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?”