Song of the Dragon by Tracy Hickman

The Myrdin-dai approved it, and the Foldmasters know all about it. All we need is to bring five of us through the Stellamir Fold—not an entire Centurai—just five of us through and we’ll be no further problem for you.”
    â€œIt’s irregular,” Korang rumbled.
    â€œI agree,” Drakis replied. “Nevertheless, those are the orders.”
    â€œI’m warning you,” Korang said, his eyes narrowing. “I’m going to check on all this with the Foldmasters! They won’t like it if you’re lying.”
    â€œFine!” Drakis shot back. “Just get it done!”
    â€œOh, I will!” the manticore roared. “And until I have, you go back and wait with the rest of your Centurai until I return!”
    â€œBut I’m not with my . . . oh, just go and ask the Foldmasters!” Drakis snapped. “Then you come and find me. I’ll be on the east side of the clearing—you do know which way is east, don’t you?”
    Korang growled menacingly but only turned away.
    Drakis turned as well, stalking off through the crowded field. The sun had vanished beyond the western horizon, leaving only a rich twilight illuminating the clear skies overhead. Jolnar, the wandering Star of Destiny, was just appearing in the sky. Drakis considered it for a moment.
    Jolnar is seen from woeful lands of pain
    But also from far-off shores.
    Where call seas of sand . . .
    Where winds of soft lament . . .
    The music filling his mind now seemed to come from a place far away and barely imagined; a better and softer place. He hated the star in that moment—because in its alluring promise he felt a vague sadness and dissatisfaction with his life that he had not felt before.
    Drakis lowered his eyes to the more immediate concerns of picking his way through the milling warriors crowding the large meadow, each one waiting his turn to pass through the next fold and come closer to home. This place, he thought, may have actually been beautiful once: a great grassy expanse surrounded by tall, beautiful trees. He could imagine it a quiet place filled only with soft sounds in a gentle breeze.
    The coming of the marshaling field changed all that. The Myrdin-dai had decided on this place as a rally point, the confluence of several smaller folds to bring Impress Warriors from other marshaling fields together, consolidating their force to move into a single fold to the next field. Since then an army had trodden down the once-soft grasses and the delicate flowers as first they came and now they left. The leaving may even have been the worst of it, for masses of troops were coming through the large fold, and it was taking time to sort them into the appropriate smaller folds to send them correctly on the next part of their journey. Unfortunately, the Myrdin-dai had underestimated the area required for this marshaling field and had placed their totems in too small a circle. Worse yet, earlier mistakes required sending units back through the folds, which caused further delays. The result was that many of the warriors had settled into crowded encampments awaiting their turn to move on, filling what had once been a meadow with listless, uncomfortable, and quarrelsome warriors.
    At last he came to the edge of the meadow and a small hollow just short of the tree line and the ever watchful crystal Sentinel totems. A campfire burned in the center of a circle of stones, illuminating the small group gathered around it.
    â€œWell, it’s going to be a while, my brothers Sha-Timuran ,” Drakis said as he approached.
    â€œWhy?” Belag asked, straightening up from tending the blaze. “What is it this time?”
    â€œWould you be surprised to hear I found someone incompetent in charge?”
    Belag laughed deeply. “Among the Legions of the Emperor? I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t !”
    Drakis smiled back at the manticore. “The field marshal has gone off to