Song of the Dragon

Soen nodded. At last we’re getting somewhere, he thought. Everything appeared fine up to the House Devotions. “And then. .”

The chimerian was blinking faster now, struggling to organize his memories into words. “Then there was some trouble on the other side of the garden. One of the warriors just returned. I didn’t recognize him, but he must have arrived earlier in the day.”

“The day of the trouble, you mean.”

“Yes. . there was a shout. . that’s what got my attention. . and when I looked up, the Guardians were moving toward this warrior. He was fighting them, too. I remember thinking he was frighteningly strong for a human.”

“A human?” Soen asked in mild surprise.

“That’s right! I remember now; somehow he had a blade. Lord Timuran drew his own sword and was charging toward him. This human saw him coming, I’m sure of it. Guardians were all around him but I saw him turn and. . and. .”

“What happened next?” Soen urged. “One thing after the other. . what happened next.”

“The Well. .”

“The Aether Well?”

“Yes, the Aether Well. . it, I don’t know, it. . shattered. . outward, away from the center. .”

Soen leaned back. “It exploded?”

“I don’t understand.”

Soen shook his head. “You mean it cracked. . it broke.”

“No, sire,” the chimerian’s large eyes filled with tears. “It was suddenly no more at all. . not a piece of it larger than the smallest finger on your hand, sire.”

Soen shook his head in disbelief.

“I think it was that human who did it,” the chimerian moaned. “I think he’s the one that made me sick. Please, sire. . my head is full of bad spirits. . ghosts of the dead. . please, I want to be well again.”

“Rest easy. I know how to get rid of such ghosts,” Soen said; then he stood and turned again to Gradek. “Check with your Octian Commanders. Find out if any of them saw a human male slave any time since all this began.”

“Master,” Gradek protested. “We were running through the folds for days. . we’ve probably seen a number of hoo-mani slaves. .”

“Just ask them!” Soen snapped.

“Sire! By the Will of the Emperor, I live to serve!”

Soen considered the young human warrior. Perhaps seventeen years of age, if he was any judge of human growth. The ears seemed to push straight out of the sides of his bald head, but the youth had a strong jaw. The scar across his forehead told the Inquisitor that he had already seen battle, but he was still young.

“You are an Octian commander?” Soen asked, his black eyes narrowed.

The boy flushed. “No, sire! That honor is not yet within my grasp. Perhaps one day, sire.”

“Why, then, am I speaking to you?”

“Sire! My Octian commander ordered me to report to you on my observations during the time of our approach as we ran through the folds before our approach to House Timuran.”

Soen smiled slightly as he folded his arms across his chest. They really take themselves seriously at House Megnara. This slave acts as though he were in the Imperial Legions. “And your name is?”

“Mellis, sire!”

“Then let us have your report, Warrior Mellis, by all means.”

“Sire! This was four folds before we arrived at House Timuran. We had exited from the previous fold from the riverbank marshaling field and had arrived at the canyon marshaling field with the objective of surviving the mad warrior onslaught and finding another fold by which we could return to our quarters in House Megnara. We had nearly completed our crossing toward that objective when I realized that I had neglected to secure an important item of my field gear.”

Soen glanced sideways toward Gradek.

The manticore leaned over slightly as he explained. “He dropped his sword.”

Mellis flushed once again.

“Go on,” Soen urged.

“I was rapidly approaching the fold from which we had just arrived when I saw several figures approaching outside the line of totems surrounding the marshaling field.”

“Several figures, Mellis?” Soen leaned forward. “How many are ‘several’?”

“Three humans, a pair of manticores and a chimerian, sire,” Mellis said, straightening his back at once. “Oh, and a dwarf. . I remember wondering about the dwarf. They passed right between the totems as they were making their way to the fold, sire.”

“Fold? Which fold?”

“The fold we had just exited.”

“You mean they were going toward the chaos?” Soen asked.

“Yes,” Mellis replied at once. “That’s what caught my attention. Everyone was trying to get away from the mad warriors-and these were trying to go toward them.”

Bolters, Soen thought with a grimace. Seven of them.

Dawn broke with agonizing slowness over the eastern horizon. Soen was impatient for its illumination, for he needed to examine the garden of the fallen House Timuran and could not do so properly without the aid of its light.

At last the sky brightened enough that he dared risk entering the shattered remains of the House itself. The main doors stood slightly open, shadowed from the sun by the remaining bulk of the House. Soen stood there for a time considering them.

“Master Soen.” The words were soft, deferential.

“Yes, Assesia Jukung,” Soen responded without looking at the assassin.

“The remaining slaves are ready for transport.”

The sound of flies filled the space of a breath.

“The Centurai of House Megnara has been returned, and a special Devotion has been arranged for each of their warriors. . as you directed. None of them will remember this.”

“Thank you, Assesia,” Soen said but did not move. “Have you considered these doors, Jukung? The delicate and intricate carvings crafted no doubt in the Imperial City itself by skilled artisans of the Fifth Estate. What must it have cost old Timuran to have them brought to this remote place? Now they look tired to me, as though they feel the weight of what is behind them.”

“Master,” Jukung urged, an impatient edge to his voice, “Keeper Ch’drei is awaiting our report.”

“Then we had best give her a complete one,” Soen responded as he stepped quickly through the gap between the main doors. “We do not yet know who this House Timuran is. . or why its fall brought down nearly the entire frontier. But I know where to look for at least some of the answers. Coming?”

It was the smell that was worst, Soen decided. The sights of the blood and carnage, torn limbs and broken, jutting bones one could analyze from a safer, more objective position of the mind, but the putrid, cloying smell of rotting flesh could never be put at a distance. He choked back his bile and took a single step into the garden.

Or what little remained of the garden. The avatria had crashed down into it before the structure folded