Song of the Dragon

of all the Houses were passing through the still active Myrdin-dai open folds, the failure of their Wells was carried, too. The warriors of the fallen Houses fell with them wherever they were among the folds on their return home.”

Qinsei drew in a deep breath. “The Myrdin-dai did their job too well.”

“And that answers the question that the Myrdin-dai sent us to answer for them, but we still don’t know why the House Timuran Well shattered and caused all this in the first place,” Soen replied, walking around the base of the platform as he spoke, looking for more signs of his quarry’s passing. “That, my fellow Quorum members, is precisely what we must find out. How is it possible that a handful of slaves could bring the Fist of the Imperial Will to such complete destruction. .”

Soen stopped, his eyes widening.

It was too perfect, he thought. It was not possible that he should be so blessed by the gods, and yet there it lay next to the base of the fold. He reached down, allowing himself a slight smile as his fingers closed around the object tenderly, as though he were afraid that it might vanish like an apparition at his touch.

It was several long blades of grass. He recognized it as coming from the base of the ravine they had just passed through. The blades were woven together, folded and twisted around themselves until they formed an intricate knotted pattern.

“Master?” Phang asked. “What is it?”

Soen slipped the woven grass blades casually inside his belt. “Nothing. . get moving. We’ve not a moment to lose.”

“Master Iblisi,” Jukung spoke with exaggerated patience. “Mistress Ch’drei. .”

“Will have to catch up to us,” Soen finished angrily. “Move!”

“By the gods!” Qinsei exclaimed, her hand pulling the sleeve of her robes up across her mouth and nose.

As though such a futile gesture would help, Soen thought, fighting the rebellion of his own stomach at the sights and smells everywhere around them. The flies were thick over the sea of rotting flesh stretching across the gentle undulations of the wide field. One knoll, rising above the rest, was piled high in death, difficult to see through the swarming insects.

“Their tracks lead directly into the dead,” Soen said, nearly gagging on his words. He had seen the carnage of battle many times before and had both faced and dealt death in many forms, but nothing had prepared him for this. He glanced at Qinsei, who was trying to keep her eyes moving and focused on the distant, indistinct regions of the marshaling field. Phang was holding very still. Jukung had turned and was doubled over, contributing the contents of his stomach to the horrific aroma though its effect was negligible.

Soen slowly knelt down on the platform, his hands indolently picking at the debris marring its once polished surface.

Phang spoke with care. “How. . how are we going to track them in that?”

Soen’s eye caught something on the platform, and the shadow of a smile tugged at this lips. He picked up a trampled flower and examined it carefully before he stood. Soen thought for a moment longer, then spoke.

“We can’t.”

Jukung managed to push himself upright again. “Then. . then that’s it. We go back and report to Mistress Ch’drei.”

“No,” Soen said, shaking his head. “We continue.”

“Continue?” Jukung repeated in disbelief. “You just said we cannot track them through. . through this.”

“Look,” Soen said, pointing with his first two fingers to the far limits of the enormous field. “There are four other portals functional. One of them leads farther up toward Hyperia, the other three back toward Ibania. So far our prey has continued farther from the heart of the Empire.”

“But which one do we take?” Phang asked.

Soen considered then spoke.

“All of them.”

Qinsei, Phang, and Jukung all stared at the Iblisi.

“We can’t be sure which one they took, but if we explore each of them separately, we might choose the wrong path and set ourselves back more than we already are,” Soen said. “But if we each follow a separate path on our own-each of us looking for signs of our prey-then we’ll cover them all much more quickly. We’ll each take a different fold, then return here before nightfall. If one of us does not return, then we’ll all know which path to follow, and we’ll take it and continue the hunt.”

“It breaks the Quorum,” Qinsei said, obviously disapproving.

“If we don’t recover these bolters while we can,” Soen said, “there may not be enough Quorums in the Empire to stop them.”

CHAPTER 22

Togrun Fel

“Two days we’ve walked. . and thisis our prize?”

Mala sputtered, unable to decide whether to laugh or weep.

“Aye!” Jugar said with pride, his eyes flashing in the light of the setting sun. “Partake of the sanctuary offered by the dwarven gods and glory in its honor! Few mortals have been privileged to enter the confines of the Togrun Fel!”

Drakis looked again and remained unimpressed. The hill was no taller than any of the others extending to the southeast. It did, he had to admit, have a rather precipitous exposed face on its southern side, but the carvings in its surface were altogether worn and crumbling, in such bad states of deterioration that it was difficult to get any idea of what they were meant to depict. Indeed, he had not even noticed the carvings until they were nearly at the base of the cliff itself. Mossy grass overhung the top edge of the rock face, the gods of nature trying to hide the scars that the dwarves had made.

The tears of the Dead are of dust now. .

The breath of their life now stopped. .

Their voices though still. .

Are calling your will. .

Drakis reached back and rubbed at the aching in his neck. The field pack he was carrying was heavier than he expected. “It’s a tomb.”

“Aye,” Jugar nodded, his widely spaced teeth grinning in appreciation.

RuuKag let out a great chuff of disapproval. “He wants us to hide. . in a grave?”

“Better to hide temporarily in a tomb than to take up permanent residence,” Ethis said, folding his four arms in front of him as he inspected the entrance. “Still, I would have expected better craftsmanship from the dwarves. Even the entrance looks more like an accident than an intention.”

“Are you blind, sir?” The dwarf huffed. “But that is the craft! Togrun Fel is not a dwarven tomb, though it was constructed by them and, might I humbly add, with the greatest of their arts in stone. It was wrought in honor of the friendship once joined between the Fae Queens of the Hyperian Woods and the Nine Dwarven Kings and the great sacrifice they and their dryads made near this very spot. This was back in the Age of Fire, when all the world was set ablaze by the elven conquests and the humans stood shoulder to shoulder with the dwarves and the faery against their onslaught.”

Drakis raised a questioning eyebrow at Jugar.

“Well,” the dwarf sputtered. “Perhaps not exactly shoulder to shoulder as the dwarven shoulders were always considerably lower than those of the humans, but I speak metaphorically. Even so, this is a place of dreaded power for the elves. Were it not for the special keywords to which I alone am privy, this innocent looking portal would blast us with the power of the gods themselves were we but to dare pass its threshold unbidden! Fear not, my good companions, for though you would suffer the most painful of curses