Song of the Dragon

them.

He turned at once down one of the garden paths. It took him farther under the ominous rain of wreckage from the shattered structure above, but he dared not stop as he ran past insane tableaus: An old servant he recognized from the House knelt on the ground, his eyes fixed as he gathered up shards of the shattered Aether Well and tried to piece them back together in his badly lacerated hands; Jerakh, his own Octian brother, standing in the midst of several elven overseers, his short sword in his hand as he screamed joyfully and gave chase to a fleeing overseer who had previously escaped his attentions; several slaves pressing their hands against the broken altar, desperate in their own way to forget the nightmare around them.

A tall chimerian leaped into his path, its four arms brandishing a senseless assortment of weapons: a broken branch, a bent brazier stand, and a pair of cooking ladles. The fact that all four were bloodied made less of an impression on Drakis than the look on the creature’s face.

“Thuri!” Drakis said. “Come with us! Join us outside. .”

The chimerian charged at once, shouting as he did. “Freedom! Vengeance and Justice!”

Drakis parried the first two blows in quick succession. “No, Thuri! Stop!”

But the chimerian did not hear or see him. He seemed to be fighting a battle in some other place or time. “I won’t go back,” he cried out. “You can’t make me go back!”

One of the ladles connected solidly with the side of Drakis’ head, driving him to the ground. He rolled quickly, the brazier slamming into the dark ground where moments before his head had been. Then he struck out with the sword, slicing at the back of the chimerian’s foot.

Thuri howled with pain and toppled backward to the ground as Drakis got to his feet. White slabs of polished ceramic tile fell around him, shattering into dust as they smashed against the stones of the garden. He turned again and saw the path clear before him to the far side of the garden. He lunged forward.

“You cannot kill us all!” he heard Thuri’s voice receding behind him. “You cannot kill. .” Then the words were cut short by the sound of a massive foundation stone slamming into the ground.

Drakis did not look back. Impress Warriors were fighting everywhere-some with each other, some with a group of Guardians who had somehow managed to form a circle near the Hall of the Past to defend themselves, while others methodically moved among the slaves and overseers, slaying both indiscriminately. Drakis felt as though his legs were pushing him through water, that time itself was flowing against him and somehow he would not reach his beloved before his world fell completely down upon him.

Then, with a suddenness that shocked him, she was there.

Mala knelt on the ground before him, her eyes fixed forward. Tears streamed down her cheeks, cutting long, dark furrows in the dust-caked skin.

Drakis crouched down in front of her. A great groaning sound was coming from the stones above them. The foundation was giving way. He took her by both shoulders and stared into her eyes.

Training and instinct.

“Mala,” he said firmly.

She did not move at all. Her eyes remained unfocused. A small trickle of blood stained her lips.

“Come with me,” he said as kindly as he could. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

She shivered under his touch.

She had shivered at his touch before. . or was that another woman? Stop! Was she dying? Don’t think. . act!

“Please,” he said shaking her slightly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes suddenly focused on him and she blinked.

She started to giggle. “Take me?”

Drakis drew back. Sanity had left the woman’s eyes.

“Take me?” Mala began to laugh. She threw her head back and started howling with laughter, hysterical and uncontrolled.

Don’t think. . just act!

He drew her up with him to stand, but her legs were unsteady beneath her. He leaned over and picked her up, draping her over his shoulder as he considered the way back toward the chakrilya portcullis and the Warrior’s Gate beyond. He adjusted the grip on his sword one last time and then charged forward, trying to concentrate on getting free, on getting out into the open air and then, maybe then, he could try to make sense of the terrible nightmare his own memories had suddenly become.

At his back, the hysterical laughter had changed to dreadful, soul-shattering sobs.

Drakis now knew the truth-but he did not know how he would live with the knowledge.

CHAPTER 15

Flight

Drakis struggled to reach the crest of the hill, then, stumbling, fell to the ground. Mala tumbled from over his shoulder, falling heavily onto the grass of the knoll with a groan. The totem at the crest of the hill was dark, its inner glow vanished and its ever-watchful eyes now dark and useless.

Don’t stop. . don’t look. .

But he did look. He dragged his feet back under him and, standing on quivering legs, turned to gaze on the House of Sha-Timuran.

It was twilight, and the ruin stood out harshly against the dim glow of the horizon beyond. Flames had engulfed nearly all of the subatria, the brilliant tongues of orange and yellow boiling up around the fallen avatria. The oncefloating structure had fallen and was now leaning obscenely to one side, the petals of its exterior curves now broken and crumbling under their own weight. A great crack split the structure from the flames about the subatria wall to the shattered lattice of its peak. The avatria itself was burning, too. . the ornate polished woods of its interior quickly giving themselves over to the flames. Black, greasy smoke rolled upward, staining the deep blue of the evening sky and blotting out the stars as they tried to appear.

Drakis’ gaze was drawn across the horizon. Other columns of smoke drifted into the sky.

The House of Timuran was not alone in its fall. Tajeran, too, was burning and at least a half dozen other Houses beyond.

Someone behind him spoke. “They’ll be coming soon.”

Drakis started at the sound, wheeling around as he instinctively readied his blade.

The shapeshifter held up two of his hands, their palms out in a sign of submission. “Relax, Drakis. . I’m Ethis.”

Drakis squinted. A tall chimerian stood facing him, his blank features lit by the orange, shifting light of the burning mansion.

“Who?” Drakis blurted.

“Ethis,” the chimerian continued, his voice sounding oddly calm against the chaos of the burning ruins beyond. “We fought together-I was in your Octian.”

“Yes. . Ethis,” Drakis repeated the name as though trying to convince himself that he knew it. Part of him recalled the chimerian as a trusted and valiant comrade in arms who had served with him for many years-but he also knew that was a lie. Drakis had no real memory of Ethis before three weeks ago. Yesterday he had trusted this creature with his life-now he knew him a stranger he could barely trust at all.

“How did you know where. .?”

“Belag,” the chimerian answered quickly. “He told me where we were to meet.” Ethis held a squat figure firmly by its collar with a third hand. “I also found an old friend of ours that I thought you might want to talk to before he skulked off-but I would not recommend spending a lot of time in conversation.”

Ethis shoved the dwarf forward, his newly shaved skull glistening with sweat by the light of the conflagration.

“Jugar.” Drakis spat the name as though it carried its own venom.

“This most noble chimerian warrior is certainly correct, Drakis,” Jugar began talking at once with an