Blood of the Emperor (41 page)

Now their army was marching out of the fold portals stretching for almost a mile wide across the fields northeast of the Imperial City. Ethis stood next to the dragon as it lowered itself to lie on top of the trampled crops. And, to the southwest, the chimerian gazed over the heads of the ranks of warriors whose rhythmic footfalls shook the ground and saw the collection of spindle towers, minarets, and domes shining through the haze of distance that was the Imperial City.

How have we come to this?
Ethis thought, his four hands balled against his hips and his elbows akimbo.

They were the victims of their own success, he decided. Ethis had been one of the D’reth for as long as he cared to remember. His purpose had been to serve the family of Ephindria and especially Queen Chythal after the sundering of the Houses and the resulting civil war. The sickness of elven Aether had infected the body of Ephindria and the chimerians were nearly destroyed because of it. In his duty to his Queen and to his people, he had seen Drakis as an opportunity. At first it was a vague chance that he might be used as a distraction for the Empire. But as Ethis journeyed further with the human, it became clear that he could be so much more useful in the cause of Queen Chythal. The proposal to use the Army of the Prophet to free Ephindria from the grasp of elven Aether had been a logical one and with few risks to Ephindria itself—using someone else’s army to besiege the elves in Tjarlas long enough for Queen Chythal to reclaim and reunite her kingdom and her family.

Yet Drakis had managed in the most spectacular and terrible manner imaginable to utterly destroy one of the greatest cities of the elves. His purpose had been to capture the city’s Well, deprive the elves of Aether, and bargain for a homeland for his followers.

Instead, he had plunged a city into madness and been forced to watch while it tore itself apart. Then, apparently victorious beyond anyone’s dreams, he had been trapped into continuing the war that now threatened to bring down the Empire and, Ethis feared, plunge the entire world into the same madness that had consumed Tjarlas.

It seems
, he thought,
there was such a thing as too much victory.

And now he felt powerless to stop it.

Ethis frowned. A familiar, dark-robed elf was approaching him.

“You were missing all night,” Ethis said. “Your absence has been of some concern.”

“And yet our paths have come together once more,” Soen said. “Travelers on the same road again, are we not?”

“That depends upon our destination,” Ethis replied. “Although I believe that road is a short one.”

“I believe it is the Cloud Palace, if I am not mistaken,” Soen nodded. “A place which I know very well.”

“If the Emperor’s Well falls then madness will grip the entire continent,” Ethis said. “That will be a long fall, indeed.”

“Then we must prevent that fall, Ethis,” Soen observed. “And I will need your help to do so.”

“Indeed?”

“Urulani rides with Drakis,” Soen said as he turned to look back on the soaring towers of Rhonas Chas. “I will ride with you while the dwarf rides alone—in so many ways.”

Two dark shapes were approaching from the northern sky.

“Drakis is coming,” Ethis said.

“Come a little way down the road with me, Ethis,” Soen urged. “And perhaps we can shorten this fall.”

“And what do you have in mind,” Ethis asked.

“By all the gods of Kiris! Where are the garrison Cohorts from the Krish and the Nekara?” Ghenetar Omris Sjei-Shurian bellowed. Dust sifted down from the rafters as another concussion rocked the Battlebox chamber beneath Majority House. “We called for them an hour ago!”

“They cannot move through the streets,” complained Ghenetar Omris K’don Usk’dasei, the supreme commander of the Order of Krish. “The citizens have panicked and are trying to leave the city through the southern gates and folds but there are just too many of them.”

“We gave the order and they are trying to comply but there’s no way for the Cohorts to get to the northern wall,”Ghenetar Omris Qi’sei Nu’uran of the Nekara Warrior Order concurred. He pointed down at the mystical sand table that was the predominant feature in the center of the underground chamber. “The Vira Rhonas is completely impassible and that effectively cuts the city in half and keeps either of the other two warrior Orders in the city from reaching the battle for the northern wall.”

Sjei gazed down at the sand table. The sands had been transformed by the war-mages to replicate the Imperial City in detail. Sjei had imagined many different terrains and locales that might be represented on this table but never had he expected to see Rhonas Chas here. The sand table recreated in miniature the reports that came into the Battlebox from the war-mages and their Proxis. It was intended to give the Modalis a clearer picture of the course of the overall battle but if what Sjei was looking at were an accurate depiction of the state of the battle then he was genuinely concerned. An armed, mixed force began pouring from a line of twelve fold portals on the northern outskirts of the Imperial City about two hours after dawn. The rebels did not hesitate, forming up quickly and moving at once against the northern city wall while more of their warrior ranks continued to emerge behind them. Within the hour, the opposing army numbered almost four full Legions, assaulting the northern wall of the New City east of the River Jolnar and around to the Patrician’s Gate. An army of more than forty thousand against a combined garrison force of less than two thousand, five hundred—and a third of those he could not bring into battle because of the panicked populace. “Then we need to clear those streets. Ch’dak Vaijan!”

“Yes, Ghenetar Omris!”

“You’re the Minister of Law,” Sjei snapped. “Can you do something about this?”

“I fear that law has very little to do with this,” Ch’dak answered, swallowing hard. “The entire city is in dread.”

“Listen, I don’t need
all
these streets cleared,” Sjei argued. “Just a few avenues so that we can move whatever Cohorts we have through the city.”

“I—I’ll try to enlist the Ministry of Security and the Ministry of Interior,” Ch’dak wiped his long forehead. “I’ll see if we can get some help from the Paktan Guildmasters and the Daramoneti Order of Workers as well.”

“Do that,” Sjei demanded then turned to the Ghenetar Omris of the Nekara. “Qi’sei, what about your southern command?”

“We’ve dispatched urgent orders to Cohorts stationed in Pronas, Vadratsi, Djuban, and Port Rhemalas,” Qi’sei answered too loudly. “We also have sent word to the Legion of Rhonas Fire to decamp and rush to our defense.”

“How long, then?” S’jei asked.

“Assuming the Occuran provide us the fold portals without any delays, the first of the Cohorts may be arriving before nightfall,” Qi’sei answered as he looked away, his voice quieting. “The Legion could arrive in two days.”

“What about the Krish?” Sjei asked, turning to the thick-bodied elf standing on his left.

“Our Legions are not at strength and many of those used in the Nine Crowns War were taken from the local Houses,” answered K’don, the thick-bodied elf to Sjei’s left. “We have called for everything available—about six Cohorts—but they cannot be here sooner than two days’ time. We are trying to muster the provincial Houses as well, but that will take more time.”

“More time,” Sjei muttered through his clenched teeth. “I need more time.”

Something caught his eye on the board. Something he had never seen before.

“What is that?” Sjei asked, pointing toward the sand table.

Three strange shapes formed out of the sand, floating above the other sands and moving quickly toward the northern wall of the city.

“I don’t know,” K’don said, leaning forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen…”

“Dragons!” shouted a war-mage from the upper gallery.

Sjei’s head snapped around. “What?”

Several more war-mages turned at once, their voices on top of each other.

“Dragons…”

“Three flying creatures…”

“Wings the length of ten elves…”

Sjei turned back to the Battlebox, his eyes fixed on the strange shapes. They moved with incredible speed toward the wall. He could see several explosive spells loosed skyward in the direction of the forms but they seemed unaffected, their darting, weaving courses still closing toward the city.

“What do we do?” K’don stammered. “How do we stop these things?”

“We knew they had dragons,” Qi’sei said. “We defeated them before.”

“That was three hundred years ago!” K’don said.

“So what did we do then?” Qi’sei growled.

“Legate Ordis!” Sjei shouted.

“Yes, my lord!” the Legate said, stepping up smartly. His armor was polished for parade and would be entirely useless in the battle now raging against the north of the city.

“Have you sent for the Keeper?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Legate nodded eagerly. “Two hours ago.”

“What was her reply?” Sjei barked.

“We have not yet received a response,” the Legate answered.

“Then send another runner!” Sjei demanded, then turned back to the sand table, his eyes fixed on the dragons as they passed over the wall. “Where are you, Ch’drei? Where are the Iblisi?”

By a Thread

S
OEN STARED DOWN AT THE SCENE BELOW in amazement from his perch behind Ethis. Between the broad black-and-rust-colored neck of the dragon Wanrah and the sweep of the beast’s enormous wings, he could see that they were approaching Rhonas Chas down the length of the River Jolnar from northeast of the city. The Army of the Prophet below them and to their left was trampling flat the fields north of the Fourth Estate District. They were approaching the Benis Gate of the Daramon Wall but Soen knew that they were there largely to draw out any of the elven garrison remaining in the city. Their orders were to hold short of the walls and defend themselves as they waited for the fall of the Emperor’s Well before they made a move against the city itself.

The poor fools,
Soen thought. He tried to calm himself. He was feeling uncharacteristically anxious and upset, attributing the feeling to the Conjuration Aether that was surging through his bones. He had completely drained one of Braun’s Aethereon altars of its Aether, absorbing the magical energy into himself in preparation for their assault. The power surged wildly through him, seeking release and form.
Soon…soon I’ll unleash you, and then I can only hope you are enough.

Soen looked back down the length of the dragon’s black-and-rust-marked back and beyond its sweeping tail. The green-and-yellow Marush flew behind them, so close that Soen could not see the tips of
either of the dragon’s wings within his field of vision. Urulani and Drakis appeared periodically behind the enormous bobbing head of the dragon straining with the urgency of their flight through the thick air close to the ground. The blue-and-purple Pyrash followed in the rear. Soen knew that Jugar rode on the back of the third dragon although he was having trouble seeing the dwarf at all.

Soen frowned. The dwarf was up to something. Jugar had emphatically insisted on the necessity of his coming on this mission, only to reject any suggestion of bringing a second warrior or—better still—one of the acolyte mages with him. He alone would bring Pyrash into the battle and not even Drakis could persuade him otherwise.

Soen leaned around the chimerian as Wanrah rushed over the Kiris and Anjei Bridges, both falling quickly behind. They were over the confluence of the Jolnar and the Havrar Rivers, rapidly approaching the Sentinels. Those towers on either side of the river protected the ends of Tjujen’s Wall. They were the boundary between the lesser estates and the central district of the Imperial Capital.

Aether-driven fire, lightning, and ice flew at them from the towers and the walls on either side. At least some of the war-mages and Proxis of the garrison had managed to get to the walls. It had been expected, however, and had largely dictated their approach to the city. The magic exploded behind them in their terrific rush through the air, the Proxis unable to get their spells ahead of the dragons charging through the air at speeds too fast for the war-mages to anticipate.