Blood of the Emperor (11 page)

“To whatever end,” Drakis muttered to himself.

He pulled backward on the handles and the enormous doors to the temple swung wide as he strode into the hall.

A great cheer arose from within and was echoed quickly across the plaza, through the streets of Port Glorious and throughout the encamped army beyond its walls.

Drakis, the Man of the Prophecy, had arrived.

The Quest

D
RAKIS TURNED AROUND SLOWLY, taking in the spectacle and feeling more foolish by the moment. In every direction, the Army of the Prophet carpeted the landscape around the hilltop they had come to know as Dragon’s Roost.

Drakis knew that the name was something at which the dragons themselves snickered once their riders had confided it to them. Dragons, as Marush had informed him, preferred mighty aeries either high among the sheer slopes of the God’s Wall ranges in the north or within cliff-face caverns by the edges of river gorges or overlooking the sea. The rolling hills that undulated upward from Mistral Bay to look over Port Glorious could hardly compare to the sharp peaks of Drakosia. Adding to the humor of the great drakes was the idea that dragons would “roost” at all, as though they were some kind of domesticated fowl. A rather unfortunate cultural collision might have taken place had Marush not confided the problem to Drakis, who helped the great dragon see the humor in the strange ways of the manticores—who had no understanding of flight and were terrified of the dragons for the most part. Marush then helped the other dragons to understand the humor in the naiveté of these lion-men who were so fierce in battle and yet so uncertain before dragonkind.

Now, however, the entire army had assembled around the crest of the hill—if at a respectful distance. Marush lay on his stomach near
the grass-covered crest, his wings folded down against his body. Ephranos, the white-and-gray dragon, lay in a similar position beside him. The Lyric stood to the side of Ephranos’ head, idly scratching the dragon’s skin just behind the turn of its jaw. Both of Ephranos’ eyes were partially closed in bliss at her attentions—neither the Lyric nor her dragon entirely present for the proceedings.

The three other dragons stood opposite their counterparts. Wanrah, the black-and-rust-colored dragon of Ethis waited expectantly, her wings shifting in nervous anticipation. Pyrash, the cerulean-blue dragon with violet markings craned and stretched his neck, clearly bored with the proceedings and anxious to get into the air with or without Jugar. Kyranish, the gray-blue dragon of Urulani remained still except for her tail, which flicked anxiously back and forth.

Encircled by these dragons on the hilltop, members of the War Council stood to one side. Among the manticores, Belag alone remained serene while the ears of his generals Hegral and Gradek lay flat back against their manes, an obvious sign of nervousness on the part of these lion-men. Doroganda, the female goblin, had taken a part in the War Council partly on the insistence of the Pajak of Krishu that someone with the sensibilities of a true warrior race should be along to advise the humans along with their “cats” and “bendies” on how to properly conduct a raid. Doroganda had been perfectly happy in her role as combat critic until the dragons arrived. Now she stood unusually silent on the hilltop, her sharp tongue silenced and the tips of her long ears quivering. Among them, only Braun stood with a placid expression, cheerfully oblivious to the monstrous, winged creatures that surrounded him.

Soen, the Inquisitor of the Iblisi, had claimed a spot directly in front of the three manticores. He cradled his Matei staff in the crook of his arm. The thing was currently useless; it was completely discharged. The local Aether Well, having been “reversed” as Braun called it, was now useless in terms of recharging his staff. Not that it would have made any difference to Belag; the manticore seemed to be unfazed by the presence of a notoriously cunning member of the Iblisi elite. To the remaining manticores, however, it seemed to matter a great deal as they could not seem to decide which concerned them more—being surrounded by five dragons or having to stand within reach of the elf Inquisitor.

Drakis’ crimson cape flapped annoyingly in the hilltop breeze. At last, he came to face his newly appointed Emissaries—one to the dwarves, one to the Forgotten humans of the Shadow Coast and, lastly, one to the Council in Exile of Ephindria. Jugar, the dwarf jester, stood before Pyrash, tugging at his brown leather coat even though it fit him perfectly well. Urulani looked striking in the long leather coat of her dragon-rider uniform, her arms crossed, with her gloves and a specially made helmet clutched in one of her hands. Ethis had refused the uniform, however, claiming that the cold of the higher air did not affect him the same way it did the others.

Drakis drew in a breath to speak but thunderous dragon song rang through his mind.

Far from this place is a world apart

Far from the sounds of the heart

Thoughts there are sharing

Silent words telling…

Drakis paused, then spoke quietly as he deliberately drew off his gloves. “My friends, before you depart, perhaps one last communion.”

Drakis reached out, touching the snout of Marush.

“What are they doing?” Soen asked, his black eyes blinking.

Each of the dragon emissaries had followed Drakis’ example, touching the snout of their dragon and bowing their chins to their chests.

“It looks as though they are offering a prayer to their gods,” Hegral suggested.

“How odd,” Soen said, his eyes narrowing.

For Drakis, the hilltop and its surrounding army vanished, replaced by a lush, verdant forest glade. The smell of flowers drifted over him on a warm breeze. He once again felt the peace that being in touch with the dragon gave him—and the strange, otherworld into which the experience always thrust him. This was a place where the dragon song
became words of meaning and understanding—but it was more than just communion. It was a place removed where the everyday world could not intrude.

More important still, Drakis knew that what was shared in this special place remained outside the world.

Around him he saw the dragons in much the same poses as they had been before. Marush and Ephranos still rested side by side but now in the more verdant grass of this “other” place. The Lyric stood next to Ephranos scratching behind the dragon’s jaw but her eyes were bright and focused on Drakis. It was a startling transformation that she exhibited each time they came together in this place. Drakis still found it unnerving: sudden sanity in a woman who he knew otherwise to be insane.

Wanrah, Pyrash, and Kyranish appeared on the other side of the glade. Urulani and Ethis appeared as well as each placed their palms against their dragons in the real world left behind.

“Where is Jugar?” Drakis asked.

Urulani opened her mouth to reply but as she did the dwarf appeared tentatively touching the scales of Pyrash’s foreleg.

“Well, this is an unexpected gathering, Lord Drakis,” Jugar said with thinly masked impatience.

“Some things need to be said that should remain between us alone,” Drakis asserted. “I would have told you earlier but this is the first opportunity—or perhaps the last—that we’ll have to speak privately.”

“We’re standing in the middle of your army,” Jugar chuckled.

“In a place where they cannot hear our words or see what we do,” Drakis affirmed. “To them, we look as though we’re stand quietly beside our dragons. It won’t be long before that will start to seem suspicious—so let me explain quickly.”

“What is there to say that you did not say to the council last night?” Jugar asked. “Your speech inspired every member present to action and your words have spread throughout the army. They are prepared to follow you now against the Empire just as you asked them to do yesterday.”

“It is what I have asked,” Drakis said, “but it is not what I want.”

“I do not understand your meaning,” Ethis said with a tilt of his head.

“What he means,” the Lyric said in her clear, high voice, “is that
he has told them what they want to hear—but not what he wants for them. Just as he has given you a quest which they want to happen—but not one he wants you to perform.”

“The Lyric is not making sense,” Jugar shook his head.

“Here, Aer Master Jugar, you may refer to me as Karan,” the Lyric replied. “And, on the contrary, I am making perfect sense.”

“She’s right,” Drakis affirmed.

“Wait a moment,” Urulani spoke up, her voice resonant in the quiet of the glade. “Our quest was to ride these dragons to the far edges of the Northern Provinces and rally support for our army against the Empire.”

“Yes, that’s what I told them,” Drakis said in a husky voice.

“And now you’re going to tell us that’s
not
what you want us to do?” Urulani continued, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked at him, her voice rising in anger.

“I have something…something
more
in mind,” Drakis said.

“Indeed?” Ethis asked, “What
more
would you have us do?”

“The Iblisi elf Soen believes we need to move the encampment and the army into Vestasia because it is the best place from which to launch an attack against the Empire,” Drakis replied. “The War Council believes him and it is important for the time being that they still believe that to be our goal. You will fly out as planned. Urulani, you will fly along the Shadow Coast and the ports there as far west as the Forgotten Humans of your Clans, if possible. Ethis, you will go to your homeland of Ephindria to try to make contact with the courts in exile there. Jugar, you will fly the farthest; to the Aerian Mountains to see if any remnant of the dwarven kingdoms remain under the mountain…”

“That’s no change at all. So far your quest is the same charge as we were given by the council,” Jugar shrugged.

“But I do not want you to ask for aid against the Empire,” Drakis asserted.

“What?” Jugar sputtered.

“We are not going to attack the Empire,” Drakis said flatly.

The dwarf glared at the human in disbelief. “Drakis, I know you have been feeling out of sorts this past month or so—it has been a difficult time for us all—but this is your destiny! You are fated to be the downfall of the dread elves of Rhonas!”

Drakis shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Jugar gaped.

“I will not have one more person die in my name or for this insane prophecy,” Drakis said firmly. “We’re going to lead the pilgrims to a place where they can make a home…a place where they can settle in peace.”

“Drakis, I don’t see how that is possible,” Urulani said though not without compassion. “Where could they go that the Empire would not hunt them as they have always done? Where could they settle beyond the reach of the Rhonas Legions?”

“To Drakosia,” Drakis said, looking Urulani in the eyes as he spoke. “Across the Straits of Erebus.”

“You think the sea will protect them?” Ethis shook his head. “It did not stop the elven Empire from destroying Drakosia once before.”

“Drakosia fell because one dragon betrayed humanity and his own kind,” Drakis answered. “We could go back…start again…”