Song of the Dragon (21 page)

Soen never failed to smile at the irony of the thought each time he crossed the courtyard of the Keep, for now the building itself fulfilled that same function which its visage inspired. Within its walls, Soen knew, were kept all the “unpleasant reminders” of their dark origins safely hidden from view.

The Inquisitor stepped through the dark archway of an angular tower and with rapid steps made his way down a worn circular staircase. Under any other circumstances he would have already been removing the ceremonial trappings of his official robes. There were books, scrolls, maps, and tapestries in the Forbidden Grotto that were calling to him. He longed to lose the present in the writings of the past but he had one final duty to perform before he could comfortably claim some time for himself.

So, he turned off the staircase—how marvelous to have to use stairs, he thought—and made his way down the long central corridor. Several of his fellow Inquisitors passed him, though none acknowledged him in any way. It was just another sign in a long and seemingly endless series of signs that his presence here was considered unearned and unwelcome. It was of no real concern to him if they didn't want him here. He didn't want to be here either.

The corridor opened into a large antechamber, but waiting was not Soen's intention. He turned at once to the black doors of oiled wood and pulled them open.

“Ah, Inquisitor Soen Tjen-rei.” The raspy, alto voice came from the far end of the chamber, dark as the polished slate of the floor over which it rolled.

“Keeper Ch'drei,” Soen replied, bowing deeply. “I have come to report on the proceedings of today's audience between the Emperor and . . .”

“No.” Ch'drei held up her pale hand. “Close the doors behind you. There are too many ears who prey on my words.”

Soen stopped speaking at once. He was a trained observer and knew when it was time to talk, when it was time to listen. “You learn more when you stop speaking” was a motto that had served him well.

He quietly closed the heavy doors, then turned back to face into the hall again. The room did not have the vaulted ceilings so prized in later architecture. Like the fortress surrounding it, the Keeper's Hall was oppressive, its ceiling hanging low overhead and supported by thick, squat pillars. The walls of the room were dark so that the glowing light from the globe sconces on each pillar was swallowed up in the blackness. At the end of the hall, opposite the entrance doors, sat the throne of the Keeper atop three steps of a dais. Three steps were all it could afford without forcing the Keeper to strike her head on the low ceiling whenever she stood.

On that throne, Ch'drei pressed the long fingers of her hands together. The Keeper was old, even among elves. The skin of her face and long forehead looked almost transparent. It sagged in places and seemed to have been pulled too tightly in others. The mane of her hair seemed to float around her skull like a fine mist. Her lips were drawn back in her age, exposing her teeth in what might too easily have been mistaken for a grin. She stooped over as she sat on the Throne of the Oracle, her body curling forward around her arching spine. She looked frail, but Soen knew better. The Keeper's featureless eyes were still shining and as black as a grave. Soen knew that there were those who had thought it was time for the Keeper to . . . well, relinquish her position in favor of younger, more dynamic individuals such as they themselves presented. Those who had sought the Keeper's forced retirement were no longer available to testify regarding how they were stopped in their assassination plots; they had simply disappeared.

“Soen, my son,” Ch'drei said with bored detachment, “you are a most talented servant of the Iblisi Mandate and demonstrably a loyal servant of the Imperial Will.”

She is not interested in my report on the court,
Soen thought.
Something has changed.

The Keeper shifted slightly in her throne. The words needed to be said, and so she was saying them although both Ch'drei and Soen were fully aware that they were only preliminary and without substance. “Indeed, your abilities have brought your name to be whispered with both glory and honor in the ears of many of the Orders even here in the capital of the world.”

In change there is danger,
Soen thought,
and profit. Which will it be this time?

“The Keeper is most generous in her words,” Soen replied evenly.

A hint of a smile pulled at the corner of the old elf woman's lips. “I can afford to be generous with words, my son, but the position of our Order among the powers that rule requires more circumspect frugality.”

“And may I dare presume that I might assist the Order in some meaningful way?”

“Can you leave within the hour?”

Soen's heart jumped, but he maintained his outward calm. “I serve at the pleasure of the Keeper—I can leave at your word.”

Ch'drei nodded, then straightened slightly. “The Myrdin-dai have asked for the assistance of the Iblisi—more particularly,
your
assistance.”

“They asked for me?”

“By name,” Ch'drei replied. “Had you not been at court, they would have demanded that you go with them at once.” The old woman reached out with her bent hand, gesturing him closer. “Come, my boy, I'll bandy niceties with the primping fools of the other Orders but let's have some plain talk between us.”

Soen smiled, the points of his ears quivering as he shook his head. “Who among us ever has ‘plain talk'?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Ch'drei spat the words with disdain, “If I were fifty years younger, I'd throw this at you, and you'd be dropping dead before you could utter another word!”

“
That
,” Soen said as he casually walked the length of the hall, “is the Baton Seal of the Iblisi Keeper, and you shouldn't be throwing it at anyone.”

“I'll throw it at whomever I please,” Ch'drei said, her featureless eyes squinting at him. “I'm especially fond of hitting insolent young boys with it.”

“I have heard that the Keeper might have found
better
uses for insolent, young boys,” Soen said with a lightness in his words.

“Perhaps,” Ch'drei said through a dark chuckle; then she paused. “Soen, the Myrdin-dai have a problem on the Icaran Frontier. They need it silenced, and they want you to do it for them.”

“What is the problem?”

“Something happened in the folds,” Ch'drei spoke softly. “The Myrdin-dai have been basking in the glory of their handling of the folds in this last war against the dwarves. They've even gone so far as to make something of a public spectacle of themselves, using this as an opportunity to rub the noses of the Occuran in their success. Now something has happened in the folds of the frontier that has them worried—worried enough that they insist that
you
, the favored Iblisi of the Emperor himself, take care of it discreetly. They want it silenced, and they want it done by someone close to the Emperor. And they're willing to promise anything and
pay
anything to make it happen quickly. You're to be given complete access to the folds controlled by the Myrdin-dai throughout the Empire to serve this purpose. You'll be given a commission and seal specifically for this purpose.”

“Generous of them to provide transport,” Soen considered, “especially since it will allow them to follow my movements.”

“Who trusts anyone anymore?”

“And they would not tell you what actually happened in the folds?” Soen asked.

“They didn't even try to lie to me,” Ch'drei said with a shrug. “That was the most insulting—that they didn't even bother to make something up for me. I tell you, elves today have no respect for their elders.”

Soen drew in a deep breath and nodded, his own black eyes looking at the Keeper from under his heavy brows. “So it is in the service of the Emperor's Will that the Keeper of the Iblisi is commissioning me to travel the Myrdin-dai folds to the Icaran Frontier to silence an unspecified matter that is currently distressing a companion Order of the Empire?”

“Oh, what nonsense!”

Both Ch'drei and Soen laughed heartily.

“I too soon forget why I like you, Soen,” Ch'drei said through her grinning smile. “You have such a charmingly dry sense of humor. No, of course that isn't why I'm sending you. I wouldn't mind currying a little favor with the Myrdin-dai right now, but, no, that's not why you're going.”

“The Myrdin-dai were not my only urgent audience today. Their rivals, the Occuran, visited me this morning,” Ch'drei said, her voice softening. “Something has gone very wrong with the Aether Wells of the Icaran Frontier.”

“
Twin
trouble in the Western Provinces?”

“Yes. It has caused disturbance patterns resonating all through the Aether links throughout the Empire. The Occuran tell me the Aether Wells have failed on the frontier.”

Soen raised his eyebrows. “Failed?”

“Yes . . . failed.”

Soen straightened to stand upright, considering the implications of what he had just heard. “It's been a long time since a well failed. Some of these Fourth Estate lords go to the frontier without knowing what is required to survive. Still, I don't see why you need
me
to . . .”

“It wasn't just one well that failed, Soen,” Ch'drei said. “This wasn't just some mistake made by a careless House Lord. The Aether in the entire region collapsus, and a number of Houses in the Province have fallen completely.”

“Fallen?” Soen's left brow rose in surprise. “One House falling is a potential catastrophe . . . but the fall of multiple Houses at once is unimaginable.”

“The warding glyphs that link the Wells are meant to prevent such a cascading failure—severing the connection to the collapsus Well before any damage is done,” Soen mused. “How could they fail in multiple Wells at once?

“According to the Occuran, the Wells all across the Western Provinces not only collapsus completely but inverted for a time, but we do not know enough,” the Keeper continued. “Communication from the Frontier has failed both from the Occuran and the Myrdin-dai, but from the little we know as many as a dozen Houses could have fallen—and that could be an optimistic number. The glyphs must have worked eventually or the entire Empire would have gone dark.”

“What about containment?” Soen asked, his mind still racing through the possibilities.

“Again, we don't know—and that is why you must depart at once. You have to discover the cause of this and secure its truth. If knowledge of any vulnerability to the system of Aether Wells were to become commonly known . . .”

“I agree,” Soen mused with a frown, “but if even a dozen or so Houses have fallen, the number of slaves released from their Devotions alone . . .”

“I'm only interested in the cause of this collapse—not a few ‘bolters.' If any slaves have something to do with this, then, of course, hunt them down.”

“And the problems of the Occuran and the Myrdin-dai are related?”

Ch'drei shrugged. “Beyond doubt—but that is for you to discover.”

Soen nodded. “How do you want the rest of the slaves handled?”

“If they can be usefully enthralled again, then ship them here for new Devotions; otherwise kill the broken ones,” Ch'drei said though she was not really interested. “I'll leave that to your discretion. It is good policy, makes us a profit on the resale of the slaves, and maintains our rather ruthless image.”

“I'll need a Quorum.”

“You may take two Codexia of your choice.”

“Qinsei and Phang, then, if the choice is mine,” Soen nodded as he thought. “And the four Assesia?”

“I should think that Yarou, Shonoc and Wreth would be honored by the task. Perhaps you could also take young Jukung as your fourth?”

Soen smiled once more. He knew Jukung was a spy for Ch'drei. This assignment was important enough that the Keeper wanted a second set of eyes to report to her.

“So the Myrdin-dai provide the transport and means to allow us to solve a mystery for their rivals, the Occuran,” Soen chuckled. “We garner favor with
both
and neither is the wiser.”

“Everyone profits,” Ch'drei smiled. “Especially
us
.”

“Thank you, Keeper.” Soen bowed. “I am honored to serve with such a Quorum . . . and may I add my personal thanks as it will be good to serve under an open sky again.”

“Do not thank me so quickly,” Ch'drei returned. “You do not know what awaits you in the Western Provinces—and many a truth has left its Inquisitor buried beneath that same open sky.”

T
HE EVENING HAD DEEPENED into a purple twilight around the horizon by the time Assesia Jukung joined the rest of the Quorum in the courtyard of the Keep. The globe-torches mounted on the inner walls of the Keep had just flickered to life in the gathering night, illuminating the ancient flagstones beneath their feet. Above the walls to the east, the towering subatria of the Imperial City shone in the night with a soft incandescence, the Cloud Palace itself shining above them all.

Soen saw none of its beauty; his eyes were focused on the Quorum that had formed before him. Each of them was clothed in much the same manner as himself, in a dull reddish-brown hooded robe with a black sash closure at the waist. They also, he was pleased to note, appeared prepared for an extended absence as all were shouldering backpacks bulging with their field goods.