Dragonwing

by Margaret Weis

  “Then we ascend, Your Wurship.”

  “Ascend?” The prince looked at the catwalks running hither and thither above him.

  The head clark, misunderstanding his gaze, sighed with happiness. His face glowing beatifically, he lifted his hands.

  “Yes, Your Wurship. Right straight up into heaven!”

  Marching along behind Bane and his adoring Gegs, Hugh devoted one eye to his surroundings and the other to the prince. He soon ceased to try to keep track of where they were, admitting to himself that he could never find his way out of the insides of the machine without help. News of their coming had apparently rushed on ahead of them. Thousands of Gegs lined the halls and corridors of the machine, staring, shouting, and pointing. Gegs busy with their work actually turned their heads, bestowing on Hugh and his companions—had they known it—a high honor by forgetting their tasks for a few seconds. The reaction of the Gegs, however, was mixed. Some were cheering with enthusiasm, but others appeared to be angry.

  Hugh was more interested in Prince Bane and what he was doing in such close confab with the ruffled Geg. Silently cursing himself for never having bothered to learn any of the Geg language when he was with the elves, Hugh felt a tug on his sleeve and turned his attention to Alfred.

  “Sir,” said Alfred, “have you noticed what the crowd is yelling?”

  “Gibberish, as far as I’m concerned. But you understand it, don’t you, Alfred?”

  Alfred flushed deeply. “I am sorry I had to conceal my knowledge from you, Sir Hugh. But I believed it important that I conceal it from another.” He glanced at the prince. “When you asked me that question, it was just possible that he could have heard my answer, and so I felt I had no choice—”

  Hugh made a deprecating motion with his hand. Alfred had a point. It had been the Hand who had made the mistake. He should have realized what Alfred was doing and never spoken up. It was just that never in Hugh’s life had he felt so damn helpless!

  “Where did you learn to speak Geg?”

  “The study of the Gegs and the Low Realm has been a hobby of mine, sir,” answered Alfred with the shy, proud consciousness of a true enthusiast. “I daresay I have one of the finest collections of books written about their culture in the Mid Realm. If you would be interested, when we return, I’ll be happy to show you—”

  “If you left those books in the palace, you can forget them. Unless you plan on asking Stephen to give you leave to run back in and pick up your things.”

  “You’re right, sir, of course. How stupid of me.” Alfred’s shoulders sagged. “All my books … I don’t suppose I’ll ever see them again.”

  “What were you saying about the crowd?”

  “Oh, yes.” The chamberlain glanced around at the cheering and occasionally jeering Gegs. “Some are calling out, ‘Down with the froman’s god!’ and ‘We want Limbeck’s god!’”

  “Limbeck? What does that mean?”

  “It’s a Geg name, I believe, sir. It means ‘to distill or extract.’ If I might make a suggestion? I think …” Instinctively he lowered his voice, and in the noise and commotion, Hugh lost his words.

  “Talk louder. No one can understand us, can they?”

  “Oh, I suppose not,” said Alfred, light dawning. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I was saying, sir, that there might be another human such as ourselves down here.”

  “Or an elf. That’s more likely. Either way, odds are they’ve got a ship we can use to get out of here!”

  “Yes, sir. I thought that might be the case.”

  “We’ve got to see this Limbeck and his god or whatever.”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult, sir. Not if our little ‘god’ commands it.”

  “Our little ‘god’ seems to have gotten himself in some sort of trouble,” said Hugh, his gaze going to the prince. “Look at his face.”

  “Oh, dear,” murmured Alfred.

  Bane had twisted his head back to search for his companions. His cheeks were pale, his blue eyes wide. Biting his lip, he made a hurried motion for them to come up to him.

  An entire squadron of armed Gegs marched between them and the prince. Hugh shook his head. Bane gazed at him pleadingly. Alfred, looking sympathetic, gestured at the crowd. Bane was a prince. He knew what was due an audience. Sighing, he turned around and began to wave his small hand feebly and without enthusiasm.

  “I was afraid of this,” said Alfred.

  “What do you think’s happened?”

  “The boy said something about the Gegs thinking he was the god who had come to ‘judge’ them. He spoke about it glibly, but it is very serious to the Gegs. According to their legends, it was the Mangers who built the great machine. The Gegs were to serve it until the Day of Judgment, when they would be rewarded and carried up into the higher realms. That was how the isle Geg’s Hope came by its name.”

  “Mangers. Who are these Mangers?”

  “The Sartan.”

  “Devil take us!” the Hand swore. “You mean they think the kid is one of the Sartan?”

  “It would seem so, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose he could fake it, with help from daddy?”

  “No, sir. Not even a mysteriarch of the Seventh House, such as his father, possesses magical powers compared to those of the Sartan. After all,” said Alfred, gesturing, “they built all this.”

  Hugh cared little about that now. “Great! Just great! And what do you think they’ll do when they find out we’re impostors?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir. Ordinarily, the Gegs are peaceful, gentle people. But then, I don’t suppose they’ve ever had anyone pretend to be one of their gods before. In addition, they seem to be in a turmoil over something.” Alfred, looking at the crowds growing increasingly hostile, shook his head. “I would say, sir, that we’ve come at rather a bad time.”

  CHAPTER 32

  WOMBE, DREVLIN,

  LOW REALM

  THE GEGS TOOK THE “GODS” TO THE FACTREE—THE SAME PLACE where Limbeck had been given his trial. They had some difficulty entering, due to the crowds of milling Gegs massed outside. Hugh couldn’t understand a word they were shouting; despite that, it was obvious to him that the populace was divided into two distinct and highly vocal factions, with a large segment who seemed unable to make up their minds. The two factions appeared to feel strongly about their beliefs, because Hugh saw fights break out on several occasions. He remembered what Alfred had said about the Gegs being ordinarily peaceful and gentle.

  We’ve come at rather a bad time. No kidding. It looked to be in the middle of a revolution of some sort!

  The coppers kept back the crowd, and the prince and his companions managed to squeeze through the stout bodies into the relative quiet of the Factree—relative to the fact that the whanging and banging of the Kicksey-winsey was constantly in the background.

  Once inside, the high froman held a hasty meeting with the coppers. The little king’s face was grave and Hugh observed several times that he shook his head. The Hand didn’t give a half-barl for the Gegs, but he had lived long enough to know that being caught in a country undergoing political upheaval was not conducive to a long and healthy life.

  “Excuse us.” He approached the head clark, who bowed and stared at him with the blank, bright smile of one who doesn’t understand a word that is being said to him but who is trying to appear as if he did, in order not to be rude. “We have to have a little talk with your god.”

  Gripping Bane firmly by the shoulder, ignoring the boy’s yelps and squirming, Hugh marched the prince across the vast empty floor, over to where Alfred stood gazing up at a statue of a hooded man holding what appeared to be an eyeball in his hand.

  “Do you know what they expect me to do?” Bane demanded of Alfred as soon as they neared him. “They expect me to transport them up into heaven!”

  “May I remind His Highness that he brought this on himself by telling them he was a god?”

  The child’s head drooped. He stole up to Alfre
d’s side and slipped a hand in the chamberlain’s. Lower lip quivering, Bane said softly, “I’m sorry, Alfred. I was afraid they were going to hurt you and Sir Hugh, and it was the only thing I could think of to do.”

  Strong hands jerked Bone around, rough fingers bit into his shoulders. Hugh knelt down and looked straight into the child’s eyes, behind which he wanted to see cunning and malevolent purpose. All he saw were the eyes of a frightened kid. It angered him.

  “All right, Your Highness, you go on fooling the Gegs as long as you can—anything to get us out of here. But we just want to make it plain that you don’t fool us one bit, not anymore. Those phony tears better dry up and you better listen—you and daddy both.” He glanced at the feather as he spoke, and the boy’s hand closed over it protectively. “Unless you can hoist these dwarves into the skies, you better be prepared to do some fast thinking. I don’t suppose these people will take kindly to being hoodwinked.”

  “Sir Hugh,” warned Alfred, “we’re being watched.”

  The Hand looked over to the high froman, who was observing the proceedings with interest. Releasing the boy, patting him on the shoulders, Hugh smiled.

  “What is it you plan to do, Your Highness?” he muttered in an undertone.

  Bane gulped back his tears. Fortunately there was no need to keep their voices lowered. The rhythmic pounding and thumping of the machine muffled everything, including thought.

  “I’ve decided I’ll tell them I’ve judged them and found them wanting. They haven’t earned the right to go up to heaven.”

  Hugh glanced at Alfred. The man shook his head. “It would be very dangerous, Your Highness. If you said such a thing, in the state of turmoil that seems to have gripped the realm, the Gegs might well turn on us.”

  The child’s eyes blinked rapidly, their gaze shifting quickly from Alfred to Hugh and back again. Bane was obviously frightened. He had plunged in over his head and felt himself sinking. Worse still, he must know that the only two who could save him had very good reasons for letting him drown.

  “What do we do?”

  We! Hugh would have liked nothing better than to leave the changeling on this storm-swept patch of rock. He knew he wouldn’t, however. Enchantment? Or did he just feel sorry for the brat? Neither, he assured himself, still planning to use the kid to make his fortune.

  “There’s talk of another god down here. ‘Limbeck’s god,’” said Alfred.

  “How did you know that?” Bane flared. “You can’t understand what they’re saying!”

  “Yes, I can, Your Highness. I speak some Geg—”

  “You lied!” The child gazed at him in shock. “How could you, Alfred? I trusted you!”

  The chamberlain shook his head. “I think it best for all of us to admit that none of us trust the other.”

  “Who can blame me?” cried Bane with glittering innocence. “This man tried to kill me, and for all I know, Alfred, you were helping him!”

  “That is not true, Your Highness, yet I can understand how you might come to think so. But I had not meant to make accusations. I think it behooves us to realize that, though we do not trust each other, our lives in total now depend on each other individually. I think—”

  “—too much!” Hugh broke in. “The kid understands, don’t you, Bane? And drop the babe-lost-in-the-woods act. We both know who and what you are. I presume that you want to get out of here, go up and pay dad a visit. The only way you’re going to get off this rock is with a ship, and I’m the only pilot you’ve got. Alfred, here, knows something about these people and how they think—at least he claims he does. He’s right when he says we’re each other’s only chance in this game, so I suggest that you and daddy there play along nicely.”

  Bane stared at him. His eyes were no longer the eyes of a child who is eagerly studying the world; they were the eyes of one who knows all about it. Hugh saw himself reflected in those eyes; saw a chill, unloved childhood; saw a child who had unwrapped all of life’s pretty presents and discovered the boxes contained filth.

  Like me, Hugh thought, he no longer believes in the bright, the shining, the beautiful. He knows what’s underneath.

  “You’re not treating me like a kid,” said Bane, wary and cautious.

  “Are you one?” Hugh asked bluntly.

  “No.” Bane clasped the feather tightly as he spoke, and repeated more loudly, “No, I’m not! I’ll work with you. I promise, so long as you don’t betray me. If you do, either of you, then I’ll make you regret it.” The blue eyes gleamed with a most unchildlike shrewdness.

  “Fair enough. I give you each the same promise. Alfred?”

  The chamberlain looked at them in despair and sighed. “Must it be like this? Trusting only because each of us holds a knife in the other’s back?”

  “You lied about speaking Geg. You didn’t tell me the truth about the kid until it was almost too late. What else have you lied about, Alfred?” Hugh demanded.

  The chamberlain went white. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t answer. Finally he managed to squeeze out, “I promise.”

  “All right. That’s done. Now, we’ve got to find out about this other god. He could be our way off this rock. Chances are, it’s an elf whose ship got caught in the storm and sucked down.”

  “I could tell the high froman that I want to meet this god.” Bane was swift to see and understand the possibilities. “I’ll tell him that I can’t judge the Gegs until I find out what this fellow ‘god’ of mine thinks about the matter.” The boy smiled sweetly. “Who knows, it could take us days to come up with the answer! But would an elf help us?”

  “If he’s in as much trouble down here as we are, he would. My ship’s wrecked. His probably is too. But we might be able to use parts of one to fix the other. Shhh. We’ve got company.”

  The high froman joined them, the head clark bustling importantly along behind. “When would Your Wurship like to commence the Judgment?”

  Bane drew himself up to his full height and managed to look offended. “I heard the people shouting something about another god being present in your land. Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

  “Because, Your Wurship,” said the high froman, casting a reproachful glance at the head clark, “this is a god who claims he isn’t a god. He claims that none of you are gods, but says you are mortals who have enslaved us.”

  Hugh contained himself patiently during this conversation that he couldn’t understand. Alfred was listening to the Gegs with close attention, and the Hand kept close watch on Alfred’s face. He did not miss the man’s dismayed reaction over what was being said. The assassin ground his teeth, frustrated nearly to the point of madness. Their lives were dependent on a ten-cycle kid who, at this point, looked like he might very well burst into tears!

  Prince Bane got a grip on himself, however. Pointed chin in the air, he made some answer that apparently eased the situation, for Hugh saw Alfred’s face relax. The chamberlain even nodded slightly, before he caught himself, aware that he shouldn’t be reacting.

  The kid has nerve, he’s quick-thinking. Hugh twisted his beard. And perhaps I’m “enthralled,” he reminded himself.

  “Bring this god to me,” said Bane with an imperious air that made him, for a brief moment, resemble King Stephen.

  “If Your Wurship wishes to see him, he and the Geg who brought him here are speaking at a rally tonight. You could confront him publicly.”

  “Very well,” said Bane, not liking it but not knowing what other response to make.

  “Now, perhaps Your Wurship would care to rest. I notice that one member of your party is injured.” The Geg’s glance went to Hugh’s torn and bloodstained shirt sleeve. “I could send for a healer.”

  Hugh saw the glance, understood, and made a negating gesture.

  “Thank you, his injury isn’t serious,” said Bane, “but you could send us food and water.”

  The high froman bowed. “Is that all I can do for Your Wurship?”

  “Yes, thank y
ou. That will be all,” said Bane, failing to conceal the relief in his voice.

  The gods were shown to chairs placed at the feet of the Manger, possibly to provide inspiration. The head clark would have liked very much to stay and visit, but Darral nabbed his brother-in-law by the velvet sleeve and dragged him—protesting volubly—away. “What are you doing?” raved the head clark. “How could you risk insulting His Wurship by saying such a thing? Implying that he isn’t a god! And that talk about slaves!”

  “Shut up and listen to me,” snapped Darral Longshoreman. He’d had his fill of gods. One more “Your Wurship” and he thought he’d gag. “Either these folk are gods or they’re not. If they’re not, and this Limbeck turns out to be right, what do you think will happen to us, who’ve spent our lives telling our people that we were serving gods?”

  The head clark stared at his brother-in-law. Slowly his face drained of all its ruddy color. He gulped.

  “Exactly.” Darral nodded emphatically, his beard wagging. “Now, suppose they are gods, do you really want to be judged and taken up into heaven? Or do you like it down here, the way things used to be before all this hullabaloo started?”

  The head clark considered. He was very fond of being head clark. He lived well. Gegs respected him, bowed and took off their hats when he walked down the street. He didn’t have to serve the Kicksey-winsey, except when and where he chose to put in an appearance. He got invited to all the best parties. When you came right down to it, what more did heaven have to offer?

  “You’re right,” he was forced to admit, though it galled him to do so. “What do we do?”

  “I’m working on it,” said the high froman. “Just leave it to me.”

  “I’d give a hundred barls to know what those two are talking about.” Hugh watched the two Gegs walk off in close conversation.

  “I don’t like this at all,” said Alfred. “This other god, whoever it is, is fomenting rebellion and chaos down here. I wonder why. The elves wouldn’t have any reason to upset things in the Low Realm, would they?”