bottom of the pond. At the edge of the pond, soft sand rose in a bank up to the grasses of the glade, warmed by a shaft of sunlight shining down through an opening in the forest canopy overhead.
Belag longed to warm himself on the sands next to the pool, to close his eyes under the sun and find a moment’s peace.
Drakis stepped into the glade and sat down in the grass, crossing his legs under him. “It’s all right, Belag. . we’re safe here.”
Belag took a hesitant step into the glade.
“What is it?” Drakis asked, concerned.
“I. . where are the others?”
“Others?”
“The Lyric. . Mala. . RuuKag. .”
Drakis laughed. “Are you sure you
“I won’t be heartsick if he gets himself lost. . or that dwarf. . or the chimerian for that matter. . but where are. .”
“You needn’t worry,” Drakis said, leaning back on his elbows in the sunlight. “They’ve gone upstream to forage for our lunch. They wanted me to stay behind to make sure you got here.”
Belag smiled and stepped across the soft grasses of the glade to the pool. He stretched out on the sands, feeling their warmth soak into his muscles and bones.
“So, tell me,” Drakis continued. “What led you to me?”
Belag’s eyes closed, and he frowned slightly as he spoke. “I was raised Khadush Clan, both me and my. .”
The manticore paused.
“What is it, Belag?” Drakis asked.
“My brother.” He sighed the last word as though with a final breath. “We both believed strongly in your legend-the prophesied return of the Northern Lords. Our clan holds that all manticores are cursed for their betrayal of the Drakosian Kings of the
Belag rolled over in the warm sand and thought for a moment before continuing. “We were taken before we reached the border by an elven slaver party though we put up quite a fight and cost them the lives of three of their group before we were taken. Everything after that. . well, you know too well. We were forced to forget it all. . everything that made us who we truly were. . we even forgot why we had come in the first place as we were passed from Rhonas House to Rhonas House as Impress Warriors. I have thought much on this since, Drakis, and I know that it was the wisdom of the gods, because by enslaving us-even in our forgetfulness-we were brought to you. And even when my brother. .”
Belag turned his face away, lying back on the sand once more.
“Go on, friend,” Drakis encouraged.
Belag closed his eyes again, basking in the warmth of the sun shining down on him from above. When he spoke, his voice was unusually heavy. “Even when my brother died that day on the Ninth Dwarven Throne defending you. . even though he did not know who you were because of the terrible veil of forgetfulness cast by the evil of the elves. . even then the gods smiled down on my brother and showed him how his death would have meaning.”
“I understand,” Drakis said in words barely heard above the splashing water nearby. “It’s my turn to watch over you, now. Rest for a while. . and I’ll watch out for both of us.”
With a great sigh, Belag relaxed into the warm sands and drifted into a deep and contented sleep.
Drakis, sword drawn, walked with cautious step between the towering trunks of trees stretching above him into the mists. He had thought Belag was right behind him, but, impossibly, the huge manticore had vanished into the dim, fog-blurred shadows of the forest, and he found himself quite alone.
A sobbing sound caught his ear off to his left. Drakis adjusted the grip on his sword and followed the weeping as it grew louder with each step.
He rounded a tree and stopped, letting his sword arm swing down to his side.
“Mala?”
The human woman turned toward him, tears still cutting marks down the smudges on her face. She ran to him, her arms quickly wrapping around him as she buried her face in his chest.
A smile flashed across Drakis’ face. He felt suddenly awkward. With the sword in his right hand and the scabbard on his left side he was left to comfort Mala by putting his left arm around her and trying not to nick her with the blade he still held in his right. “Mala. . I’m here now, it will be all right.”
“I didn’t think I’d find you,” she said, looking up into his face, her eyes large and still watery. “I was so worried. .”
“I’m fine,” Drakis said, pulling away from her. “Have you seen anyone else?”
“Oh, yes!” she smiled. “They’re not far from here. . they’re waiting for us. They’re all out looking for you now, but I found you and we’ll be together again soon.”
Drakis smiled again. “That’s excellent, Mala. If we are going to have any hope of getting through the madness of this wood, we’ll have to stay together. Where are we meeting?”
“It’s not far from here, just down a nearby stream a bit,” she said, taking his hand. “I can show you. Belag says we can rest, replenish, and get our bearings-whatever that means. And. . and. .”
“And what, Mala?”
“Oh, Drakis, I’m so frightened and tired,” Mala said. “Will you please just tell me where we’re going. . and why we’re going there?”
“I’m not sure it will make much sense, Mala,” Drakis replied. “It’s got something to do with a song.”
“Really?” Mala said, puzzled, and then started pulling at his hand. “Then promise you’ll tell me all about it when get there.”
“Get where?”
“It’s not far,” she said without turning her head, “and it’s the most peaceful glade you’ve ever seen.”
CHAPTER 26
Ch’drei Tsi-Auruun, Keeper of the Iblisi, sat in stillness on her newly settled throne, now placed before the fountain at the heart of Togrun Fel. Its beauties were, for the moment, entirely ignored by her; Ch’drei’s only movement was a slight quivering of her hand as she gripped the top of her staff with a pale fist.
Her acolytes, who had carried her heavy throne through every fold gate from the Imperial City to the far reaches of northern Ibania-a seemingly endless succession through increasing carnage-had never complained about its weight or the length of the journey. Her personal guard had made no utterance regarding the open danger to which the Keeper was exposed. Each of them took their orders and performed their duties in unquestioning silence.
Now, her throne situated before the bone-white fountain inside the Togrun Fel-a pretty little dwarven tomb about as far removed from every benefit of civilization as could be found-Keeper Ch’drei alone could afford to be as loud as she liked.
“How is it possible,” Ch’drei barked in a shrill voice that seemed to shake the very stones of the great, crafted cavern around her, “that the Keepers of All Truth. . the sharpest eyes and ears of the Imperial Will. . cannot even find one of their own?”
