Song of the Dragon

“Who’s dropping these wrong stones then. . and drawing what will soon be a very angry Iblisi after them?”

‘Belag,” Ethis said. “I told him to lead him east, back toward the Dje’kaarin.”

“And he did this for my own good,” Drakis said through clenched teeth.

“Yes,” Ethis nodded. “Everything we’ve done has been for your own good. .”

Drakis’ grip on his sword tightened as he sprang toward Ethis with a terrible yell that started from the darkness of his soul and rushed from his mouth with animal ferocity. He pressed his left forearm against the chimerian’s throat, his weight and momentum pushing Ethis back against the main mast. His body pinned the lighter chimerian, the edge of the blade suddenly biting at Ethis’ throat.

Drakis’ crazed face was within inches of the chimerian’s own face. “For my own good? Everyone seems to be working for my own good! House Timuran fell for my own good, and it brought me memories that are still too painful for me to even think about-it stole my life from me! You took us into the Faery Kingdom for my own good and because Murialis would either be entertained by us or kill us, you cheated me out of my deepest thoughts, hopes, and fears. RuuKag. . RuuKag died for my own good and the gods only know how many others! And now you. . you show me this! You take away from me the one thing I ever wanted. . the one really honest, good thing I ever asked for myself. . you tear out my soul, and you have the gall to tell me it’s for my own good?”

“Drakis, my boy,” Jugar said in a careful voice. “It’s truly a calamitous situation-deplorable and tragic-but a little calm reflection and distance might. .”

“And you!” Drakis wheeled on the dwarf. “You started this all! You and your talk of legends and humanity’s lost greatness. You packaged it and sold it to everyone we’ve met along the way, but it was all a lie!”

“You don’t know that, lad,” Jugar said, holding his hands up. “Those stories that I told are true. .”

“It’s NOT ME!” Drakis wailed at the dwarf. He turned back to Ethis, his sword cutting across the chimerian’s skin just below his jaw. “What did you do to her? How did you make her lie like that?”

“It’s not him, lad,” the dwarf said.

“You then?” Drakis said, his wild eyes fixed on the dwarf as he turned.

“No, my boy,” Jugar said with as much calm as he could muster in the face of the crazed Drakis. “The elves. . they did this to her.”

Drakis stood on the deck glaring at the dwarf. He was vaguely aware of the rest of the crew watching him, of the damning concern in their eyes, and of their pity. He hated them for that, too.

“She’s. . she’s what they call a Seinar-a beacon,” Jugar continued, his eyes fixed on Drakis as he spoke. “It’s an old-fashioned custom that was the tradition in elven households for nearly a century-may Nexog damn them forever for it. The Rhonas elves would take one of their household slaves and ‘train’ them to be a Seinar. But this wasn’t ‘training’ as you know it, my boy. They would take them when they were youths ‘just in their beards’ as we say among the dwarves-both male and female-and afflict them with such terrible horrors-tortures, lad, of mind and body-until they had burned these trained scars into their minds, seared them so deeply that they would never be free of the orders they were given. Then they deviously buried the memory of this training under the Devotion spell so that the slaves themselves would not be aware of it. They were trained to betray their own kind-to run away with any slaves who might somehow break the bonds of their Devotions-just as we did, lad-and lead the Iblisi to them.”

“They did that,” Drakis said, his eyes shifting to where Mala lay bound on the forecastle. “What did they do to her?”

“It wasn’t magic,” Jugar said quietly. “It was not some spell that could be released and make her right. It was her mind they broke-as they did with every other Seinar. Then, in a cruel blessing, they gave them their Devotions in the households and allowed them to forget all the carefully, torturously impressed commands that they had burned into their minds. . leaving them buried there against the unlikely day when the Devotions would fail. . and their precious slaves would escape.”

Drakis dropped his sword, barely aware of it clattering on the deck at his feet. “Then she didn’t choose this. . they made her do it. . they. . they broke her?”

“Aye,” Jugar nodded. “Intentionally, but, aye, they broke her. It is a difficult and costly proposition. Most of the lesser Houses of the Empire no longer go to the expense of what has become such a luxury. But Timuran was just proud enough and just vain enough to want to own a traitor to her own kind.”

Drakis walked slowly up to the forecastle. The two Sondau warriors stood on either side of Mala, who looked pathetically small where she lay on the deck between them. Drakis reached down slowly, pushing back the hair that had fallen over her face.

She looked up at him with the eyes that he had long remembered with such depth of feeling though now they were unfocused and seemed to dart about, unable to fix on any one thing.

“Take me home,” she said to no one in particular. “Please take me home. .”

Drakis stood up and drew in a long, shuddering breath.

“If you like,” Ethis said quietly behind him, “I can take care of this for you.”

Drakis turned. “What did you say?”

“This needs to be taken care of,” Ethis said with a little more emphasis. “She’s a Seinar, Drakis. She’ll do whatever she can to lead the Iblisi to us.”

“She’s Mala,” Drakis said, shaking his head.

“No, she’s not,” Jugar said. “She has betrayed us and, beyond doubt, she will betray us again.”

“No,” Drakis insisted, “She doesn’t want to be this.”

“It isn’t a question of what she wants,” Ethis said with conviction. “She has no control over this any more than you can control whether you breathe or not! She is broken-deep within-and she cannot be fixed.”

“NO!” Drakis shouted. “She was fine before we began this insane quest and she’ll be fine again! If I find a way to put her back under House Devotions, she’ll be. .”

“What? Your slave?” Ethis countered. “Is that what you’re hoping for?”

Drakis wheeled on Ethis, slamming his right fist into his face. He felt the bones of the chimerian’s face flex as was the inherent trait of his kind and his fist give into the soft flesh of the face, but the blow did force Ethis back a few paces and gave Drakis back his focus from the satisfying blow.

“We sail north!” Drakis made the statement as though he dared anyone to contradict him. “We find the Siren Coast and this. . River of Tears or whatever it is. . and see what there is to this damn legend. Until then Mala is mine and under my protection.”

“It’s my ship,” Urulani said. “If she stays, then she stays under guard.”

“You, too, I see,” Drakis replied. “Then take me north, O Great Captain! We have a legend to bury.”

CHAPTER 49

Voice of Dragons

Drakis stood at the tiller that night. He shifted the course of the Cydron five points to starboard and held it there for nearly three days. All Urulani’s arguments were brushed aside by him as he held that course. . because, he said, the song was calling to him, and this was the course where he heard it the loudest.

By the dawn of the second day the distant shoreline could just be made out on the northern horizon. It took until just before noon for the coast features, such as they were, to become defined: short, gnarled trees and scrub brush painting a dark line above a bright sand shore. Here and there a tumble of rocks could be seen, but for the most part it was the most unremarkable coast Urulani or any of her crew had ever seen.

Drakis leaned hard on the tiller, his red, sleepless eyes struggling to peer over the bow. Despite the lack of