Citadels of the Lost by Tracy Hickman Page A

the river than inland. Civilizations tend to follow the course of rivers. They offer water to sustain life and irrigation for crops as well as an easy source of sanitation so long as you don’t give much thought to those who are downstream. They also offer the benefit of easier and faster travel over longer distances. If you are ever lost, a river will always take you somewhere.”
    â€œWell, we certainly are lost,” Drakis said, looking back past the young native boy to the second boat tied behind them. The prow and the stern of each boat curved upward where the reeds were bundled and lashed together. Mala lay sleeping in the front of the second boat, with her head against the raised prow. Jugar was also in the trailing boat, Ethis having rigged what remained of the canvas he had used to haul the dwarf all morning as a shade for him. The dwarf had been knocked cold by the fall through the trapdoor in Pythar and still lay unconscious in the bottom of the boat. Drakis considered Mala for a moment before he spoke again. “It’s a road, isn’t it, Urulani. This river, I mean. This is Mala’s living road.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Urulani replied, turning back to watch the river ahead of them. “Or she may just be crazy. Even the Lyric thinks so.”
    â€œWhether providence, fate, or just luck brought us here is unimportant,” Ethis said. “The question is what do we do next? This river eventually could take us to the sea.”
    â€œWhich sea would that be?” Urulani chided.
    â€œ Any sea, I would think,” Ethis answered back. “You are supposed to be a renowned captain, are you not? Sail along the coast until we find familiar waters and then head back south from there—back to more familiar lands.”
    â€œWhat, in these ?” Urulani gestured at the reed boats. “I may be a fine example of my craft, chimerian, but not even the gods of the ocean depths would attempt an open-water crossing in one of these reed sponges.”
    â€œQuiet, both of you,” Drakis said. “The most important thing is to find a way to make contact with this native boy’s people and find a way to survive. Then we’ll worry about building ships and crossing oceans.”
    â€œAnd what makes you think we can trust him?” Ethis asked.
    â€œHe could have left us back there,” Drakis said. “Someone made those paths, and as good as he was at sneaking into our camp and taking our things, he was waiting there for us by the quay when we were all but dead. If it hadn’t been for him, we would have been a quick meal for those . . . those . . .”
    â€œPythars,” the boy said.
    â€œYes, Pythars, when they . . .”
    Drakis stopped speaking.
    They all turned to look at the boy, who continued working his oar against the river, shifting them again toward the center.
    â€œYou speak our language?” Drakis asked cautiously.
    â€œNo,” the Lyric sniffed. “We speak his.”
    The boy laughed. “She funny.”
    â€œJust . . . wait,” Drakis said, shaking his head as though it would somehow help him to embrace this new thought. “We’ve been talking here for the last four hours and you’ve understood everything we said?”
    â€œMost,” the boy replied. “You are much entertaining. I learn your secrets—that is the way of my duty, the way of my glory. Save you did I! Hero am I! Far-runner am I!”
    â€œA Far-runner?” Ethis said carefully. “Tell us, what are Far-runners?”
    The boy’s face broke into a sneer. “The four-armed man is from a far land, indeed, if you do not know about Far-runners. We leave the Clan, master rivers, run far to the ancient places, and brave the Citadels. We gather our past from the fall of the proud and bring them back for our clan. My father was a Far-runner. My father’s father was a Far-runner. I now am a Far-runner!”
    â€œSo