Dragonwing

by Margaret Weis

  “Good boy,” he said, and turned to enter the hatch.

  Casually the dog rose to his feet, sank his teeth into the rear end of His Highness’s trousers, and held him fast.

  Haplo darted back across the gangway to Palm. He extricated Alfred and the speech-making Limbeck from the thick of the crowd and hustled them toward the ship. Several WUPP’s, blowing their horns, surged after them, deafening any who tried to stop them. Haplo recognized Jarre among them and tried to catch her eye, but she was bashing a copper with a wheezy-wail and didn’t see him.

  Despite the confusion, Haplo attempted to keep an ear attuned for fighting on board the ship. He heard nothing except Hugh’s singing, however, not even the sound of blowing whistles.

  “Here, chamberlain, the kid’s your responsibility.”

  Haplo freed Bane from the dog and thrust the kid toward a shaken Alfred. The Patryn and the dog raced across the gangway; Haplo assumed everyone else was following.

  Coming into the dark ship from the sunlight glaring off the golden Palm, the Patryn was forced to pause and wait for his eyes to adjust. Behind him, he heard Limbeck cry out, stumble, and fall to his knees, the sudden absence of light and the loss of his spectacles combining to effectively blind the Geg.

  Haplo’s vision cleared quickly. He saw now why he had heard no sounds of fighting. Hugh stood facing an elf with a naked sword in his hand. Behind the elf ranged the rest of the ship’s crew, armed and waiting. The silver war robes of a ship’s wizard caught the sunlight, gleaming brightly from where he stood behind the warriors. No one spoke. Hugh had quit singing. He watched the elf narrowly, waiting for the attack.

  “The sullen walk, the flick’ring aim …” Bane trilled the words, his voice loud and jarring.

  The elf’s gaze slid toward the child, the hand grasping the sword shivered slightly, and his tongue flicked over dry lips. The other elves, ranged behind him, were seemingly awaiting his orders, for they kept their eyes fixed on him as their leader.

  Haplo swiveled about. “Sing, dammit!” he shouted, and Alfred, jolted into action, raised his voice—a piping tenor. Limbeck was shuffling through his papers, trying to find the place where he’d left off.

  There was Jarre, coming across the gangplank, more WUPP’s behind her, all gleeful and eager for treasure. Haplo signaled frantically, and finally she saw him.

  “Keep away!” he motioned, mouthing the words at the same time. “Keep away!”

  Jarre halted her troop and they obediently (and a few literally) fell back at her command. The Gegs craned their heads to see, watching intently to make certain no one got a glass bead ahead of them.

  “‘Fire leads again from futures, all.’”

  The singing was louder now, Alfred’s voice stronger, carrying the tune, Bane growing hoarse but never flagging. Certain now the Gegs would not interfere, Haplo turned from them to Hugh and the elf. Holding the same positions, swords raised, each watched the other warily.

  “We mean you no harm,” said Hugh in elven.

  The elf raised a delicate eyebrow, glanced around at his “No kidding,” replied the elf.

  But the Hand knew something of the ways of elves, apparently, for he continued without pause, speaking their language fluently.

  “We’ve been stranded down here. We want to escape. We’re bound for the High Realm—”

  The elf sneered. “You’re lying, human. The High Realm is banned. Ringed round by magical protection.”

  “Not to us. They’ll let us pass,” said Hugh. “This child”—he pointed at Bane—“is the son of a mysteriarch. He’ll—”

  Limbeck found his place. “Distinguished visitors from another realm—”

  From outside came a clunking and clattering of iron.

  “The whistles! Use the whistles, you fools!”

  Two whistles screeched—the elf captain’s and that of the wizard holding the box.

  The dog growled, its ears pricked, its hackles bristled. Haplo stroked the animal reassuringly, but it wouldn’t be calmed and began to howl in pain. The clunking noise and the whistling grew louder. A shadow appeared in the hatchway, blotting out the sunlight.

  Alfred shrank back, pulling Bane behind him. Limbeck was reading his speech and didn’t see the captain. An ironclad arm shoved the Geg roughly aside, knocking him into a bulkhead. The elf stood in the hatchway, blasting on his whistle. He had removed the helm. The eyes, glaring at his crew, were red with rage.

  He took the whistle from his lips long enough to shout savagely, “Do as I command, damn you, lieutenant!” The wizard, box in hand, hovered at his charge’s elbow.

  The elf facing Hugh lifted the whistle with a hand that seemed to move of its own accord. The lieutenant’s eyes went from his captain to Hugh and back to the captain again. The rest of the crew either lifted the whistles or toyed with them. A few blew tentative bleeps.

  Hugh didn’t understand what was going on, but he guessed that victory hung upon a note, so to speak, and so began to sing hoarsely. Haplo joined in, the captain blasted away on the whistle, the dog howled in pain, and everyone, including Limbeck, came out strong on the last two verses:

  The Arc and Bridge are thoughts and heart,

  The Span a life, the Ridge a part.

  The lieutenant’s hand moved and grasped the whistle. Haplo, marking an elven warrior near the officer, tensed, ready to jump the man and try to wrest away his weapon. But the lieutenant did not put the whistle to his lips. He gave the thong on which it hung a vicious jerk, broke it, and hurled it to the deck. There was ragged cheering among the elven crew, and many—including the ship’s wizard—followed their lieutenant’s example.

  The captain’s face flushed crimson with rage, blotches of white stood out on his thin cheeks, foam flecked his lips.

  “Traitors! Traitors led by a coward! Weesham, you are my witness. They are mutineers, filthy rebels, and when we get back—”

  “We’re not going back, captain,” said the lieutenant, standing straight and tall, his gray eyes cool. “Stop that singing!” he added.

  Hugh had only a vague idea of what was going on; apparently they’d stumbled across some sort of private feud among the elves. But he was quick to recognize that it could turn to their advantage, and he made a motion with his hand. Everyone hushed, Alfred ordering Bane twice to keep silent and finally clapping his hand over the boy’s mouth.

  “I told you this man was a coward!” The captain addressed the crew. “He hasn’t the guts to fight these beasts! Get me out of this thing!” The elf captain could not move in the iron suit. His geir laid a hand upon the armor and spoke a word. The iron melted away. Bounding forward, the elf captain put his hand to his side, only to discover his sword was gone. He found it almost immediately; Hugh was pointing it at his throat.

  “No, human,” cried the lieutenant, moving to block Hugh. “This is my battle. Twice, captain, you have called me coward and I could not defend my honor. Now you can no longer hide behind your rank!”

  “You say that very bravely, lieutenant, considering that you are armed and I am not!”

  The lieutenant turned to Hugh. “As you can see, human, this is an affair of honor. I am told you humans understand such things. I ask that you give the captain his sword. That leaves you weaponless, of course, but you didn’t have much chance anyway—being one against so many. If I live, I pledge myself to assist you. If I fall, then you must take your chances as before.”

  Hugh considered the odds, then, shrugging, handed over the sword. The two elves squared off, falling into fighting stance. The crew was intent on watching the battle between their captain and his lieutenant. Hugh edged his way near one of them, and Haplo guessed that the assassin wouldn’t be weaponless for long.

  The Patryn had his own worries. He had been keeping his eye on the riot raging outside the ship and saw that the WUPP’s, having defeated the coppers, were blood-crazed and searching for trouble. Should the Gegs board the ship, the elves would think it was an all-out
attack, forget their own differences, and fight back. Already Haplo could see the Gegs pointing at the ship, yammering about treasure.

  Sword clashed against sword. The captain and lieutenant thrust and parried. The elf wizard watched eagerly, clutching the inlaid box he held to his breast. Moving swiftly but smoothly, hoping to attract as little attention as possible, Haplo made his way over to the hatch. The dog trotted along at his heels.

  Jarre stood on the gangway, her hands grasping a broken tambourine, her eyes fixed on Limbeck. Undaunted, the Geg had climbed to his feet, adjusted his spectacles, found his place, and resumed speaking.

  “—a better life for everyone—”

  Behind Jarre, the Gegs were rallying, urging each other to go into the ship and grab the spoils of war. Haplo found the mechanism for raising and lowering the gangplank, and quickly studied it to understand how it operated. His only problem now was the female Geg.

  “Jarre!” Haplo cried, waving his hand. “Get off the plank! I’m going to raise it! We’ve got to leave now!”

  “Limbeck!” Jarre’s voice was inaudible, but he understood the movement of her lips.

  “I’ll take care of him and bring him back to you safely. I promise!” That was an easy promise to make. Once Limbeck was properly molded, he would be ready to lead the Gegs and develop them into a united fighting force—an army willing to lay down their lives for the Lord of the Nexus.

  Jarre took a step forward. Haplo didn’t want her. He didn’t trust her. Something had changed her. Alfred had changed her. She wasn’t the same fiery revolutionary she’d been before she went off with him. That man, meek and inoffensive as he seemed, bore watching.

  By this time the Gegs had goaded each other to action and were marching unimpeded toward the ship. Behind him, Haplo could hear the duel between the two elves rage on unabated. He set the mechanism, prepared to raise the gangway. Jarre would slip and fall to her death. It would look like an accident, the Gegs would blame it on the elves. He put his hand on the mechanism, ready to activate it, when he saw the dog dash past him, running across the plank. “Dog! Get back here!”

  But either the animal was ignoring him or, in the midst of the singing and the sword clashing, it couldn’t hear him.

  Frustrated, Haplo let go of the mechanism and started out onto the gangway after the animal. The dog had latched on to the sleeve of Jarre’s blouse and was tugging her off the plank, herding her in the direction of the Palm.

  Jarre, distracted, looked down at the dog, and as she did so, saw her people advancing on the ship.

  “Jarre!” cried Haplo. “Turn them back! The Welves will kill them! They’ll kill all of us if you attack!”

  She looked back at him, then at Limbeck.

  “It’s up to you, Jarre!” Haplo shouted. “You’re their leader now.”

  The dog had loosed its hold and was gazing up at her, its eyes bright, its tail wagging.

  “Good-bye, Limbeck,” whispered Jarre. Leaning down, she gave the dog a fierce hug, then turned and, shoulders squared, stepped off the gangway onto the fingers of the Palm. Facing the Gegs, she raised her hands and they halted.

  “More treasure is being dropped. You must all go down below! There’s nothing up here.”

  “Below? It’s being dropped below?”

  Hastily the Gegs whirled around and began to push and shove, trying to reach the stairs.

  “Get in here, dog!” Haplo ordered.

  The animal gamboled across the deck, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in an irrepressible grin of triumph.

  “Proud of yourself, huh?” Haplo said, releasing the mechanism and pulling on the ropes, drawing up the gangplank as swiftly as possible. He heard Jarre’s voice raised in command, heard the Gegs shout in support. The gangway slid inside. Closing the hatch, Haplo sealed it tight. The Gegs could no longer be seen or heard.

  “Disobedient mutt. I should have you skinned,” muttered Haplo, fondling the dog’s silky ears.

  Raising his voice about the clashing of steel, Limbeck carried on: “And in conclusion, I would like to say …”

  CHAPTER 42

  THE LIFTALOFTS, DREVLIN,

  LOW REALM

  HAPLO TURNED FROM THE HATCH IN TIME TO SEE THE LIEUTENANT thrust his sword through the elf captain’s body. The lieutenant yanked his weapon free, and the captain slid to the deck. The crew was silent, no sound of either cheering or lamenting. The lieutenant, his face cold and impassive, stood back to allow the wizard room to kneel beside the dying elf. Haplo assumed that this wizard, who had been in attendance upon the captain, was a healer. The Patryn was surprised, therefore, to see the wizard make no gestures toward helping the dying. He held the inlaid box he carried up to the captain’s lips. “Speak the words!” the geir hissed.

  The captain made some attempt, but blood gushed out of his mouth.

  The wizard appealed angry and, propping up the elf’s head, forced the rapidly dimming eyes to look at the box.

  “Speak the words! It is your duty to your people!”

  Slowly, with an obvious effort, the elf gasped out words that were, to Haplo, unintelligible. The captain sank back, lifeless. The wizard snapped the box shut and, glancing suspiciously at the other elves, guarded it jealously, as if he had just locked away some rare and priceless jewel.

  “You dare not harm me!” he whined. “I am a weesham, protected by law! A curse will follow you all your days if you prevent me from carrying out my sacred task!”

  “I have no intention of harming you,” said the lieutenant, his lip curled in scorn. “Although what possible use the soul of that wretch can be to our people is best known to yourselves.

  Still, he died with honor, if he did not live with it. Perhaps that counts for something.” Reaching down, he picked up the dead elf’s sword and, turning, handed it—hilt-first—to Hugh.

  “Thank you, human. And you.” The elf glanced at Haplo. “I saw the peril we faced from the Gegs. Perhaps, when we have leisure to discuss such things, you can explain to me what is going on in Drevlin. Now we must prepare to swiftly take our leave.” The elf turned back to Hugh. “What you said about the High Realm, is that true?”

  “Yes.” Hugh took the scabbard off the dead elf, thrust the sword into it. “The boy”—he jerked a thumb at Bane, who was standing mute, staring curiously at the corpse—“is the son of one Sinistrad, a mysteriarch.”

  “How came such a child to be in your care?” The elf was looking at Bane thoughtfully. Bane, his pale face almost translucent, caught the elf’s gaze. Meeting the gray eyes, he smiled sweetly, bravely, and made a grave and graceful bow. The lieutenant was charmed.

  Hugh’s face darkened. “Never mind. It’s not your affair. We were attempting to reach the High Realm when our ship was attacked by your people. We fought them off, but my ship was damaged and fell into the Maelstrom.”

  “Your ship? Humans do not fly dragonships!”

  “Humans named Hugh the Hand fly what they please.”

  The elves murmured, the first sounds they had made since the commencement of the duel. The lieutenant nodded.

  “I see. That explains much.”

  Withdrawing a lace-edged piece of cloth from the pocket of his uniform, the elf used it to wipe blood from his sword blade, then slid the weapon into its sheath. “You are known to be a human of honor—rather peculiar honor, but honor nonetheless. If you will excuse me, humans, I have duties to perform now that I am captain of this vessel. Midshipman Ilth will show you to quarters.”

  So might slaves be dismissed from the presence of the master, Haplo thought. The elf has chosen to side with us, but he has no love for us and apparently little respect. The elven midshipman motioned them to follow him.

  Limbeck was kneeling beside the body of the dead elf.

  “I was right,” he said when he felt Haplo’s hand on his shoulder. “They’re not gods.”

  “No,” said Haplo. “They’re not. There are no gods in this world, as I’ve told you.”
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  Limbeck glanced about, looking very much as if he had lost something and hadn’t the vaguest idea where to begin searching for it. “Do you know,” he said after a moment, “I’m almost sorry.”

  Following the midshipman off the bridge, Haplo heard one of the elves ask, “What do we do with the body, lieutenant? Throw it overboard?”

  “No,” said the lieutenant. “He was an officer and his remains will be treated with respect. Place the body in the hold. We will stop in the Mid Realm and deposit it and the geir with it. And from now on, mate, you will address me as captain.”

  The elf was moving swiftly to command his crew’s respect, knowing that he must knit up the threads of discipline he himself had unraveled. Haplo awarded the elf silent commendation, and accompanied the others below.

  The young elf placed them in what Hugh said was the shipboard equivalent of a dungeon. The brig was bare and cheerless. There were hooks on the walls where hammocks could be slung up at night for sleeping. During the day, they were stowed away to leave enough space to move about. Small portholes provided a view of outside.

  Having informed them that he would return with food and water once the ship was safely through the Maelstrom, the midshipman shut the door and they heard the bolt slide home.

  “We’re prisoners!” cried Bane.

  Hugh settled himself, crouching on his haunches, his back against a bulkhead. He appeared to be in a bad mood. Drawing his pipe out of his pocket, he clamped it between his teeth.

  “You want to see prisoners, go take a look at the humans working below deck. They’re the reason he’s keeping us locked up. We could take over this ship if we freed the slaves, and he knows it.”

  “Then let’s do it!” said Bane, his face flushed with excitement. Hugh glowered at him. “You think you can fly this ship, Your Highness? Maybe you like you flew mine, huh?”

  Bane flushed in anger. Hand clutching the feather, the child swallowed his rage and marched across deck to glare out the portholes.