Song of the Dragon aod-1

by Tracy Hickman

  Drakis stared down at the dwarf, who was trying to keep his oversized robe closed around him. Jugar shrugged, shaking his head in denial.

  “If it isn’t the dwarf, where is that music coming from?” Drakis asked.

  “From your destiny, Drakis,” the Lyric said. “Shall we find it together?”

  The lithe woman walked with long, measured steps toward one of the arched doors. With elegant grace, she pulled the doors open and stepped into the enormous hall beyond.

  Drakis took Mala’s hand and pulled her along as he followed the Lyric with Jugar keeping so close behind that he stepped on Drakis’ heel several times before the human’s angry looks forced him farther away.

  The hall was a magnificent space with galleries on both sides. Here the floor was polished stone, cool to their bare feet as they walked across its even and measured tiles. It was over a hundred feet in length, dizzying in size, and, to Drakis’ mind, brain-numbing in its impracticality. It was opulent, glorious, and magnificent all at once and yet seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. There were no audience chairs here for an assemblage nor artwork for display, nor did it appear to have anything to do with combat or training or any other function that Drakis could imagine.

  They followed the Lyric through the enormous arch at the far end of the hall into a magnificent garden. In its center stood a raised dais platform with a wide, grand throne. The back of the throne fanned up and over the seat with sheltering branches and golden leaves. Three figures stood before the throne and were at once recognized by Drakis: Ethis the chimerian and both manticores, Belag and RuuKag.

  It was the fourth figure seated on the throne that caught Drakis’ attention, for she was the one who was playing the pipes. She was an enormous human-appearing woman who, Drakis judged, would be fully eight feet tall when standing. She wore a robe of deep turquoise in color though the exact shade seemed to shift as she swayed with the rhythm of her song. She was a strange woman, to Drakis’ eye; her hips were disproportionately wide, and she appeared heavy even for her height. Her breasts were enormous and seemed barely kept in check by the closed robe. She had a wide, fleshy face that tried unsuccessfully to obscure two brightly twinkling eyes. Her mouse-brown hair fell in wavy strands down as far as where her waist should have been.

  She looked up at once as they approached, her panpipes dropping from the warm smile of her supple lips.

  “So you do come when called,” she said in a deep alto voice filled with the warmth of late spring.

  The Lyric stopped at the base of the dais, and Drakis, Mala and the dwarf stopped just behind her.

  The Lyric bowed deeply. When she spoke, her voice was suddenly high-pitched and had a nasal quality to it that Drakis had never heard before. “Queen Murialis! I am Felicia of the Mists. . Princess of the Erebusia Isles. I have long traveled the paths of the sky and hidden my identity from common men, but I lay myself bare before you, my royal sister!”

  Drakis gaped at the Lyric. “You’re. . who?”

  Murialis, Queen of the Nymphs and Dryads, nodded with a smile, then turned to Ethis. “Is this the Lyric you were telling me about?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ethis replied.

  Murialis turned back to the Lyric. “My sister, you are most welcome here in the Eternal Halls. May you find respite from your weary road and surcease for a time from your adventures. You honor us with your trust.”

  “Thank you, Murialis,” the Lyric said imperiously. “Your kindness shall forever be remembered among my clan.”

  “Of course,” Murialis said with a slight smile. “As a princess, perhaps you might rest for a time while I give audience to your companions? I understand that you-Felicia-are constantly weary.”

  The Lyric considered that for a time. “That is true, Murialis. I shall rest here in your garden for a time.”

  “You have my leave,” Murialis replied.

  The Lyric turned and strode across the grasses of the garden and settled to the ground almost at once.

  Murialis turned to Ethis, laughter playing across her lips as she spoke. “She certainly takes her job seriously, doesn’t she? How do you think she did as an impression of me?”

  “She was but a shadow of your Imperial Presence, Your Majesty,” Ethis answered with a slight bow.

  “Flatterer! You must agree that even my shadow is so large that she can’t even fill that!” Murialis laughed heartily and then turned her eyes on Drakis. “So this is the one, eh? He answers to the song well enough, I’ll give you that.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ethis nodded. “His name is. .”

  “Drakis, of course, I know. . but then it would have to be, wouldn’t it?” Murialis nodded, her eyes fixed on the human male. “So, are we standing in the presence of destined greatness? Is this the one of whom it is said that he will return the glory of the human age?”

  Ethis began, “Your Majesty. .”

  “Let him speak,” Murialis cut off Ethis’ words. She rose from her throne, towering over them all. Drakis looked up into the wide face and realized that Murialis was in no way weak or even benevolent. There was malice and anger behind her eyes, and her body held power and strength that might easily break even a manticore in two. “What say you, Drakis? This manticore tells me that you are the human of prophesied destiny who will free us all from the tyranny of Rhonas and bring back the glories of the past. Are you this avatar of the gods?”

  Drakis swallowed, the words forming with difficulty in his throat.

  Jugar spoke into the silence. “He is, Your Majesty I can personally assure you without hesitation. .”

  “If I had wanted a lie, I would have asked you first, dwarf!” Murialis took a step closer toward Drakis. Clouds gathered with unnatural speed overhead. She towered over him as she spoke, her face pressing down close to his. “I am not some young wench who can be impressed by tales, human! Do you know why these are called the Eternal Halls? It is because there is no end to them. The halls, rooms, walls, floors, ceilings, furniture. . everything. . is constantly being built for me by the subjects of the forest. You cannot escape these halls because they never end. . they are being renewed from moment to moment so that my palace surrounds me no matter where I go in my kingdom. You cannot find a way out because there is no way out until I decide there is! Your destiny is in my hands until I say otherwise, so tell me: Are you the prophesied one?”

  “I. . perhaps.”

  “A dwarven answer if I ever heard one!” Murialis shrieked. Lightning cut across the sky, its thunder shaking the garden. “I’ll ask you once more, human! Are you. .”

  “I DON’T KNOW,” Drakis yelled.

  Murialis straightened up.

  The sky began to brighten.

  “Oh, Felicia?” Murialis called brightly.

  “Yes, sister?” the Lyric said, sitting up at once on the grass nearby.

  “Please take my friends through that door,” the Queen said with a smile as she pointed to an opening on her right. “You will find a banquet prepared in your honor.”

  “Your courts honor us!” the Lyric replied with a firm nod.

  “Yes, we do,” Murialis nodded. “Just leave me with Ethis and this Drakis fellow for a time. We have a few more things to discuss.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Unwelcome Guests

  “He’s a lot shorter than I expected for a god,” “Murialis purred dangerously. “I must say I’m disappointed in what you have brought me, Ethis.”

  “I regret having been a disappointment, Your Majesty,” Ethis responded at once.

  “You’re a chimerian of many words, my old friend, but I sincerely doubt that ‘regret’ is one of them.” Murialis took two steps down from the dais as she peered at Drakis, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, look at him, Ethis! Have you ever seen such delightful puzzlement?”

  “If I did, I do not recall it, Your Majesty,” Ethis said with ease, his blank face gazing back at Drakis while he folded two sets of arms in front of himself.r />
  “Ethis, what is going on?” Drakis said quietly to the chimerian. “Do you. . you work for this woman?”

  “This woman?” Murialis hooted. She stood on the ground directly in front of Drakis, towering over him. Her low voice started with a soft lilt and turned slowly to a keen edge as she spoke. “My dear, frail little human, your kind is such a wonder. You all have egos ever so much larger than any evidence would support. The embodiment of nature stands before you-the very same patient force that pushes mountains up from plains, cuts valleys from stone, and will surely outlast every single construct wrought by the hand of your fleeting race-and you have the effrontery to call me ‘this woman’?”

  The ground of the garden suddenly softened beneath his feet. His feet plunged down into the earth, which had suddenly turned into a worm-riddled mud that refused to support his weight. The worms churned in the mire, pulling him downward. Drakis struggled to pull his feet out of the mess, but he was already up to his knees.

  “Ethis!” Drakis cried out. “Help! I can’t. .”

  “Your most Glorious Majesty,” Ethis intervened, “he is, as you yourself have noted, only a human and as such carries with him the follies of his race.”

  “He should show better manners,” Murialis replied in tones devoid of compassion. “And know his place in the world.”

  “I should be delighted to instruct him on your behalf,” Ethis replied. “But in Your Majesty’s interest, may I point out that your august self only has a use for this human if he remains breathing.”

  Murialis considered for a moment and then nonchalantly raised her left hand. Two of the great ash trees that stood to either side of her throne bent over at once, their branches wrapping around Drakis’ torso and pulling him from the mire. Drakis cried out from the crushing pain and then fell awkwardly to the now surprisingly firm ground beneath him as the branches sprang away from him and the trees returned to their stately positions.

  “This is supposed to be the fulfillment of the Rhonas’ Doom?” Murialis sneered as she climbed once more to her throne and sat down.

  “So the dwarf says. .”

  Murialis gave a dismissive laugh.

  “. . And so the manticore believes,” Ethis continued. “He bears the name of prophecy, and the circumstances of his past fit the legend-or would with a little judicious revision. Your glorious self has proved that he answers to the Dragon Song.”

  “As one in any random dozen humans do,” Murialis mused. “Still, the possibilities are intriguing. You’ve questioned him. . what does he think of this prophecy he is supposed to fulfill?”

  “Your Majesty, he is aware of. .”

  “Questioned me?” Drakis interrupted but on seeing the look on the Queen’s face struggled to think of more appropriate forms of address. “Forgive me, Queen Murialis. I am. . only a slave warrior. . but this chimerian never questioned me on any ‘prophecy’ or anything like it.”

  “Oh, this is too entertaining,” Murialis’ voice purred as she leaned back into her throne. “Ethis, indulge me! Show this human your marvelous trick.”

  “Your Majesty knows that I serve at the behest of the Lady Chythal, Mistress of the High Council in Exile,” Ethis said, straightening slightly as he spoke, “It would be a betrayal of that trust if I were to reveal. .”

  “I need no reminding of Chythal,” Murialis spoke loud enough to cover the chimerian’s words. “You and your vagabond traveling companions are still reveling in your tiresome mortal existence only because of the bonds between your Lady of the High Council and my most generous self. Show him, Ethis. I will be amused.”

  “Might I suggest. .”

  “You may not,” Murialis frowned, and as she spoke, storm clouds gathered over the transparent dome above their heads. “Oblige me.”

  Ethis paused and then bowed, spreading all four of his arms out graciously. “At your service.”

  Drakis wondered for a moment just what it was he was supposed to be impressed by; he had fought alongside chimera-and occasionally against them-for as long as he had gone to battle. His training in the arena had taught him all about their telescoping bone structure that allowed them to vary their size and, at the same time, made it nearly impossible to break their bones in combat. He knew, too, of their ability to alter the coloration of their skin so that they could blend into their surroundings and be more difficult to see on a battlefield. As he watched Ethis’ form shift, it was all familiar to him, and he wondered if he would have to work up some feigned astonishment in order to please the mercurial Murialis.

  But the transformation continued beyond anything Drakis had experienced before. The bone-plates of Ethis’ face began to shift, and the muscles over the skeleton shifted their positions. The normally translucent skin began to change texture and color. Flaps appeared in the skin, seeming to shift with the chimerian’s slightest move. Ethis grew shorter, his second set of arms disappeared as his shape became more human.

  Drakis gasped, uncertain whether it was from horror or wonder.

  Ethis stood before him. . in the perfectly modeled form of Mala.

  “By the. . the gods!” Drakis sputtered.

  The chimerian Mala walked up to him, speaking in a slightly husky rendition of the human woman’s voice-an honest sadness in her expression. “I’m sorry, Drakis. It was the only way I could get us through alive.”

  Drakis kept his eyes fixed on the counterfeit woman as though seeing some terrible vision from which one cannot look away. “Ethis? How. .”

  “It’s rare among our kind,” the pseudo-Mala said with a rueful smile. “A very few of us can alter our shape radically and hold the new form for extended periods of time. It takes effort, a great deal of training and discipline. Hair is the hardest to form; clothing from skin folds is perhaps more challenging still. It’s also a rather lonely existence-we are considered freakish by most of our own kind-but the High Council in Exile makes good use of turning our curse into their blessing. They call us the ‘Shades of the Exile,’ and we can go places in the world, perform the bidding of our Lady Chythal and. .”

  “And none would ever suspect the chimera?” Drakis finished.

  “Something like that,” the false-Mala said through a pout as she took another step toward Drakis, near enough now to touch him. “It does allow us to get far closer to our targets than they might otherwise allow. And anyone will tell any secret to the right companion. Still, I am glad that you and Mala were having problems when we arrived.”

  “Why?” Drakis said, finding himself leaning in toward the woman.

  The false-Mala reached up with her hand and held Drakis back.

  “Because you’re a good friend, Drakis, and I’m not that kind of girl.”

  In a moment, Mala melted in front of him, expanded, faded, and became the four-armed Ethis.

  Drakis leaped backward with a sharp cry.

  “Oh, that was wonderful,” Murialis clapped atop her throne. “We stage dramas for ourselves from time to time-just for our amusement-but that was far better than I could have produced. Bravo, Ethis! And your performance was refreshingly honest, Drakis of the Prophecy.”

  “Queen Murialis,” Drakis said with growing exasperation, “I’m not this. . this man of any prophecy!”

  “Oh, I don’t care whether you are or not, boy,” Murialis said with delight. “It doesn’t matter either way, really. All that matters is that other people think you could be this great legend destined to bring about the fall of the Rhonas Empire. Fear and doubt are like weeds growing between mortared stones; given enough time, they will destroy the strongest wall. If what Ethis tells me is true, then you’ve already planted those seeds whether you think it’s your destiny or not. It is up to us, now, to help those seeds along a little.”

  “Your Majesty?” Ethis prompted.

  Queen Murialis leaned forward on her throne as she spoke. “The Empire will know that you are here-that much is certain. Not all of the Iblisi who were hunting you were taken; one left to
the east carrying a second who was badly damaged, and, it has been reported to me by my own operatives, has returned in great haste to Imperial lands. No doubt his report will be interpreted against me-they will claim that I am harboring you and threaten to use it as a pretext for invading my kingdom. Of course, they have never really needed an excuse to invade my lands, but that is one of the peculiarities of the elves-they feel compelled to justify themselves to some trumped-up morality before they commit an immoral war. I never could understand why they didn’t just call it conquest without a lot of foolish justification and get it over with.”

  “Your Majesty, please,” Ethis urged.

  “It’s a long, sorry process,” Murialis lamented. “They will assume that I’ve granted you asylum. I’ll tell them I didn’t. They’ll accuse me of lying, which is right enough, and I’ll tell them I’m not-which is just another lie. Then they’ll threaten to invade my land ‘for my own good,’ and I will in the end either capitulate and hand you over to them-in which case they will have beaten me-or I will rush you across my border and claim with feigned innocence that you aren’t here at all-which, if they want you badly enough, may be what they’re after all along.”

  “Then might I suggest,” Ethis said, “that we could try to win the game before the elves know they are even playing. Don’t wait for the elves. . send us out of Hyperia now. You remove their pretext for war and upset their plans all in a single move.”

  “I always like the way you think, Ethis,” Murialis mused. “Where would I send you? I’m on good terms with Chronasis to the southwest. You might make your way down to Mestophia.”

  “We might also go east,” Ethis considered, “into the Mountains of Aeria and then into the chimerian lands of Ephindria. The dwarf might then be of considerable. .”

  “North,” Drakis said.

  “North?” Murialis asked with surprise. “Into Vestasia? Why would anyone want to go into that backward swamp?”

  “Well.” Drakis thought for a moment before continuing. “Isn’t that what the legends say. . that I’m supposed to go north?”