“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
“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.
“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. .”