Song of the Dragon (23 page)

Qinsei's eyes narrowed. “Back to this . . . this House Acheran?”

“Yes, if there is such a House,” Soen said. “Have you ever heard of it?”

“No, Master.”

“Phang?”

“No, Master.”

“Neither have I,” Soen said, fingering his Matei staff as he thought.

“It must be a minor House nearby,” Phang said. “Some Fifth Estate fool who lost control of a handful of slaves.”

“No, Qinsei,” Soen said, looking down at the body of the dead chimerian. “The Keeper tells me this trouble started in Icara—and that more than a dozen Houses are involved.”

“Icara!” Qinsei's voice rose in tone. “That's at the edge of the Western Provinces . . . it would take us another day just to get there.”

“Longer if we have to fight our way through some of the marshaling fields,” Soen agreed, “which we almost certainly will have to do. But it is the Will of the Emperor . . . the Will of the Keeper . . . and
my
will that we find this—this House Acheran or whatever House is responsible— and secure its truth for the good of the Empire and the glory of our Order. Gather the Quorum—we leave at once.”

“Aye, Master Inquisitor,” Qinsei said as she straightened her back with pride.

Soen watched his Codexia as they moved back to instruct the rest of the Quorum. He reflected for a moment that Jukung would no doubt find some way to report back to Ch'drei and he wondered what the old woman would think of all this.

He turned and gazed once more toward the fold portal at the far end of the hollow

House Acheran,
he thought, struggling to recall anything in his vast memory about the name.
Who in all the gods of the Void knows ANY House Acheran?

“I
S THIS ALL OF THEM?” Soen demanded of the manticorian warrior standing next to him.

The evening breeze was rising behind the elven Inquisitor as he surveyed the scene. He would have enjoyed drinking in the freshness of the air as it flowed around him, still damp from the sea beyond his sight to the south. The sunset was deepening into a rich, vibrant salmon color, marred only by the black smoke still curling up from the ruin on the hilltop, its pall rising to join those of a number of surrounding Houses. He would have preferred to turn his back on the carnage, bask in the rays of the setting sun, and breathe deeply of the fresh evening. Such luxuries, however, would have to wait.

“Yes, Master,” the manticore rumbled. “Fifteen of the House servants survived. Two warriors of the House Centurai were alive, but they engaged us on our arrival, and we were forced to kill them . . . and it appears impossible to account for the full Centurai.”

Soen turned his head slowly toward the manticore, his gaze itself a question.

The manticore was an old one, golden streaks running through his shorn mane. He shifted uncomfortably. “The Impress Warriors were still returning from the war. The majority of the warriors of this House appear to still have been in transit through the folds.”

“We will deal with one disaster at a time,” Soen said in clipped tones. “You were the first to arrive?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And what is your name?”

“Gradek, Master . . . Centurai Captain of House Megnara.”

“Megnara?” Soen said with studied casualness. The names of these petty frontier Houses were only now, after four days into this investigation, starting to make sense to him. House Acheran was only one of the many Houses that had fallen on the frontier, and that name had quickly led them to a host of others within what Soen had come to call the Dark Frontier. It was not until Codexia Qinsei brought him a report of a messenger from the House Megnara Centurai that he had even heard of House Timuran. “Oh, yes, House Megnara. That's about fifty leagues from here, isn't it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“So how does a Centurai Captain of a House many days' journey away end up at the door of
this
fallen House?”

The manticore's eyes narrowed, but he gave no other sign of his anger at his embarrassment. “By accident, Master. We were set upon by the mad warriors when they hit during our return from the war. We fed through whatever folds were convenient and available, trusting that the Myrdin-dai would sort out our transportation home after the mad warriors were killed. After several folds, we arrived here and sent a runner at once back through the fold to report to the Myrdin-dai what we had seen.”

Soen nodded. “What of Lord Timuran and his family?”

The manticore gave a quick grunt to show his discomfort before he spoke. “The remains of Lord Timuran were found just inside the main doors. The fire had not reached the body, but there was little left nevertheless. He was only identified by the baton still in his grip, his signet rings, and what little remained of his clothing. We have not yet found his head.”

“It was expected
,
”
Soen thought. “Anyone else?”

“We actually found Lady Timuran first,” Gradek continued, the bile in his stomach apparently settling as he spoke. “We saw her above the subatria wall, impaled on one of the House standards. My Octian Leader Jatuh believes she was dead before the fire reached her body. He is the one who brought her down.

“Go on,” Soen urged.

“Beyond that, the overseers and the Guardians were undoubtedly all slaughtered.”

“All of them . . . you're sure?”

“The moment we arrived, Master,” Gradek said, “I specifically ordered each of my Octian commanders to secure the House and protect any elves they encountered. None were reported.”

“Still, they will have to be accounted for in any event.” Soen turned back to examine the huddled group sitting on the ground before him, the smoking ruins of their former life behind them. “These slaves are all that's left, then. Any of them broken?”

“I do not understand,” the manticore replied, shaking his wide head.

“No, of course not,” Soen muttered under his breath, then spoke more clearly to the monster beside him. “A broken slave is one who has fallen outside the discipline of House Devotions, Gradek. Their souls no longer yearn for the peace and glory of the Imperial Gods—and as such they are dangerous to both the body and the spirit of the state. I'll need to examine each of them. You will stay close to me throughout, and I will tell you which are broken and which are not. If I tell you that one of them is broken, you are to kill him or her at once—at once, you understand, without further question or thought.”

The manticore nodded and then looked up at the sky, searching for stars, perhaps, that could not yet be seen. “Yes, Master . . . I believe that four of them . . . perhaps five . . . are broken.”

“Very well,” Soen said, drawing in one last, deep breath of the sweet evening air before setting about the grim task before him. “Your Lord Megnara shall garner much favor this night because of your sure action in his name.”

“Master,” Gradek said, his wide, flat face gazing down at the elven Inquisitor. “We have not slept in nearly two days. It is nearly the hour of House Devotions. Many of my warriors are anxious to return to our Field Altar so that they might . . .”

“NO!” Soen barked. “Not a single Impress Warrior is to leave until I have questioned them to my satisfaction—
especially
for House Devotions! Is that absolutely clear?”

Gradek drew himself up erect with great effort. “Yes, Master Soen!”

The old human woman had stubbly, gray hair barely emerging from her head, but she was stroking it with her fingers like a brush. “There were flowers in the fields then. Such beautiful flowers. The smell of them was overwhelming in the bright sun. Patches of red and yellow and brown and blue. We ran and ran and ran through the field with the flowers rushing past us. How I laughed!”

“What is your name?” Soen asked in soft tones.

The old human woman's eyes came into focus again on the Inquisitor's face, but she didn't seem to actually see him. “She always called me Essie. I never much liked Essenia though Mama told me she named me after her grandmother. It's strange, in a way, because I can remember Mama telling me I was named after her sister, too. She called to me, ‘Run, Essie! Run!' and we ran through the flowers in the fields. What a game we played, with the elves chasing us, but we were so fast that they couldn't catch us! Not Mama and me!”

“Essie,” Soen said. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yes!” the woman said as her fingers caught on an imagined snag in her hair. “Are you looking for Mama, too? She fell into the flowers of the field—I think she was playing a trick on us. She fell among the red flowers, so bright and still wet. She said to keep running, but I can't remember to where. I've looked and looked for her, but she's hiding in the field, I know she is. There were flowers in the fields, then, you know. Such beautiful flowers!”

“Perhaps I can help you find your mother,” Soen said, patting the woman on the hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Essenia smiled childlike through her weathered, ancient face.

Soen stood and spoke to Gradek.

“She is broken.”

“Please, sire, I need help . . . I'm sick . . . something is terribly wrong!”

Soen nodded as he gazed into what passed as the face of the chimerian. It was difficult to look at because its shape kept shifting, the plates of its bones sliding beneath the skin as the creature struggled with his own inner monsters tearing at his memories.

“We can help you,” Soen said with measured words, his black gaze trying to lock with the shifting, feverish eyes of the chimerian. “What is your name?”

“My name? My name is . . . I don't know!” The chimerian's voice rose to a panicked pitch. “I have
too many
names!”

“It's all right,” Soen reassured the quivering being, the tips of his own ears starting to twitch. “Just tell me what happened here and we can help you.”

“What happened? What
happened?
” The chimerian worked his hands nervously until the fingers on each hand had lengthened to nearly a foot in length. “Didn't you
see
it?”

“Yes, but tell me anyway,” Soen said, licking his sharp teeth. “What was happening right before . . . when everything was still right.”

The chimerian blinked, calming as he concentrated on the single memory. “We were at House Devotions. Lord Timuran was beside the altar with the Lady and his daughter.”

Soen nodded.
At last we're getting somewhere
, he thought.
Everything appeared fine up to the House Devotions.
“And then . . .”

The chimerian was blinking faster now, struggling to organize his memories into words. “Then there was some trouble on the other side of the garden. One of the warriors just returned. I didn't recognize him, but he must have arrived earlier in the day.”

“The day of the trouble, you mean.”

“Yes . . . there was a shout . . . that's what got my attention . . . and when I looked up, the Guardians were moving toward this warrior. He was fighting them, too. I remember thinking he was frighteningly strong for a human.”

“A human?” Soen asked in mild surprise.

“That's right! I remember now; somehow he had a blade. Lord Timuran drew his own sword and was charging toward him. This human saw him coming, I'm sure of it. Guardians were all around him but I saw him turn and . . . and . . .”

“What happened next?” Soen urged. “One thing after the other . . . what happened next.”

“The Well . . .”

“The Aether Well?”