how he could possibly ever sleep again, let alone face Mala. That the altar might offer him blissful forgetfulness of all of that was deeply alluring to him. He knew he could not live with the truth of his memories-so perhaps it was better to live a lie without them.

Lord Timuran had finished his Devotions as had his family. The overseers were passing the altar now, each in turn kneeling and making their Devotion as Timuran looked on. Those who were finished moved up the carefully manicured path out of the bowl of the garden and waited patiently for the rest of the household to join them.

“Drakis,” the dwarf muttered behind him. “All our lives are in your hands! You don’t have to be a slave. . you can be free! You can know the truth. .”

“I don’t want to know the truth,” Drakis said with a shuddering breath. He turned with Belag as the Centurai was preparing to take its turn at the Devotions. “I want to forget the truth.”

“Forget the truth?!” the dwarf sputtered. They began moving forward, slowly. The Free Guardians had already finished their Devotions. The slaves of the subatria were approaching the altar. “I cannot believe I’m hearing this! You, of all humans, giving up your future. . your great destiny. . just to save yourself a little pain?”

Drakis snorted. He looked again to the altar. Mala was kneeling, her bald head bowing down before the altar as her hands pressed down into its surface. A little pain? he thought. You have no idea how much pain I’m giving up.

The dwarf had followed his gaze. “Ah, yes, and what about that girl of yours?”

He watched as Mala walked up the path to join the other House slaves waiting at the base of the garden wall. She turned and her eyes met his.

She looked back at him without expression.

“What or who will they make her forget?” Jugar urged, a vicious edge to his voice. “You could die tomorrow, Drakis, and she would never remember that you existed let alone that you. .”

“SHUT UP!” Drakis shouted, wheeling suddenly on the dwarf. In an instant, he grasped the dwarf by his tunic with his left hand, slamming his right fist into Jugar’s face.

From behind a nose that was bleeding and most probably broken, Jugar smiled.

Drakis looked up. The entire assembly was staring at him in shocked astonishment. Sha-Timuran raised his head slightly and frowned.

Drakis released his grip on the dwarf, his breathing coming heavily. He turned from his astonished comrades and stepped to his right toward the delicately arched opening leading back toward the chakrilya and the Warrior pens beyond. Even as he did, however, a tall elven Guardian stepped in front of him.

“You are disturbing the Devotions,” the Guardian said in a reedy voice. “Calm yourself and return to your place.”

“I. . I’m not well,” Drakis replied. It was true enough; he felt overwhelmingly nauseated. “I just. . I just need a few minutes. . I just need to breathe. .”

The Guardian reached down, his hand fingering the grip on his sheathed sword. “You will feel better after your Devotions, slave. Just return to your place and everything will be better soon.”

“Please. . just give me a few minutes,” Drakis hissed through clenched teeth. He could see the chakrilya beyond the Guardian, its anonymous space and emptiness inviting to his eyes and beckoning him. “I’ll be right back. . I can’t. . I just need to breathe. .”

“Do as you’re told and everything will be right again.” The Guardian said forcefully, gripping the human’s arm.

“NO!” Drakis shouted. Training overcame thought as the Impress Warrior suddenly stepped into the Guardian, forcing the elf to release his grip. He reached for the handle of the sword, but the elf was too quick, clasping his own hand over the human’s and keeping the blade firmly sheathed in the scabbard.

A gasp rushed through the crowd of servants. Belag, Thuri, and Ethis all remained in their places, astonished at the sight of their Centurai commander striking one of their elven masters and uncertain as to what to do.

The elves, however, reacted quickly and surely. Guardians from around the room converged on the disturbance. One of them gripped Drakis from behind, pulling him away from the first Guardian while a third immediately reached to restrain his left arm.

Drakis would not relent. He flailed with his free arm, kicking as they tried to drag him down the path toward the altar. He kept yelling throughout. “Let me go! I just need a moment. . I don’t want to hurt anyone. . just let me go!”

Several more Guardians were rushing in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sha- Timuran striding up the path toward him, a grim smile fixed on his face as he drew the long, curving blade from its sheath.

Unnoticed in the spectacle unfolding at the base of the subatria wall, Jugar the Jester slipped between the bushes of the garden.

No eyes witnessed him deftly remove the armored glove from the dwarven armor or, having donned it, use it to remove the Heart of Aer from where it was displayed.

Only Se’Djinka, embroiled in subduing the berserk Drakis saw the danger as the dwarf leaped up onto the