Blood of the Emperor (12 page)

“How?” Urulani demanded. “How do we cross the sea with the entire encampment? It would take nearly two thousand ships to carry them all!”

“Then we make as many crossings as required with whatever ships we have,” Drakis responded, the volume of his own voice increasing. This was taking too long. “Your task will be to gather as many ships to our cause as you can from the ports along the Shadow Coast. Tell them that Drakis and his army are coming and need their ships for transport. Find out from the ship captains where a suitable anchorage could be found as far north up the shoreline as possible and have them all sail there to meet us. Then return and let us know where we are to meet this fleet of transport ships. The farther north the better, preferably on the east coast of Gorganta Bay. Then we’ll sail around Nordesia past Cape Caldron just as we did before and north into Drakosia. Once there, we’ll be beyond the reach of the elves.”

“They will have heard of you in the port cities,” Urulani argued. “They will think you are raising a fleet of ships to sail your army against the Empire!”

“They may think what they want,” Drakis shouted. “Soen believes we are moving the army and the pilgrims into Vestasia to fight the
Empire on their western frontier. Let him think that, too, as well as whoever he serves.”

“This is insane!” Jugar seethed.

“The Rhonas will not leave us to be free,” Ethis stated, his expressionless face shaking back and forth for emphasis. “It does not matter where you lead them, Drakis; so long as the Empire exists they cannot let us live.”

“I will lead this people but not into war,” Drakis asserted in tones that defied contradiction. “These people don’t need a cause or a crusade. They are already full enough of that. What they need is a home where they can forget all about me, revenge and this prophecy. If we can do that, then perhaps we will have saved lives, and everything that we’ve done–that we’ve lost and sacrificed—will have meant something after all.”

“These pilgrims are hungry for war.” Ethis said. “And you mean to avoid it?”

“You may have no choice,” Jugar interjected with vehemence. “The Legions are on the march as we speak.”

“Which is precisely why you must hurry,” Drakis asserted. “We have to move the pilgrims out of the path of the Rhonas Legions while we still can. The Lyric will fly to Willow Vale and convey to the council my order to get everyone there ready to move. I will return to Willow Vale with the army. But the day I arrive with the army, the encampment must be ready to depart. We will have little time to reach the sea before all of us are trapped in the Nordesian Peninsula.”

“And just how long do you believe we have to accomplish this madness?” Jugar asked incredulously.

“No more than ten days, I believe,” Ethis replied. “It will take that long even with a forced march to move the army back to Willow Vale from here. Besides, I doubt that the council could organize the encampment to move in that amount of time even were they to begin at once. And even if the encampment is ready to move by then, it may be too late to avoid the Rhonas advance.”

“How long do you think before the Legions are here?” Drakis asked.

“Fourteen days for them to get as far north as Char,” Ethis
shrugged all four of his shoulders. “Depending on how quickly they can react to this defeat and where their other Legions are located. That’s my best guess.”

“Which gives us only four days to move the entire encampment past them into Vestasia?” Drakis shook his head. “That’s over three hundred leagues from here. It’s not possible.”

“Wait.” Urulani held up her free hand. “There may be a way we can shorten the distance for ourselves. Braun has discovered how to open folds.”

“Belag said the Proxi saved the encampment from the Shrouded Plain by using Soen’s staff as a source of Aether,” Drakis shrugged, “but now it’s useless.”

“Braun has opened a fold without a staff,” Urulani said as she turned toward the dwarf. “Hasn’t he, Jugar?”

Everyone looked at the dwarf, whose left cheek was twitching.

“Is this true, Jugar?” Drakis asked.

“Well, after a manner of speaking,” Jugar sputtered. “It is a completely untested effect of the ancient human magic and, if you are asking my professional opinion, it is dangerously unsafe as a means of transportation.”

“He managed to send you from one side of Port Glorious to the other,” Urulani chuckled. “He placed you squarely on the platform as I recall.”

“Three hand widths above it, he did!” the dwarf bellowed. “And upside down, by the way, which I believe was entirely deliberate on his part!”

“Then I would say the fold was reliable, indeed,” Ethis replied. “If Braun can train others in this ability, it would be a tremendous advantage. If enough pilgrims could be taught this ability quickly, then we might make the coast ahead of the Legions.”

“I’ll deal with Braun,” Drakis said, though there was a dark edge to his voice as he spoke. “But for now, none of us should mention this beyond our group and Braun, of course—not even to the council.”

“Why?” Urulani demanded. “Do you not trust them?”

“Let us just say that trust is earned,” Drakis replied, “and that there is more advantage in a secret kept between friends than revealed between enemies. Tell no one what we’ve discussed here today.”

“We are
secretly
going to move an entire nation?” Ethis nodded. “I rather like that idea.”

“Yes but all of this depends upon the speed of the Rhonas advance. Look for them in your flight,” Drakis said. “Report their movements when you return should you see them. Return to the Vale before ten days pass and then we’ll know where to lead these people out of the way of war.”

“So, you believe you can avoid the prophecy?” Jugar grumbled as he asked the question. “Just sidestep destiny?”

“For the sake of every pilgrim out there on the plain, I hope so with all my heart,” Drakis said. “I don’t want to fulfill this prophecy, I want to find something
better
for these people, and for all of us, too.”

“It’s a fine enough dream,” Jugar pressed his point. “But you have no real idea how all of this is going to work!”

“Then help me find a way to make it work,” Drakis answered. “Help me find a better fate for all of us.”

“What do the dragons think of all this?” Ethis asked. “They have been particularly silent during our discussions. What of you, Marush? What do you and your kind think of Drakis’ desire to thwart the prophecy?”

A great chuckle rose from the dragon. “Drakis is whom we have vowed to serve. He is the Man of Destiny and the Man of Prophecy—but we know that he is also a man. Humankind have always been mercurial, their ears not attuned to the whisperings of the gods and their eyes dim to the visions of prophecy. It is the great gift to men that they may choose their course through life. Their willful acts may change the path of a stream but the waters will come to the sea by one course or another. Drakis may choose his own path and perhaps he may find a better destiny than the prophecy foretells. It does not make him less chosen nor cause us to question the destiny before him. We serve him and humanity as we have vowed to do.”

“Well, if I may choose, then I choose life,” Drakis said. “I choose to save these pilgrims from themselves if necessary. Help me bring us to a place where we can all live in peace.”

“Then let us be off,” Jugar affirmed. “If I’m to ride this beasty so far, I’d just as soon do it sooner than later.”

Each of them pulled their palms away from their dragons and the
otherworld vanished. Once more they stood atop the windswept hill north of Port Glorious. With a smile, the Lyric leaped up onto the neck of Ephranos who vaulted into the sky, causing the army to cheer wildly as she flew westward. Jugar mounted Pyrash almost at once, feeling somewhat upstaged by the Lyric. Pyrash’s magnificent wings extended and pulled him upward toward the southern sky as the roar of the army increased. Ethis swung up onto Wanrah’s neck and launched over the heads of the cheering army, wheeling toward the southeast.

Urulani tarried. She turned from Kyranish and instead strode directly over to Drakis. She took his head in both her hands, holding his gaze with her own large, dark eyes. There was sadness in them as she spoke.

“To whatever end, Urulani?” he asked.

“To whatever end, Drakis,” she answered, her voice husky as she spoke.

Then she turned, climbing the dragon’s neck. Urulani pulled on her gloves, Kyranish took two quick strides, and they were off.

Five dragon-riders took to the sky that day. The Lyric flew to the west to prepare the pilgrims to move once more. Drakis rose above the army, leading them down the coast to return to their families as warriors laden down with the spoils of their victory.

The remaining three riders flew off on their missions. All three of them were charged with keeping their goals secret. Only one of them had any intention of keeping that promise.

Initiatives

U
RULANI PEERED DOWN through the low clouds drifting eastward off the Bay of Thetis. She could just make out the coastline far below from her view over the base of the dragon’s wing. It was difficult for her to see through the slits in her new helmet’s faceplate, let alone from such a height.

She turned her head away from the wind rushing at her over the dragon’s head, which bobbed up and down at the end of its long neck with every stroke of its enormous wings. The whistling of the air suddenly increased in her ears and once again she silently cursed the fact that there had been no time to try out the strange new headpiece she now wore before continuing on the journey they had briefly interrupted by stopping at Willow Vale. She supposed she should be grateful to have even this much protection.

When their flight from Port Glorious had almost immediately given the dark-skinned raider captain stinging, reddened eyes, Kyranish had suggested the stop at Willow Vale to have a flying helmet made by modifying a warrior’s helmet. Knowing she’d be hard-pressed to complete her mission if she didn’t find some way of shielding her face and eyes, Urulani had agreed. They landed at Willow Vale and she followed the dragon’s instructions, finding an armor smith among the Khadush Clan of manticores and having him fashion the armored headgear as per Kyranish’s description and her own recollection of
some similar helmets she had seen among the carvings in the ruins of Drakosia.

The gnome leather artisans, not to be outdone in their service to the Mistress of Air, declared they would make her a saddle for her dragon so that her flight would be more comfortable. Kyranish endured their enthusiastic fitting process without succumbing to the growing desire to breath fire on them and end his humiliation.

While the smithies were beating metal and the gnomes were crafting the saddle into these strange new shapes, Urulani had managed to see the Lyric who, it seemed, had declared herself to be Drakis’ mother—a woman she claimed was called Jerusha—and had set the entire camp into a frenzy of preparations for their great migration following the flag of Drakis despite Tsojai Acheran’s efforts to keep the camp calm and organized. Urulani almost sympathized with the elf’s frustration as the temporarily designated head of the Council of the Prophet but decided it would be Drakis’ problem once he arrived.

She had her own set of problems.

Now, rushing through the chill air above the Shadow Coast, she wondered just how she might accomplish her portion of the quest in time. The War Council had publicly charged her as Mistress of Air to spread the word of Drakis and to call all who desired their freedom to support Drakis and his people in their cause against the Rhonas Empire. But then Drakis had told each of the riders in their communion of dragons’ minds that he wanted them to avoid open war and find a means by which the Army of Drakis and their families could live in peace and avoid the Legions of the Emperor.

The more she thought about it, the more the former objective was needed in order to insure the latter. She was most familiar with the lands in which she grew up—the region north of the Sentinel Peaks beyond Tempest Bay. It was remote enough that the Empire had not bothered them there for many long years until Drakis came. But Nothree was far down the Vestasian Coast and her charge had been to secure the cooperation of as many ships as possible from each of the port towns down the Shadow Coast. The most likely place to board those ships for the Drakis Pilgrims would be Watchman Cove on the northernmost shores of Gorganta Bay. It was actually a good deal larger than its name implied and could shelter a large number of ships
simultaneously and, due in part to the cliff-guarded entrance to its anchorage, could conceal ships well. It also had the benefit of being the closest serviceable haven off the Bay of Thetis to Willow Vale although even at that it was still some hundred and six leagues from the encampment. Under the best of circumstances that put the encampment almost three weeks away on foot even if they had the supplies to keep them moving forward. It was clear to her that if their army and all the pilgrims were to make it that far, they would need more than just ships. They would need material help from the ports and towns along the Shadow Coast.