Song of the Dragon (35 page)

Her acolytes, who had carried her heavy throne through every fold gate from the Imperial City to the far reaches of northern Ibania—a seemingly endless succession through increasing carnage—had never complained about its weight or the length of the journey. Her personal guard had made no utterance regarding the open danger to which the Keeper was exposed. Each of them took their orders and performed their duties in unquestioning silence.

Now, her throne situated before the bone-white fountain inside the Togrun Fel—a pretty little dwarven tomb about as far removed from every benefit of civilization as could be found—Keeper Ch'drei alone could afford to be as loud as she liked.

“How is it possible,” Ch'drei barked in a shrill voice that seemed to shake the very stones of the great, crafted cavern around her, “that the Keepers of All Truth . . . the sharpest eyes and ears of the Imperial Will . . . cannot even find one of their own?”

“My Keeper,” replied Master Indexia Charun from where he half bowed in front of the throne, “we followed the trail to a small fold gate to the west. That led us across the Hyperian Plain . . . beyond the Hecariat Pillar. We have eight Quorums searching now. It is only a matter of time before . . .”

“I do not care if it takes another
hundred
Quorums,” Ch'drei yelled, spittle flying from between her long, sharp teeth. “I haven't traveled over two hundred leagues into the wilderness just to wait for three days in this . . . this
grave
for your report of a stunning lack of news.”

“Keeper Ch'drei,” Charun said, looking away from her as he spoke, “the Assesia who have returned to report tell us that the trail moves in the direction of the Murialis Woodlands. It is entirely possible that Soen and the rest of his Quorum may be dead.”

Ch'drei nearly choked on her laugh. “Dead? Soen?”

“Yes, Keeper Ch'drei.”

“He wouldn't
dare
die without asking my permission first!”

“That being true,” came the raspy voice from the entrance to the tomb, “then perhaps . . . perhaps I might ask your permission now . . . in advance. I would hate to . . . disappoint you.”

Ch'drei's head jerked up toward the voice. “Soen? Is that you, my son?”

Soen stepped from the dark opening onto the broad flagstone of the tomb's floor. The black of his robes was lost under layers of dust, mud, and stains. He swayed slightly, his balance uncertain. His narrow jaw hung open as he sucked in the moist air. “Yes, Keeper . . . your loyal servant has returned with news of a great victory . . . or, what
will
be a great victory once we deal with a few awkward realities.”

Soen shuffled forward, casting a tired smile at the Indexia. “Ah, Charun is here to save me. How considerate of him to be so concerned about my welfare, but, as you can see, I am not so much lost as I am delayed.”

“Soen,” the Keeper said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the anger out of her voice. “I left the Citadel to meet you among the marshaling fields in Ibania.”

“So your Assesia informed me.” Soen stepped around the throne to the tree fountain in the center of the great hall. He sat at the edge of the pool and removed his boots. “Poor Jukung . . . so young and so ambitious. Also, sadly inexperienced although, in all honesty, even my own two Codexia didn't see the danger—no offense intended, Charun.”

Soen eased his feet into the cool waters and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“You've lost them all, then?” the Keeper said with a dangerous purr in her voice.

Soen, ignoring the remark for the moment, turned to face Charun. “My deepest thanks for your concern, Master Indexia, and the efforts of all those under your charge on my behalf. Perhaps now, however, would be an excellent time for you to recall your searching Quorums as, clearly, I have been found.”

Charun stiffened slightly, but one glance at the Keeper and he knew it was time to retreat. With a bow he turned and quickly stepped across the stones to the exiting tunnel and disappeared into its blackness.

Ch'drei waited a moment before she spoke again. “What happened, my son?”

Soen smiled to himself, then reached down with both long hands and scooped up water from the pool. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing the water vigorously over his face, then plunged his hands back into the water.

“Soen,” Ch'drei spoke in dark tones, “there are limits to my love.”

The Inquisitor stopped and then turned toward her. “So I have observed.” He looked up at the cascading fountain. “It
is
rather magnificent, although its effect would be ever so much better were it moved out of this cave and into the light of day. When our Imperial Legions finally managed to break the seals on this place, I was one of the first called in to evaluate it. There was considerable discussion at the time about how we should dismantle the entire thing and transport it as a trophy back to the Imperial City, but ultimately the idea was abandoned . . . it was just too much effort. Rather fortunate for you, however, that we left it here. The sound of its waters rather conveniently obscures close conversations from more distant ears.”

Ch'drei remained silent for a time, her black eyes fixed on him. “This is why you drew me to this place? You knew that I would choose it?”

“I think it much more pleasant to say, rather, that I counted on the tactical and political good sense that has made you a legendary Keeper of the Iblisi,” Soen replied, leaning back on his elbows as he faced her.

Ch'drei spoke just loudly enough over the hiss and roar of the elaborate fountain for Soen to hear her words. “The Quorum then?”

Soen took in a long breath before he continued, his own voice pitched just for the Keeper's ears. “My two Codexia are dead—those that came with me, that is. The borders of Murialis have always been in some dispute with neither side pressing for exactly where to draw that line. It seems that Queen Murialis decided of late to expand her perception of what constitutes her territory. I expected the faery line but not nearly as soon as we came upon it. I had sent both Qinsei and Phang ahead to envelop our prey before the bolters reached the line, but they were both taken before they could get into position.”

“And the Assesia?” Ch'drei asked quietly.

“I brought him back, but I do not know how much use he'll be to you now. Water Nymphs attacked him when he crossed the faery line. He may live, but I wonder if it wouldn't be better for him if he doesn't. I tried to warn Jukung when we came upon the line . . .”

“But he crossed anyway,” Ch'drei sniffed and then shrugged. “Foolish boy. Well, I suppose that's the end of it then. Sorry to have put you to such trouble, Soen.”

Soen stood up, stretching. “Who spoke of endings, my Lady?”

“You chased those bolters from one end of the Hyperian Plain to the other only to herd them all to their deaths,” Ch'drei said. “It's over. Now we may never know what brought down those Wells in the Provinces . . . and it all seems like such a waste.”

“Quite the contrary, Madam Keeper; this investigation grows more fascinating with each passing moment. We know three very important truths now—truths that are best kept to ourselves,” Soen said, his black eyes shining. “First, I must report that while those august members of my Quorum who were with me at the time were, indeed, utterly destroyed by the denizens of the Murialis Woods . . . the bolters, on the other hand, were left entirely unscathed.”

“What?”
Ch'drei's outburst threatened to overwhelm the noise of the enormous fountain behind her.

“Rather interesting, isn't it? An entire living forest bent on the destruction of
anyone
invading its territory, and these seven bolters from an obscure and apparently unimportant elven House pass the faery line without so much as a hair out of place. It rather begs the question of why these particular seven are the exception to Queen Murialis' standing decree to kill all invaders first and then ask who they were later.”

Ch'drei leaned forward on her throne. “You think Murialis is assisting them?”

“Certainly. Why else would they have survived the border crossing unless on her express instructions.” Soen stepped in front of the throne and dropped down on the stones of the floor, crossing his legs under him as he sat facing the Keeper. “As for why Murialis would do such a thing—that part remains hidden to me. Murialis knows that harboring bolters would provide the Emperor with the very excuse he needs to declare open war on the faerylands—and she knows that he's looking for any such excuse now that the war with the dwarves is finished. The fact that she allows them to live means that she is aiding them somehow though she won't publicly admit to it. But suppose that rumors began circulating around the Imperial Houses that Murialis is not only harboring dangerous fugitives but even hinting that they may have been acting under her orders to destroy an elven House on the frontier ? Were I Murialis in such a circumstance, I would be under increasing pressure to push these trouble-plagued bolters out of my kingdom as soon as possible. Murialis won't risk open confrontation; neutrality has worked too well for her thus far.”

“So you want me to foment a war?”

“Just beat the drums loudly enough so that Murialis is uncomfortable.”

Ch'drei nodded slowly. “I think I can manage that . . . but why bother? Seven slaves escaping into the Murialis Woods are hardly . . .”

“The reason to bother is, in fact, my second truth,” Soen said, straightening his back. “You no doubt have the reports of our discoveries at House Timuran.”

“Yes,” Ch'drei nodded, her face thoughtful. “Great tragedy, that. Never happened officially, of course, but the explosive collapse of the Aether Well is still of considerable private concern—especially to the Occuran.”

“You know, then, that one of the bolters is a human male by the name of Drakis?”

“Yes . . . what of it?”

“The second truth I have discovered is that this human named Drakis also hears the Dragon Song.”

Ch'drei looked up in disgust. “Oh, by all the gods! Do you actually
believe
this human to be the fulfillment of the Desolation Prophecies?”

“Of course not . . . what kind of a fool do you take me for?” Soen snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the domed chamber. The Inquisitor stood up quickly and moved closer to the Keeper. “One out of every ten human males of the Seventh Estate hear that same song in their heads—and since the humans still teach that prophecy to their young before they're impressed for Devotions, it seems hard to find a male child who
hasn't
been named ‘Drakis' by their sires. Those prophecies are nothing but the cooling embers of a dead faith.”

Soen's hand reached out, grasping the arm of the Keeper's throne and pulling him closer to her. “He may not be the Lost King come to destroy Rhonas and bring honor back to humanity . . . but he
could
be the one or, worse, mistaken for the one. We've got to find him before any of the ministries do . . . before the Legions and their generals . . . before the Emperor or any of his minions have any idea of his existence. We are the Keepers of Truth, Ch'drei, and this is one truth we would want within our control.”

“You think he might be useful to us,” Ch'drei nodded, her voice barely audible over the rushing waters behind her.

“He doesn't
have
to be the One,” Soen smiled, his sharp teeth showing. “But in the
right
place he could
pass
for the One. He did cause the Aether Wells of nearly every House in the Western Provinces to fail—think of it, Ch'drei! To
fail!
The Well of House Timuran utterly destroyed: a feat beyond even the Grand Wizard of the Occuran, and yet this Drakis did it. In the wrong hands he could threaten the foundations of the Empire.”

“And in the
right
hands.” Ch'drei asked.

“In the
right
hands,” Soen replied, “the Empire might still fall—but in a direction that could be to the
right
people's advantage.”

“You propose a most dangerous game, my Inquisitor.”

“But it is
my
game, Keeper,” he replied, his lips parting into a wide smile revealing his pointed teeth. “The stakes are high—perhaps none higher—and yet in the end you know that you risk nothing at all.”

Ch'drei nodded slowly and smiled back through her translucent, needlelike teeth. “I always liked you. I'd hate to have you killed.”

“It might prove a difficult task to carry out, my Keeper,” Soen nodded. “It's been tried before.”

“Stay with the subject at hand,” she snapped. “All of this might have proved useful . . . if you actually
had
this Drakis slave,” Ch'drei pointed out, her long fingers uncurling into an open palm. “But as you have already said, this bolter is a guest of the vast kingdom of Murialis. Even if we flush this bird out of the forest, he could reappear anywhere along a thousand leagues of Murialis' border . . . back into Hyperia, Aeria, Chronasis . . .”

“This Drakis is currently about seventy-three leagues inside the border of Murialis,” Soen said, standing upright and folding his arms across his chest.

Keeper Ch'drei eyed Soen in astonishment, momentarily unable to speak.

“And he will emerge in Vestasia to the north,” Soen finished with a smirk.

“Are you a wizard, Soen,” Ch'drei frowned.

“You can believe that if you wish, my Keeper,” Soen said, reaching into the folds of his robe. “But the source of my knowledge is more mundane—and it is my third truth that I have brought to you.”