Song of the Dragon

CHAPTER 25

Ruukag slid to a stop, his wide feet skidding across the rotting leaves that blanketed the forest floor. He fell at once into a crouch, his head swiveling quickly around as his wide eyes tried desperately to pierce the mist-laden spaces between the vertical tree trunks surrounding him like bars. The manticore could not take in enough air, could not rein in his fear. Panic circled around him like a predator that he could not see or smell but knew was waiting to pounce upon him if given the slightest opportunity.

RuuKag bared his fangs, growling at his own panic even as he shivered. He wanted to go back; was desperate to go back to the blissfully forgetful life that had been his comfort and his redemption.

Now he was alone, and he hated that more than anything. He had fled into the woods along with the others, but somehow they had all gotten separated in the mists. He knew that he should call out to them, find the reassuring sound of their voices regardless of who it was, and find some comfort in numbers, but he feared that the circling panic would hear his call and take him down under its terrible darkness.

A bush shook behind him. RuuKag spun about.

Another manticore stood before him, his wide paws open and extended out to the side.

RuuKag relaxed slightly.

“I couldn’t find you,” Belag said, his voice a low rumble among the trees. “Are you injured?”

“No. . no thanks to that hoo-mani.” RuuKag shuddered and then stood upright. “Where has he led us now?”

Belag raised his furry chin, his feline face looking slowly about. “The Murialis Woods. . a magical forest and a dangerous one by all accounts. It is not wise for us to be alone. Follow me and I’ll take you to the others.”

“We should leave them,” RuuKag sneered. “They are unworthy of us.”

“You do not believe in the Drakis Prophecies?” Belag asked in a steady voice.

“Stories told to cubs so that they might sleep at night,” RuuKag replied at once. “Lies perpetrated by the elders to keep themselves in power.”

Belag accepted the remark casually then turned, making his way between the mist-shrouded trees. RuuKag followed a moment later, his own steps close on the heels of his brother manticore.

“I was of the Khadush Clan,” Belag said as he pushed aside a thick fern in his path.

They were descending a gentle slope. RuuKag could hear the murmur of a brook somewhere nearby.

“Khadush?” RuuKag said. “I’m of Shakash Clan.”

“Then we both are brothers in a greater cause,” Belag said in conversation, though he never turned his head from the path before them.

The mists seemed to be thickening, making it difficult for RuuKag to see his companion. He quickened his steps to close the distance between them. “What greater cause?”

Belag stepped around a moss-covered tree whose trunk stretched above them to vanish in the gloom. “We are both from clans in rebellion against the Manticas Assembly. We have broken with the Chaenandrian Lords to continue the war against the traitorous Rhonas elves.”

RuuKag gave a single, derisive guffaw. “They called it a rebellion! Our elders fled the just decrees of the Assembly and dragged their women and children out onto the Northern Steppes. They filled our heads with songs and stories of the old days and promised us glorious futures of honor and strength. . but we were nothing more than raiders and thieves.”

“So how is it you know of the old days?” Belag asked, still walking ahead and not turning his head as he spoke. They were climbing again now, the obscuring mists growing thicker with each step up the densely wooded hillside.

“Know of them? I was there,” RuuKag spat the vile words with distaste. “I stood at the front in the Battle of the Red Fields with the rest of the fools.”

“You must have been young then,” Belag spoke in quiet, even tones.

“Too young,” RuuKag said. He was finding it difficult to breathe again. His arms felt heavy, and his feet felt as though they were lifting stone weights. He followed Belag between a pair of trees and stopped.

With breathtaking suddenness, they had come upon a forest glade of magnificent beauty. Light filtered down through an opening in the forest canopy, its dappled rays illuminating the clearing with soft light. Gentle grasses carpeted the soft soil on either side of a clear brook that cut through its center as it danced across the rounded stones of its bed. It was a place of peace and warmth in the midst of the gloom, and RuuKag longed to lay down on its verdant expanse.

“Too young indeed,” Belag said as he stepped to the center of the glade and turned to face RuuKag. “I know the Battle of the Red Fields, RuuKag. The story has been carried far of the young manticore warriors-untrained children-who were shamed into joining the desperate battle. Even I have heard of the charge that day and the. .”

“Stop!” RuuKag said, stepping into the glade. The warm soil beneath his feet felt more luxurious than anything he had known before.

Belag stooped down, scooping up some of the clear, cold water from the brook and tasting it. “It’s all right, RuuKag. I understand. It was a foolish, prideful order that called for the charge that day. Every manticore that heeded that command died that day, cut down by the Rhonas Legions and the terrible power of their Aether weapons. Thousands of them, tens of thousands, charging across the Northern Steppes, and none of them. . not one survived to claim their honor or victory.”

“No, some lived,” RuuKag said though his voice sounded hollow.

“Yes, some lived,” Belag agreed, reaching down again with his cupped paw and feeling the water fall between his fingers. “But the story is that only those who fled the battle. . who did not charge when the order was given but turned and ran. .”

“No, that’s not true,” RuuKag said too loudly. “You can’t know. You weren’t there!”

Belag stood up and faced RuuKag. “It’s all right, RuuKag. We’ve all remembered things we want to forget. Come, you’re tired. Lie down here in this clearing. The others have gone upstream in search of food, but they will be back shortly. I’ll watch over you.”

RuuKag stepped farther into the glade. They had run through the night, and he was so tired. He could barely lift his legs now. He gratefully lowered himself to the ground, pressed his body against the warm, soft grass and sighed.

“You won’t leave me?” RuuKag asked.

“No, I won’t leave you,” Belag replied.

RuuKag closed his eyes and slept.

“Drakis!” Belag called out between his cupped paws. His voice was nearly hoarse from shouting the past hour. He stopped and tried to be as still as possible for the expected reply.

“Here, Belag!” came the distant reply. “We’re over here! Where are you?”

The manticore drove both fists upward and roared in frustration; then he turned in the direction he believed he had heard the voice and charged again through the mist-obscured tree trunks. Ever since he had pushed Drakis ahead of him into the trees, the gods had seemingly deserted him. He had stepped around a tree expecting to find Drakis on the other side, but he had vanished-swallowed, it would seem, by the strange morning fog that permeated these woods. He had called out to him, tentatively at first and then with increasing fervor as the voice in reply seemed to his ears to get farther away each time he called out.

He was tired. The forced march the night before had taken much out of him, and he knew it. He had somehow believed that all they had to do was to cross the border into the faery lands and they could rest, recover, and prepare for whatever else lay ahead of them. But now he had lost everyone-even Drakis, who had been barely an arm’s length away from him when they entered these cursed woods.

Belag bent over, placing his paws on his wide knees and closing his eyes. He had failed again. . as he had so often failed before.

“Belag?”

The manticore looked up, a wide smile splitting his feline face. “Drakis! At last.”

“Are you all right?” Drakis stepped up to Belag and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I am now,” Belag replied straightening up. “Where are the others?”

“Not far from here,” Drakis answered. “Come, I’ll show you.”

The human turned and started walking back among the trunks and undergrowth. Belag quickly followed, determined not to lose Drakis for a second time.

“Belag, we’ve got to talk-while it’s just the two of us,” Drakis said as he walked though he spoke without turning his head. “We’ve been through a great deal together, old friend. I’ve fought by your side through many campaigns-many of which I am only now starting to remember and appreciate.”

“It is the same with me,” Belag agreed as he followed behind. The human seemed unusually spry for having traveled such a great distance the night before. “I, too, am having to deal with the thoughts and remembrances that are both new and old to me at once. Much is still confusion in my mind.”

“To all of us,” Drakis agreed as he continued to walk ahead, apparently intent on the trail before them. They were following the bottom of a gully now with a clear stream running beneath their feet. “But there’s been something I’ve wanted to ask you, Belag, if you don’t mind.”

“I serve you, Drakis,” Belag intoned, though he was beginning to wonder why it was so hard to breathe in this small canyon.

Drakis did not look back but spoke clearly. “Belag, how do you know that I’m the one who was prophesied to return?”

Belag replied at once, “Because I know it. My heart speaks the truth of it to me. I know it because I believe.”

Quite suddenly, they stepped out of the mists. Belag caught his breath.

Before them was the most beautiful glade the manticore had ever seen. Sunlight shone across the surface of a small pool situated at the edge of the clearing. The pool was fed by the gentle cascade of water down a small rock face, and its water was so clear that Belag could make out the shapes of the smooth rocks that lined the bottom of the pond. At the edge of the pond, soft sand rose in a bank up to the grasses of the glade, warmed by a shaft of sunlight shining down through an opening in the forest canopy overhead.

Belag longed to warm himself on the sands next to the pool, to close his eyes under the sun and find a moment’s peace.

Drakis stepped into the glade and sat down in the grass, crossing his legs under him. “It’s all right, Belag. . we’re safe here.”

Belag took a hesitant step into the glade.

“What is it?” Drakis asked, concerned.

“I. . where are the others?”

“Others?”

“The Lyric. . Mala. . RuuKag. .”

Drakis laughed. “Are you sure you really want to know where RuuKag is?”

“I won’t be heartsick if he gets himself lost. . or that dwarf. . or the chimerian for that matter. . but where are. .”

“You needn’t worry,” Drakis said, leaning back on his elbows in the sunlight. “They’ve gone upstream to forage for our lunch. They wanted me to stay behind to make sure you got here.”

Belag smiled and stepped across the soft grasses of the glade to the pool. He stretched out on the sands, feeling their warmth soak into his muscles and bones.

“So, tell me,” Drakis continued. “What led you to me?”

Belag’s eyes closed, and he frowned slightly as he spoke. “I was raised Khadush Clan, both me and my. .”

The manticore paused.

“What is it, Belag?” Drakis asked.

“My brother.” He sighed the last word as though with a final breath. “We both believed strongly in your legend-the prophesied return of the Northern Lords. Our clan holds that all manticores are cursed for their betrayal of the Drakosian Kings of the hoo-mani and that only by offering our lives to the rightful heir of the human empire will we absolve ourselves of our complicity in their downfall. We were so sure-both of us-in our faith that we vowed to find you. We became pilgrims, Karag and I, devoted to finding you and freeing our race from its shame and curse. We set out west across the northern slopes of the Aerian Mountains, hoping to make our way into Vestasia to the northwest. We heard there were humans in that region and thought that they might be able to direct us to you.”

Belag rolled over in the warm sand and thought for a moment before continuing. “We were taken before we reached the border by an elven slaver party though we put up quite a fight and cost them the lives of three of their group before we were taken. Everything after that. . well, you know too well. We were forced to forget it all. . everything that made us who we truly were. . we even forgot why we had come in the first place as we were passed from Rhonas House to Rhonas House as Impress Warriors. I have thought much on this since, Drakis, and I know that it was the wisdom of the gods, because by enslaving us-even in our forgetfulness-we were brought to you. And even when my brother. .”

Belag turned his face away, lying back on the sand once more.

“Go on, friend,” Drakis encouraged.

Belag closed his eyes again, basking in the warmth of the sun shining down on him from above. When he spoke, his voice was unusually heavy. “Even when my brother died that day on the Ninth Dwarven Throne defending you. . even though he did not know who you were because of the terrible veil of forgetfulness cast by the evil of the elves. . even then the gods smiled down on my brother and showed him how his death would have meaning.”

“I understand,” Drakis said in words barely heard above the splashing water nearby. “It’s my turn to watch over you, now. Rest for a while. . and I’ll watch out for both of us.”

With a great sigh, Belag relaxed into the warm sands and drifted into a deep and contented sleep.

Drakis, sword drawn, walked with cautious step between the towering trunks of trees stretching above him into the mists. He had thought Belag was right behind him, but, impossibly, the huge manticore had vanished into the dim, fog-blurred shadows of the forest, and he found himself quite alone.

A sobbing sound caught his ear off to his left. Drakis adjusted the grip on his sword and followed the weeping as it grew louder with each step.

He rounded a tree and stopped, letting his sword arm swing down to his side.

“Mala?”

The human woman turned toward him, tears still cutting marks down the smudges on her face. She ran to him, her arms quickly wrapping around him as she buried her face in his chest.

A smile flashed across Drakis’ face. He felt suddenly awkward. With the sword in his right hand and the scabbard on his left side he was left to comfort Mala by putting his left arm around her and trying not to nick her with the blade he still held in his right. “Mala. . I’m here now, it will be all right.”

“I didn’t think I’d find you,” she said, looking up into his face, her eyes large and still watery. “I was so worried. .”

“I’m fine,” Drakis said, pulling away from her. “Have you seen anyone else?”

“Oh, yes!” she smiled. “They’re not far from here. . they’re waiting for us. They’re all out looking for you now, but I found you and we’ll be together again soon.”

Drakis smiled again. “That’s excellent, Mala. If we are going to have any hope of getting through the madness of this wood, we’ll have to stay together. Where are we meeting?”

“It’s not far from here, just down a nearby stream a bit,” she said, taking his hand. “I can show you. Belag says we can rest, replenish, and get our bearings-whatever that means. And. . and. .”

“And what, Mala?”

“Oh, Drakis, I’m so frightened and tired,” Mala said. “Will you please just tell me where we’re going. . and why we’re going there?”

“I’m not sure it will make much sense, Mala,” Drakis replied. “It’s got something to do with a song.”

“Really?” Mala said, puzzled, and then started pulling at his hand. “Then promise you’ll tell me all about it when get there.”

“Get where?”

“It’s not far,” she said without turning her head, “and it’s the most peaceful glade you’ve ever seen.”