Song of the Dragon (32 page)

Soen stopped his circular stroll in front of Jukung, his face barely a handbreadth away from the Assesia's. “I can't wait for the Tribunal. Let me know when it starts.”

“Yes, Master Inquisitor,” Jukung answered as he turned his head away.

“Qinsei and Phang,” Soen said. “You will take opposite sides of the riverbank. Stay on the high ground and get ahead of our prey. When you find a suitable site for an ambush, mark it and position yourselves on the far side. Our young Assesia—now so eager to learn—will come with me up the riverbed. We'll drive the prey to you, and then you take them. There aren't enough of us to do this properly, so Jukung and I will have to kill the manticores and the chimerian and dwarf outright. You capture the human male. Once he's secure, kill the females.”

“Why keep the male alive?” Phang asked.

“I have my reasons,” Soen answered. “Do not disappoint me.”

When no further explanation was offered, Phang nodded then set out.

Qinsei and Phang, with quick and silent footfalls, outdistanced their squabbling quarry with little trouble. Qinsei followed the left bank with Phang on the right. They had worked together often down the uncounted years, and this part of their job had become a matter of routine. Their target was in sight—all that remained was to answer the questions of where and when the trap would be sprung.

Wordlessly, the two Codexia closed again on the river. Their prey was now behind them, coming in their direction. They remained on the high ground of the steep, sheer banks, following its curves and undulations farther, Qinsei thought, than she would have preferred. But it was Soen who was their Inquisitor, and Qinsei wanted to find the perfect place for them to bring this sorry business to its inevitable close.

“Ah,” Qinsei sighed with satisfaction as she stopped at the crest of the bank where the river turned sharply. “Soen will be pleased.”

It was a steep banked bowl surrounding a pool at the base of a waterfall. The river had cut a narrow passage that was the only way in or out. It would be slow climbing out of such a bowl. Qinsei saw it all in her mind: their prey walking into the bowl, Soen and Jukung closing off their only escape out of it, while she and Phang stood atop the edge of the bowl, capturing them all before their prey was even aware they were caught.

Qinsei reached over next to her. She grabbed a branch and deftly twisted it back, locking it among the other branches in an awkward bend. The sign set, she looked across the ravine to Phang and made hand signs to him as to her instructions. He responded silently with signs of his own that he would do as she suggested, circle the top of the bowl to the northern quarter and prepare to spring the trap.

Qinsei moved around the southern edge of the bowl. All that was left for them to do would be to wait until . . .

Sobbing.

Qinsei froze at once, her Matei staff readied.

She could hear quiet sobbing just through the trees to the south.

Qinsei frowned. It would not do to have someone unknown at her back. She stepped cautiously through the trees, weaving a careful path to be as silent and unseen as possible. She halted at the tree line, her breath carefully slow and her black eyes dappled by the afternoon light through the shifting leaves of the trees.

A long clearing ran up a slope between the trees on either side. The clearing itself remained in the shadow of the surrounding trees under a bright sky. Qinsei waited patiently for a moment, her eyes searching the trees and the tall grasses for a time before her gaze fixed on the small head whose back was turned toward her just past the crest of the hillside meadow.

A child—an elven child sat at the crest of the hill weeping in this lost and forsaken wilderness.

Qinsei frowned. She was more puzzled than concerned. There were no Rhonas settlements this far west—certainly none so near the Murialis Woods. It might be rebel elves out of Museria somehow come this far north. Whoever they were, her maternal instincts were not aroused; she meant to question this elf child and get answers quickly regardless of the cost.

Qinsei stepped into the tall grass and smiled. The ground was soft and spongelike beneath her feet. Her footfalls would go unheard.

She remained unaware of the long line of stones that she had stepped over as she crossed into the meadow.

Phang's eyes searched quickly along the northern rim of the pool's box canyon for the best point where he might lie in wait until Soen came and sprang their trap. This was his favorite part of the hunt; the prey were coming toward him, their fate irrevocably fixed and held in his hands and those of his fellow Iblisi. There was something about watching their approach—seeing their faces completely unaware of the doom that he knew was about to descend upon them. He relished their lives in that moment—that they were still dreaming of another tomorrow and making plans that would never be. Such a moment deserved a well-chosen position from which to view the show.

He soon saw the perfect spot from which to observe the last moments of his prey's freedom. It was a collection of large boulders at the top edge of the steep northern slope overlooking the waterfall and the pool. He could see and not be seen there. He smiled and was about to move up to the rim of the canyon . . .

Then he heard the piercing scream.

Qinsei,
he thought at once. He raised his Matei staff and, drawing from its Aether, leaped twenty feet to the top of the river's steep southern bank. The scream had come from the south where his Codexia companion had just gone. He saw the careful, subtle marks of her passage—marks only another Codexia could follow—as he moved with swift yet silent steps among the trees.

The trees ended at the edge of a meadow running up the hillside between the trees. He could see Qinsei kneeling at the top of the ridge, her hooded head bent over as though she were examining something in the grass before her. Phang watched for a moment but was satisfied; whatever had happened to her, Qinsei had the problem well in hand. It would be best if he returned to the northern ridge and took up his position among the boulders, he thought and was turning to do so when some movement caught his eye.

It was Qinsei. She was motioning for him to come and join her on the ridge.

Phang grasped his Matei staff in both hands and ran easily up the slope. The ground under his feet was soft and had a spring to it that he found pleasant. The grasses around him were nearly up to his knees. He would not mind staying here to rest a while once the butcher-business of their calling was finished.

“Qinsei,” Phang called as he approached. “We must be in position soon. What is so urgent that . . .”

Phang stopped at the sight of Qinsei's face, raising his Matei staff at once.

Qinsei gazed up at him with the dull eyes that were shared by all elven dead. Thin green vines riddled her face, neck, and hands, shifting and writhing just beneath the surface of her skin.

Phang commanded the Aether of the staff to discharge at once into the hideous apparition that had been his companion, but the Matei staff did not respond at all, its powers vanished. Instead, the wood of the staff came alive, coiling like a snake around Phang's arm as it slithered toward his head.

Tendrils running through the grass wound their way up Phang's legs, but it was Qinsei's dead face that fixed Phang's vision. The vines in her lifeless muscles contracted and forced the dead Codexia's features to smile.

The winding course of the stream had cut down into the sloping plain, leaving banks on either side of its curves sometimes as low as three feet, occasionally rising as high as twenty. Soen envied Phang and Qinsei; they were making good time across the open ground, paralleling the river, while the Inquisitor was forced to make his way along the meandering streambed with the sulking Jukung at his side. He could not afford the luxury of speed, for he was closing on his prey and dared not lose their track should they for any reason decide to defy his expectations and leave the watercourse. Still, he took satisfaction that with each twist of the River Galaran, his two Codexia were getting farther ahead, better positioning themselves to spring their trap on the bolters.

Jukung had crossed the river at a shallow ford nearly half a league downstream and remained on the opposite side. It was just as well, Soen mused. The young Assesia had been something of a concern early on, but Soen was convinced now that Jukung was only a pawn of the Keeper, a much easier problem than Soen had thought he was facing. The Inquisitor had been concerned that Jukung was working for one of the myriad other Orders, Houses or lords who were constantly scheming against the Iblisi, but the youth's actions had dispelled most of Soen's apprehensions. The youth was still dangerous—both to the Inquisitor and to himself—but apparently not with any darker purpose than his own aggrandizement.

A power-hungry youth was something Soen could manage.

They moved quickly, their Matei staffs held either across their bodies or parallel to the ground in their hands. Their soft boots pushed them soundlessly up the crooked path of the riverbed. He knew their tracks by heart, having followed them across the Hyperian plain when few others could have made out their mark. Now, fresh and deep, he had no trouble making them out even in the predawn light: two sets heavy and wide of the manticores, one lighter and longer of the chimerian, the heavy footfalls of a dwarf, and the three humans—two females and the male. One of the female tracks wandered slightly along the river's edge.

Soen smiled, baring his sharp teeth.
The woman is tired. She slows them down.

The banks of the river were steep now and tall, vertical precipices on either side. Just above their edge, Soen could see the tops of trees.

The Inquisitor continued his silent run, but he was troubled. They should have caught up to the bolters by now—or at least the Codexia should have stopped them before they reached the sanctuary of the woods. There were foul things lurking in those trees, for it was the realm of Murialis, Queen of the Woodland Nymphs and Dryads. All elves hated the woods but especially the forbidding trees of the dryad realm.

Soen was about to quicken his pace when he heard them: voices arguing around the turn of the gully.

The elf slowed his pace and saw what he had been looking for high on the riverbank. The twisted branch pinned back against the trunk of the tree. Qinsei and Phang had marked the spot as just around the bend in the river.

The prey were already in the trap.

Soen signaled to Jukung with his Matei staff to stop. The young
Assesia
obeyed at once from the opposite side of the river, his black eyes narrowing as he strained to look beyond the angled slope.

Soen crept forward, his Matei staff held firmly across him with both his long hands. He slid with gliding step behind a large boulder that had, in some age long past, tumbled down the slope just, he fancied, to provide him cover right now.