“Drakis,” Soen called as cold and still as death. “Wait.”
The human stopped in shock and turned.
Soen spoke in a calm voice that carried across the waters.
“Do you still hear the song. . the song in your mind?” the elf asked casually.
Drakis blinked. “How did you know?”
But then the tall manticore pulled forcefully at the human, and they both fled into the woods.
Soen, standing at the edge of the faery realm, took in a deep breath under his dark glare, turned, and picked up the tortured form of the Assesia called Jukung and made his way back down the stream.
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.