Song of the Dragon

progress. As it was, however, the Hak’kaarin’s rather odd view of physical possessions-they didn’t believe in them- led to an inability to distinguish any Hak’kaarin thing from another. They simply took whatever hovel-hole was unoccupied at the time in whatever mud city they found themselves, shared in the communal food, and worked at whatever job was needful at the time, and then, bidden by some inner impulse Drakis could only guess at, they would leave one mud city and make an arduous journey to the next. Some patterns in this chaotic life occasionally emerged; not all the gnomes were skilled at everything, and sometimes groups of them would gather who shared the same skills to teach each other what they had learned on their last pilgrimage. Yet such gatherings never seemed to last for very long and would dissolve just as quickly as they formed.

As to his own inner voices-the musical demons that seemed to torment his mind-they were making him increasingly uncomfortable on the road. Ever since the dwarf had told him that there was a traitor among them, he had not been able to shake the feeling that the sooner they left the beaten paths of the Hak’kaarin, the safer they would be. At least they would be in the wilderness again, and it might be easier to spot trouble as it approached and possibly catch this informer in the act of placing one of these beacon stones.

As to who that traitor might be, that was a painful thought that revolved in the music of his torment in every monotonous moment of walking whenever they moved between the mud cities.

manticore fanatic lunatic. .

Breaks with a crystalline sin. .

Never forgiven. . ever deceiving. .

Belag had evinced a near reverential attitude toward Drakis since the fall of House Timuran that was nothing short of fanatical, and yet there was something inside that fanaticism that Drakis did not and could not trust. He suspected that anyone so deeply committed to a single idea or person was probably likely to react just as strongly the other way if he felt betrayed in that commitment.

Lion-man hiding from shadows past. .

Fleeing from lands he once loved. .

Longing for lost homes. . Longing for dead tombs. .

Then there was RuuKag, a manticore whom he never liked even before his memories came flooding back. He had fought the group at every step, but recently he seemed more anxious than any of them to cross this savanna. He never explained himself either way, and his distrust seemed to breed it in everyone else.

Shifting the shapes of allegiances. .

Nebulous is his own heart. .

Constantly changing. . Soul rearranging. .

Ethis was demonstrably not only a manipulative and deceptive creature at his heart but now appeared to be highly trained for it. Drakis still shuddered to think of how the chimerian had appeared to him in the form of Mala.

Hope of a past now a memory. .

Love that was all just a game. .

Where does her heart lie? When does her tongue lie?

Then there was Mala herself, of course. Things had improved with her, and recently she had become almost cheerful. Her face was tanned now by their long day journeys between mud cities, and there was an almost robust health to her that was, he had to admit, an improvement over her former self. Yet he knew resentment still smoldered beneath the surface like banked coals waiting to burst again into hot hatred. Their bargain in the faery kingdom to pretend their painful past did not exist had only buried it shallowly.

Everyone else but the girl herself. .

Who is the woman within?

Masking her faces. . and her dark places. .

He had considered the Lyric, who was unquestionably insane and changed her personality as easily and as often as anyone else might change their mind. She could be the traitor among them and not even remember it from day to day. That, he thought, would be worst of all since she was the least accountable of any of them, and Drakis felt certain he would have to kill whoever it turned out to be.

Jesters all hide in the light and sound. .

Plain in the face of our doom. .

Watch for the fool. . Laughter is cruel. .

Finally, he had to admit that it could even be the dwarf, who had pointed all this out to him in the first place. The conniving little fool might have thought himself in danger of being caught and tipped his hand as a bluff just to throw suspicion off himself. The only thing Drakis was sure about regarding the dwarf was that he couldn’t be sure about anything.

So he would journey through the day, receding more and more into the cycle of his siren song. Sometimes Mala would walk with him, chattering away about some innocuous memory she had of her life in the Timuran House or some previous House she had been a part of and only recently remembered. Such recollections studiously avoided the darker memories and were occasionally expurgated as she spoke-her voice stuttering slightly and stopping altogether only to restart on a completely different topic-light and breezy once more. Sometimes Belag would journey with him, speaking sonorously of the legends of the manticores regarding the afterlife, or Ethis would join him, respecting the human’s silence with his own. Occasionally the dwarf would accompany him, rattling off some nonsense story he remembered that the shape of a bush they passed or some figure in a cloud above them brought to his memory.

But all along the way, the names of his companions would circle through his mind and soon merged with the cycle of the music-that dreadful music-that called to him and ran always in the back of his mind.

Nine notes. . Seven notes. . Five notes. . Five. .

Jugar, Lyric, Belag. .

The smiles of each beguiling. .

Whose is the false heart? Who plays the false part?

Ethis, Mala, RuuKag. .

They swear their oath is telling. .

One is more than willing. .

All your lives they’re selling. .

Jugar, Lyric, Belag. . Ethis, Mala, RuuKag. .

The smiles of each beguiling. .

“Drakis-ki?”

Drakis shook himself. He had nearly fallen asleep on his feet. His eyes were trying to focus on the short figure before him. Drakis thought that he had never seen this particular gnome before but could not be entirely sure. The only thing he was certain of was the orange vest and floppy hat that signified the gnome’s august position in the mud city. Since which gnome was the Chief of the Day changed seemingly on a whim and each mud city had its own chief who was just as apt to pick up and wander to the next mud city as any other gnome, the only way to tell who was in charge was by which gnome wore this bizarre outfit. “Yes. . uh, Chief of the Day. . what is it?”

“Drakis-ki,” the gnome bowed deeply as he repeated the name with respect. “You honor us with the stories of your people. We thank the gods of the sky that you have come among us to brighten our thoughts and dreams.”

“Yes, thank you,” Drakis spoke through a yawn. “I’m sorry, Chief of the Day. . is there something you want?”

“Drakis-ki,” the gnome bowed once more. “I have a story to tell you!”

“Ah,” Drakis nodded, closing his eyes as he continued to trudge up the ramp. “Thank you, Chief of the Day. I would love to hear your story and I am certain that it is a really great story but. .”

“It is! It is a great story,” The Chief of the Day responded, enthusiastically following along next to the human. “It is the story of a human like yourself, a great warrior woman who journeys from the coastal forests, who moves in silence and shadow. She comes from a human tribe that is lost to the knowledge of the world and remains hidden from the knowledge of all except the Hak’kaarin! And most remarkable of all, in her story she is searching for you, Drakis!”

Drakis stopped and rubbed his eyes, not entirely certain of what he had just heard. “A human woman-and