“You do not believe in the Drakis Prophecies?” Belag asked in a steady voice.
“Stories told to cubs so that they might sleep at night,” RuuKag replied at once. “Lies perpetrated by the elders to keep themselves in power.”
Belag accepted the remark casually then turned, making his way between the mist-shrouded trees. RuuKag followed a moment later, his own steps close on the heels of his brother manticore.
“I was of the Khadush Clan,” Belag said as he pushed aside a thick fern in his path.
They were descending a gentle slope. RuuKag could hear the murmur of a brook somewhere nearby.
“Khadush?” RuuKag said. “I’m of Shakash Clan.”
“Then we both are brothers in a greater cause,” Belag said in conversation, though he never turned his head from the path before them.
The mists seemed to be thickening, making it difficult for RuuKag to see his companion. He quickened his steps to close the distance between them. “What greater cause?”
Belag stepped around a moss-covered tree whose trunk stretched above them to vanish in the gloom. “We are both from clans in rebellion against the Manticas Assembly. We have broken with the Chaenandrian Lords to continue the war against the traitorous Rhonas elves.”
RuuKag gave a single, derisive guffaw. “They
“So how is it you know of the old days?” Belag asked, still walking ahead and not turning his head as he spoke. They were climbing again now, the obscuring mists growing thicker with each step up the densely wooded hillside.
“Know of them? I was
“You must have been young then,” Belag spoke in quiet, even tones.
“Too young,” RuuKag said. He was finding it difficult to breathe again. His arms felt heavy, and his feet felt as though they were lifting stone weights. He followed Belag between a pair of trees and stopped.
With breathtaking suddenness, they had come upon a forest glade of magnificent beauty. Light filtered down through an opening in the forest canopy, its dappled rays illuminating the clearing with soft light. Gentle grasses carpeted the soft soil on either side of a clear brook that cut through its center as it danced across the rounded stones of its bed. It was a place of peace and warmth in the midst of the gloom, and RuuKag longed to lay down on its verdant expanse.
“Too young indeed,” Belag said as he stepped to the center of the glade and turned to face RuuKag. “I know the Battle of the Red Fields, RuuKag. The story has been carried far of the young manticore warriors-untrained children-who were shamed into joining the desperate battle. Even I have heard of the charge that day and the. .”
“Stop!” RuuKag said, stepping into the glade. The warm soil beneath his feet felt more luxurious than anything he had known before.
Belag stooped down, scooping up some of the clear, cold water from the brook and tasting it. “It’s all right, RuuKag. I understand. It was a foolish, prideful order that called for the charge that day. Every manticore that heeded that command died that day, cut down by the Rhonas Legions and the terrible power of their Aether weapons. Thousands of them, tens of thousands, charging across the Northern Steppes, and none of them. . not one survived to claim their honor or victory.”
“No, some lived,” RuuKag said though his voice sounded hollow.
“Yes, some lived,” Belag agreed, reaching down again with his cupped paw and feeling the water fall between his fingers. “But the story is that only those who fled the battle. . who did not charge when the order was given but turned and ran. .”
“No, that’s not true,” RuuKag said too loudly. “You can’t know. You weren’t there!”
Belag stood up and faced RuuKag. “It’s all right, RuuKag. We’ve all remembered things we want to forget. Come, you’re tired. Lie down here in this clearing. The others have gone upstream in search of food, but they will be back shortly. I’ll watch over you.”
RuuKag stepped farther into the glade. They had run through the night, and he was so tired. He could barely lift his legs now. He gratefully lowered himself to the ground, pressed his body against the warm, soft grass and sighed.
“You won’t leave me?” RuuKag asked.
“No, I won’t leave you,” Belag replied.
RuuKag closed his eyes and slept.
“Drakis!” Belag called out between his cupped paws. His voice was nearly hoarse from shouting the past hour. He stopped and tried to be as still as possible for the expected reply.
“Here, Belag!” came the distant reply. “We’re over here! Where are you?”
The manticore drove both fists upward and roared in frustration; then he turned in the direction he believed he had heard the voice and charged again through the mist-obscured tree trunks. Ever since he had pushed Drakis ahead of him into the trees, the gods had seemingly deserted him. He had stepped around a tree expecting to find Drakis on the other side, but he had vanished-swallowed, it would seem, by the strange morning fog that permeated these woods. He had called out to him, tentatively at first and then with increasing fervor as the voice in reply seemed to his ears to get farther away each time he called out.
He was tired. The forced march the night before had taken much out of him, and he knew it. He had somehow believed that all they had to do was to cross the border into the faery lands and they could rest, recover, and prepare for whatever else lay ahead of them. But now he had lost everyone-even Drakis, who had been barely an arm’s length away from him when they entered these cursed woods.
Belag bent over, placing his paws on his wide knees and closing his eyes. He had failed again. . as he had so often failed before.
“Belag?”
The manticore looked up, a wide smile splitting his feline face. “Drakis! At last.”
“Are you all right?” Drakis stepped up to Belag and lay a hand on his shoulder.
“I am now,” Belag replied straightening up. “Where are the others?”
“Not far from here,” Drakis answered. “Come, I’ll show you.”
The human turned and started walking back among the trunks and undergrowth. Belag quickly followed, determined not to lose Drakis for a second time.
“Belag, we’ve got to talk-while it’s just the two of us,” Drakis said as he walked though he spoke without turning his head. “We’ve been through a great deal together, old friend. I’ve fought by your side through many campaigns-many of which I am only now starting to remember and appreciate.”
“It is the same with me,” Belag agreed as he followed behind. The human seemed unusually spry for having traveled such a great distance the night before. “I, too, am having to deal with the thoughts and remembrances that are both new and old to me at once. Much is still confusion in my mind.”
“To all of us,” Drakis agreed as he continued to walk ahead, apparently intent on the trail before them. They were following the bottom of a gully now with a clear stream running beneath their feet. “But there’s been something I’ve wanted to ask you, Belag, if you don’t mind.”
“I serve you, Drakis,” Belag intoned, though he was beginning to wonder why it was so hard to breathe in this small canyon.
Drakis did not look back but spoke clearly. “Belag, how do you know that I’m the one who was prophesied to return?”
Belag replied at once, “Because I know it. My heart speaks the truth of it to me. I know it because I believe.”
Quite suddenly, they stepped out of the mists. Belag caught his breath.
Before them was the most beautiful glade the manticore had ever seen. Sunlight shone across the surface of a small pool situated at the edge of the clearing. The pool was fed by the gentle cascade of water down a small rock face, and its water was so clear that Belag could make out the shapes of the smooth rocks that lined the
